"You have the intelligence to do the job, and the strength of will to hold the position," Gar told him. "Besides that, you can think quickly enough to handle an emergency."
"We've taught you all we ean," Dirk said. "You can do the job-and you're the only man on the planet who can."
"Me? An illiterate peasant, oppose the Protector and all his soldiers?"
"You," Dirk said, "and a thousand false magistrates, not to mention the soldiers our agents are subverting at the rate of twenty a day. They may not know the word `revolution' or our intention to overthrow the Protector, but they won't fight to stop you."
"Just remember that you have to keep the real magistrates penned up until after the revolution," Gar cautioned. "They know how to flatter and fawn, and they're very likely to convince you of their loyalty-then turn their coats the second they're free, and bring back an army to destroy you."
"The magistrate who does that will become a minister overnight," Dirk agreed.
Miles nodded. "I'll remember." Then he shook himself. "Wait a minute! I haven't even said I'll do it yet!"
"Well?" Dirk said, hands on his hips. "Will you?" Gar demanded.
Miles's gaze strayed. "I'll have to talk to Ciletha first." He braced himself for exasperation, but they must have known more than he thought (when didn't they?)-for Dirk only nodded, and Gar said, "Of course you must.".
He met Ciletha for their usual walk in the park-the captive bureaucrats had been very indignant at having to clear away the vines and overgrowth enough for the robot gardeners to begin work again. Now he met Ciletha there every evening, even if they'd been together at their desks all day, to enjoy the cool air and gaze at the ponds and flower beds.
"You're quiet tonight, my dear," Ciletha prodded.
"Yes. I-I have some ... some very important news, Ciletha," Miles said.
When he fell silent, Ciletha suppressed a sigh and said only, "Go on."
"Gar and Dirk came to see me today..."
He stopped again. Ciletha pressed. "What about?"
"They want me to be chief rebel. They want me to lead the revolution."
"Chief rebel! Oh, how wonderful, Miles!" Ciletha planted a huge kiss on his lips. Instinct took over, and he embraced her, amazed.
Suddenly she broke the kiss and pushed herself away, eyes wide with horror. "Miles! The danger! If they catch you, they'll torture you to draw everyone's name from you. Then, when they've milked you dry, they'll draw and quarter you!"
Miles shuddered at the thought of the dread, slow punishment and put it from him resolutely. "I know, Ciletha. I can't take that risk without your understanding. I'm foolish enough to think my life affects yours, after all."
"Foolish! Oh, you dear boy, no! You are my life now!" The horror lifted from her suddenly, and her smile was like the sunrise. "Come, now. We both knew we were wagering our lives for this. We all do. If the Protector's spies catch us, we'll all be tortured and hanged-but we can't go back now."
Miles frowned, thinking of it for the first time. "No, we can't, can we? Even if I took you back to my home village and presented you to the magistrate as my fiancee, he'd still have me flogged, set me to years of hard labor-and probably forbid our marriage, to prove that no one can defy the Protector." He shuddered. "No, I think I'd rather have a real death than a living one."
"I would, too," she said softly, "and we can only be slain once."
"Yes, we can, can't we?" Miles smiled at her, realizing all over again what a unique woman she was. "But I'm far more concerned for you than for myself, Ciletha. After all, I'm the one who dragged you into this mess."
"I dragged myself into it," she told him sternly, "or blundered into it, rather-blundered into you and Gar and Dirk that dark night. But I chose to stay-and I choose to stay now."
"Well, yes," Miles said, "but you wouldn't have done so if it hadn't been for me."
"I thought you would never realize that," she whispered, swaying very close to him. He stared at her in surprise, then realized her meaning and took her in his arms to kiss her again.
When they came up for air, he whispered, "I love you, Ciletha."
"So you have told me," she replied. "Do you finally believe that I love you, too?"
Miles smiled as joy swept him again. "I could only hope for that," he said, "but never believe it."
"Believe it, then!" she scolded; then, swaying right up against him and half closing her eyes, "What will it take to make you believe it?"
He kissed her again and came up smiling. "A wedding," he whispered. "Marry me, and I'll believe you love me."
Ciletha gave a sigh of mock exasperation. "The lengths I must go to, to make you see what is clearly before you! Well, if I must marry to make you trust me, then I will."
He gave a shout of joy, then kissed her again. When he drew back, he said, "But I haven't asked you properly," and dropped to one knee. "Will you marry me, Ciletha?"
She gave him a mock cuff on the ear. "Yes, you blockhead!" Then more softly, "Yes, you wonderful, handsome man, I will marry you."
They kissed again. Then she pushed herself away, suddenly very serious. "But not until this revolution is won or lost, Miles. It would be horrible to bear children and see them chewed up by the Protector's forces. If we win, then I'll marry you." She frowned, suddenly worried. "You did mean to have children, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes," Miles breathed, and the kiss was even longer this time.
When Miles lifted his head, though, concern shadowed his face. "I didn't tell Dirk and Gar that I'm not the only person who knows who all the rebels are, and where. I'm very frightened for you, my love."
"Well, then." Ciletha wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head into his shoulder. "You'll just have to take very good care of me, won't you?"
"Why, yes, I will," he said, his smile returning, and pressed a finger under her chin to lift her head. "I won't let you out of my sight, my love."
"Well," she said, "at least not at night," and kissed him again.
So it was that Ciletha stood beside Miles on top of a hill in the very first predawn light a week later, wondering what Dirk and Gar were waiting for, but too polite to ask.
"How do you write out your records?" Gar asked one more time.
"In ink that runs if it gets wet," Ciletha said patiently, "and we keep a tank of water nearby, to dump in the records if our sentries tell us soldiers are coming."
"Infiltrate the secret police if you can," Dirk reminded them for the tenth time.
"We will if we can find them," Miles told them patiently. "You don't know how sorry I am to see you go, and how glad I'll be to see you come back!"
"Thank you." Gar smiled warmly. "But you don't really need us any more. This revolution will run itself now-it's like a boulder that's been pushed off the top of a hill. If nobody stops it, it'll knock down the castle at the bottom."
"It would take a very great deal to stop a boulder going that fast," Dirk seconded, "especially since this boulder gets bigger as it rolls."
"Good-bye." Gar reached down to embrace Miles, then Ciletha, and came up with that fleeting trace of longing flickering over his face.
"Farewell indeed!" she told him. "Until you come back to us!"
"We will if we live," Dirk promised, "and we intend to. Go now, you two. Leave us to our transportation."
"Go on," Gar said, still smiling.
Miles took Ciletha's arm in his. Together they turned and started down the hill. They heard nothing, saw nothing, but as they reached the bottom, something made them turn and look up.
They saw the huge golden disk hovering over the hilltop, and Dirk and Gar climbing up the ramp it had lowered to them. They disappeared inside; the ramp lifted, and the disk rose.
Miles and Ciletha stood staring at it until it was long out of sight.
"Now I believe our ancestors came from another star," Miles whispered.
Ciletha shook herself and turned away. "Come, beloved. We have a Protector to overthrow."
CHAPTER 17
She remembered being the Lady Rijora, and in her dreams, she still was-but in the light of day, she knew herself once again as just plain Bess.
Plain indeed! Where Lady Rijora's mirror had shown her a finely chiseled face with large blue long-lashed eyes, fair cornplexion, and a veritable mane of golden curls, Bess saw a moon-round face with close-set brown eyes, skin scarred by pimples, and framed by straight lank brown hair. The layers of fat had faded with Dirk's combat drills and the Guardian's diet, though, and she bore herself with grace, back straight and step light. Her tongue kept the lady's accent as well as her hands remembered the gestures of refined conversation, and the ways of using the tableware for an elaborate formal dinner. Even more, she remembered the tricks of wide-eyed flirtation, of sidelong glances and the tilt of a head and the bat of eyelashes so well that she didn't even need to think of them.
Less obvious, and much to be hidden, was the knowledge of literature that their deluded court had learned from the Guardian, and the seriousness of the lessons Gar and Dirk had taught-of history, of law, of the workings of society and government, and of the human mind. It was knowledge to be hidden, yes, but also to be used for asking the occasional question that stimulated conversation, and made it much quicker for her to learn from its interplay.
The townswomen eyed her with suspicion as she walked down the high street with her basket on her arm, and she heard more than one mutter, "Who does she think she is, putting on such airs?"
Without even thinking, the words leaped to her tongue: I am the Lady Rijora, peasant. You forget your place. She bit them back in time, though, only tossing her head in reply-and that little gesture brought angry murmurs from other women all along the way.
At least I'm attracting attention, she thought, but with her heart in her throat. She meant to be noticed, surely enoughbut what would happen when she was?
A man in livery, carrying the staff of a watchman, stepped up to her, his face carefully neutral. "Good day, goodwoman."
"Good day, watchman." Her heart rose into her throat.
"Let me see your travel permit; please." The officer held out his hand.
"Of course." She rummaged in her basket and held out the packet, her heart hammering, no matter how calmly she smiled. This was the first crisis-whether or not her forged papers would pass inspection. The Guardian itself had made them, of course, feeding them out of a slot in the wall, and had reassured her that it had shaped them after real papers that a wanderer had brought only five years earlier-but how much could change in five years? Certainly she had!
The papers, though, had not --or so it seemed. The watchman read them through in a minute, nodding in satisfaction. "So. You are Bess of the village of Milorga, come seeking your third cousins." He looked up, frowning. "Your magistrate does not say why you seek them. Do you need to live with them?"
Bess noticed the dangerous glint in his eye-the official on the watch for single folk who should be bound into marriage.
That was her intention, but she didn't have the same partner in mind that he seemed to have. "No, sir-it's just that my grandmother has only this last month learned that her brother lived long enough to wed, when he was mustered out of the Protector's service."
The watchman stiffened; service to a Protector's guardsman, retired or active, held a high priority.
"Gram is old and frail," Bess went on, "and wishes to see her niece or nephew, if she has such, and their children, if there are any. Mama must tend the old woman, so I am sent to seek our relatives."
"A good deed," the watchman said piously, "but why here in our town of Grister?"
"It's the last place Grandma knew of my great-uncle being sent," Bess explained, "and she hopes that his family will be here, of course, but if not, she hopes that someone here might still remember where he went."
"Sent here." The watchman thrust out a lip, looking thoughtful. "He was assigned to be a reeve's guard, then?"
"Yes, sir, but his reeve sent him to organize the Watch for the magistrate of this village."
"A common thing, when a magistrate is new to his office and has just begun his first assignment," the watchman said, nodding. "Indeed, the officer who commands us is just such a reeve's man, for our new magistrate is very young, and newly sent to begin his career." He couldn't help a hint of condescension coming into his voice.
Bess couldn't keep a thrill from her heart. She knew very well that the magistrate here was brand-new, and very young, as such officials went, only in his mid-twenties. In fact, that was why Miles had sent her.
"What was your great-uncle's name?" the watchman asked. Bess was well prepared for that question-indeed, well prepared for any question having to do with her fictitious family. "Raymond, sir. Of Milorga."
The watchman shook his head, frowning. "I don't know the name, and I've lived here all my life. We can ask, but I doubt that anyone will recognize it. I think you'd better come to the courthouse, young woman, and see if young Magistrate Kerren will consent to look in his record book for you."
"Thank you, sir," Bess said, and sighed. "I didn't really expect to find his family here. I am hoping for some hint of their whereabouts, though."
"It is likely to be a long search, through many villages," the watchman said with sympathy. "Come, maiden. Let me take you to our magistrate."
Bess went willingly-very willingly indeed. She didn't have to marry the young magistrate, of course-Miles had made it clear that he wouldn't ask that of any woman. But if he wasn't too repugnant, and if she could bring herself to marry without love, she could do a great deal of good for the cause. He had been quick to remind her that, since she came to it by assignment, it didn't need to last any longer than any magistrate's marriage-and between the Guardian and the knowledge Dirk had taught them all, she knew quite well how to keep from becoming pregnant.
Unless she wanted to, of course.
Bess was more than willing. What else did life hold for her, now that the Wizard had waked her from her lovely dream? For a moment, she felt a lash of savage anger at him, for tearing away her sweet insanity-but she let it pass, knowing that holding to her anger, treasuring it, would only undo her. She was restored to real life and had to make the best of itand she wouldn't be the first woman to marry for reasons other than love. She was no virgin-the affairs and love-games of the deluded court had been real enough in that respect, and she had joined in with a will.
Still, the thought of marriage was exciting, though also frightening. Besides, the magistrate was young. She intended to be his first wife, and if the revolution succeeded, perhaps his only wife.
If he was desirable.
Spring had come around again. The trees around the Greenthorpe courthouse were heavy with blossoms, and the people of the village wore their brightest clothing as they filed in through the open gates, to take up their places all around the doorway. Musicians played-viol, gamba, and lute, with a flute, a hautboy, and a bassoon giving the music richer accents with their wooden instruments.
The bailiff and the most prominent merchants stood to the left of the courthouse door, richly clad. At the right stood the masters of the trade guilds, more soberly dressed, but with their chains of office making them every bit as grand as the merchants.
The orchestra paused, then played more loudly, a solemn march, as Orgoru came out of the courthouse door in his most formal velvet robes, his own chain of office dimming all others by its luster. The crowd murmured in anticipation as the march picked up tempo, remaining stately but with a more joyous tune. The people in the gateway parted, and six village girls came walking down the path dressed in light pastel gowns with flower wreaths in their hair. After them came Gilda, clothed in white, a crown of flowers holding the veil that covered her face.
The bridesmaids parted, stepping to either side. Gilda paced between them, and if there were a few glares of jealousy and, here and there, a muttered remark that would have been more fitting for a cat than for a village matr
on, surely they may be excused. After all, every woman between the ages of fifteen and fifty had secretly been hoping to wed the new magistrate, and for an outsider to walk off with the prize was certainly reason for bitterness.
Orgoru stepped forward, hand outstretched, and Gilda stepped up to the broad threshold beside him.
The music ended with a bright flourish, and the bailiff stepped forward, cleared his throat, and thumped his staff for silence. "Friends and neighbors! Hark and hear! It is the office of the magistrate to perform weddings, but when the magistrate himself is being married, his bailiff has the honor of conducting the ceremony-and so I do!"
He turned to face Orgoru and Gilda, beginning the long sequence of questions that made it as sure as anything could that the two people before him knew what they were getting into, and were braced for the worst as well as expecting the best. Nothing could really guarantee a happy marriage, of course, and there was nothing to stop a couple of youngsters from simply memorizing the questions and the answers without stopping to think what they meant-but the challenges the bailiff read off would at least give all but the worst hotheads time for second thoughts.
In the case of marriages the magistrate himself ordered, of course, the ceremony was much shorter.
Finally the questions were done; finally the bailiff called out, "I now pronounce you man and wife!" and Orgoru lifted Gilda's veil to kiss her. The crowd cheered, and if among them was a vagabond with his lute slung across his back and his pouch at his side, why, the more shouts that praised the happy couple, the luckier their union would be.
The orchestra broke into a triumphant wedding march as their magistrate and his new wife turned to wave at the crowd, then led the way down the path toward the gates, and the tables that had been set up outside, filled with food, and the kegs of wine and beer that stood beside them. They shook hands with each of their guests, which included the whole village and most of the surrounding farm families.
As the vagabond came through, one or two of the villagers may have noticed the bride giving the vagabond a quick peck on the cheek, and the magistrate leaning forward to whisper in the vagabond's ear as he shook his hand. "Thank you for coming, Miles! It's so good to see you here!"
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