Longingly, he thought of her during every waking moment and in his dreams: for she seemed to him everything that was lovely and feminine and sweet. It was impossible that he could love her this deeply and she could feel nothing for him; she must just be hiding her feelings, waiting for a time when they were alone.
The part of Bernarr that was an old man in a lonely bed no longer begged. It panted slightly, like a beaten dog lying in the dust, scarcely flinching as the whip fell.
Baron Hamil de Raise was a nobleman who exercised considerably more court influence than Bernarr, and had some real wealth as well: there were ancestral banners and weapons on the panelled walls of his chambers, but also instruments and books. It had been his scholarly interests that had caused him and Bernarr to gravitate to one another.
Their early meetings flickered through Bernarr’s mind without sound, glimpses of a glass of wine shared, a banquet where they sat nearby and exchanged pleasantries, then suddenly the dream became vivid, as if reliving a memory.
Hamil was leading Bernarr down a dark street in a seedier part of the city. The stench of garbage in the alley they passed before reaching their destination was vivid, as was the sound of bootheels grinding in the damp gravel and mud. Hamil said, ‘Hers is a very minor family, of no particular consequence, fine old name, originally a line of court barons from Bas-Tyra, but now reduced to the one lone estate in the south. Her father is an active embarrassment to the proud name. What remains of it. He’s been stripped of every hereditary title his forebears gained, and clings with near desperation to the rank of “Squire”, which the Crown permits as an act of courtesy. She is merely “Lady du Benton”. He’s a most intemperate gambler who has squandered considerable wealth over the years. With no male heir, the line dies with him and I’d wager the Crown forecloses on the estate.’
The gambling house was of a low sort and it was set into the basement of what was probably a brothel, with ancient smoke-marked beams barely a tall man’s height overhead once you had gone down the six worn stone steps. The two men kept their long cloaks close about them as they entered, but the very fabric of the dark cloth marked them out. Eyes shifted toward them; hard, feral eyes in scarred faces; bodies shifted, clad in rags or raggedy-gaudy finery. The guilty drew away in fear while the predatory moved closer.
Hamil smiled thinly and let the hilt of his sword show. The worn shagreen of the grip sent a stronger message than the inlay-work on the guard; the various toughs and bravos stepped away.
‘Not the sort of place to find a gentleman,’ Hamil murmured, echoing Bernarr’s thought.
‘And we haven’t,’ the younger man said, equally quietly.
Du Benton was unmistakable, leaning forward on a bench and ignoring the newcomers; he was thin and dirty and his clothing, once of good quality, was stained and torn. His pale eyes held a frantic light as they watched the play of the dice. As du Benton placed his bet he licked his thin lips with naked lust.
Bernarr turned his head away; this was more than he’d wanted to know about any man, least of all the father of the one he loved.
Yes, loved!
Hamil was right: the man was a disgrace. That a flower like Elaine had blossomed from such slime defied belief. I must save her, he thought, before her beast of a father defiles her. For he could see that a man like du Benton would drag her down with him in some foul way if she wasn’t freed of him. The desperation in the man’s face as he lost the wager told Bernarr that du Benton would gladly offer his daughter’s hand to any man with a pouch of gold. He must obtain leave to wed her. He must save her from her father offering her hand to some fat old merchant or wastrel son of an idle eastern noble. ‘Let’s go,’ he said to his friend. ‘I’ve seen enough.’
‘I hope you have,’ said Hamil, though from his tone it was apparent he knew Bernarr mistook his meaning. As they returned towards Hamil’s apartment near the palace, the older baron knew this lesson was lost on his young friend.
There were formalities to be observed. Bernarr quietly petitioned the Crown for permission to marry and after a contentious meeting with the court official who was responsible for recommendations to the Crown, permission was grudgingly given.
Having the King’s permission, if not blessing, armoured Bernarr and he set out to woo and win the lady of his dreams. He found that love was a glorious feeling: dizzying, intoxicating, delightful past all measure.
At first he hadn’t been sure that Elaine shared the feeling and he’d been in an agony of uncertainty, all the more painful because of his overwhelming love for her. Her declining of his invitations and her duties to the Queen made her seem unreachable. He began to find ways to be with her, even if it meant contriving invitations to social events where she was in attendance. But it was so difficult to get her attention. She was always surrounded by a butterfly cloud of her fashionable friends. There was one fellow in particular who usurped her time, a handsome but dissolute young fellow named Zakry, the third son of a minor court squire. He wore the latest court fashions and carried himself with a swagger born of arrogance, not battle-won confidence. His mouth was almost feminine as he pursed his lips in disapproval over some imagined flaw in Bernarr’s attire, and his smile was constantly mocking. It was obvious to Bernarr that his intentions toward Elaine were not honourable, but it was equally clear that she was infatuated with the boy. He would need to act soon or her generous nature and naïveté would lead her into disgrace. Bernarr was certain once Elaine was sure of his true love for her, her childish attraction to a dissolute boy like Zakry would be swept away.
Had his father been still alive he might never have dared to ask for her hand. The old baron would have demanded a more politically advantageous match for his son, and future grandsons. But Bernarr was free to act for his own happiness and so he did.
Soon he began ignoring social conventions and seeking ways to be with her. He would simply put himself at her side whenever possible, ignoring dark looks from Zakry and her other friends as he used his rank to force them aside.
Elaine was always gracious, but always correct. Her smiles were cordial and she laughed politely at his quips. After a while, he realized that she was shy and pure and didn’t know how to show him her deeper feelings. She was a true lady, despite her awful father. She hid behind a mask, for it was impossible for him to imagine she could not return his feelings. She must love him!
Being loved by a goddess like Elaine made him feel special and powerful, capable of accomplishing anything. Even winning her hand and heart, despite her modesty. Suddenly he had new insight into the romantic poets and the fixations of men who had gone to war for the love of a woman. After less than a month of seeing her briefly at the palace, he resolved to put an end to this matter and sought out her father.
Elaine’s father had agreed with shocking alacrity. A baron sought the hand of his daughter, and moreover, one unconcerned with his inability to provide even a token dowry. He had agreed to every one of Bernarr’s suggestions, including a modest annual allowance to provide for the squire’s apartment in Rillanon. Bernarr was not being generous; he wished the man as far from them as possible. Had he agreed, Bernarr would have found him an apartment in Roldem or the one of the eastern kingdoms. The squire promised Bernarr that his daughter would be in the royal maze the next day at one, to receive Bernarr’s proposal. The old man had been positively beside himself with joy as Bernarr left the seedy inn where he had negotiated the hand of the woman he loved.
Bernarr found her on one of the benches at the centre of the maze, looking pale and as nervous as a startled fawn. Instantly he went down on one knee and took one of her hands in his. Today his fingers were clean and the slight tan of his skin made a pleasing contrast to the delicate white of hers. ‘I have spoken to your father and he has consented to our marriage,’ he said, his heart virtually leaping into his throat as he watched her reaction.
‘You do not know me,’ she said, her voice soft and breathless. ‘How could you possibly love m
e?’
With a smile he kissed her fingers. ‘To see you is to love you,’ he assured her. ‘I know you better than you think. But, you do not know me, which is my fault.’ Bernarr bowed his head over her hand and stroked her fingers with his thumb, lost for a moment in the wonder of her touch. Then he looked up at her. ‘I do love you, my lady. I promise to be a good and gentle husband to you. I beg you to make me the happiest man alive by honouring me with your hand. My love will awaken your heart and you will come to know what I do, that I could not love you so deeply, so passionately, without your loving me in equal measure. We will be happy, I promise you.’
She was staring at him as if in wonder, then she closed her eyes and caught her breath, catching her lower lip in her teeth. After a moment she let out her breath in a gasp and lowered her head. ‘Of course I will marry you, my lord. I could never refuse such an honour.’
He reached out and lifted her chin, waiting until her eyes met his. ‘You would marry me of your own free will?’ he asked. ‘Because you love me?’
A single tear traced a path down her pale cheek. ‘Of course I do,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘Of course.’ Then she leapt to her feet and said, ‘Forgive me, my lord, I am overwhelmed and must collect myself.’ So saying, she fled, leaving him puzzled by the behaviour of women, but thrilled and delighted, his blood dancing with joy.
She loved him!
The next time he saw her, Elaine insisted that the ceremony be held as quickly as possible. Her boldness had taken his breath away and sent his heart’s blood rushing. For a moment it was hard for him to think and this time he took her in his arms in wonder and delight. When he lifted her head and looked down into her lovely face he thought he would melt with the heat of his passion. He realized at that moment, she would give herself to him without hesitation. Pushing aside his passion, he whispered, ‘I would not so dishonour you.’ Elaine blinked, looking up at him in astonishment. ‘But we will be married as soon as it can be arranged.’
The wedding was an intimate affair in the chapel of Ruthia – the Goddess of Luck – at the palace, witnessed by more of Bernarr’s friends than Elaine’s.
‘It is nothing,’ she said, making light of it. ‘It’s the way of things here. I have moved on and so have they.’
He thought that she was hurt by their desertion for all she dismissed their peculiar absence so carelessly. He tried to make it up to her by being extra attentive through their small but elegant wedding feast. Later, when they were alone, he presented her with his personal wedding gift, a magnificent emerald necklace. ‘To match your eyes,’ he told her.
Elaine was enchanted and stared into the mirror for a full minute without saying a word. She touched each stone, then looked up, and into his eyes in the mirror. Her lips parted and she pulled at the bow that held her nightgown closed. With a shrug the fine gown dropped to her feet and she turned, smiling, and went to him, naked save for the emeralds.
That night, that passionate, wonderful night, had been the happiest of his life.
In his sleep, the tormented old man cried, tears emerging from closed eyelids. No! he shouted in his mind, knowing that he had once again visited and left behind the single most joyous night he had known, and knowing what pain and suffering was to come.
The trip home had been as comfortable as he could make it, but Elaine was not a good traveller. His relief as they came into the harbour of Land’s End was enormous, for he had begun to fear for her health. She had been sick at almost every stage of their journey and he was resolved that she should see a chirurgeon as soon as possible.
As he stood beside her at the ship’s rail, his arm curled protectively around her slender shoulders, Bernarr could sense the disappointment that her smile hid. For the first time in his life he saw Land’s End in comparison with Rillanon, Salador, and Krondor, and it did not compare well. It was a small, work-a-day place, shabby, plain and ordinary.
‘You will make it beautiful just by being here. My people will love you,’ he promised.
Elaine smiled dazzlingly and embraced him and his heart lifted. She was wonderful, everything he had thought she would be and more. If only she were not so often ill.
He took her to his estate in the country, thinking the air would be more pure there. Elaine seemed bored and listless, but her colour was better and he thought she seemed stronger.
They had been home less than three weeks when a ship came to port carrying a number of Elaine’s friends. And they came carrying evil tidings. Her father had been murdered in a tavern brawl. To his horror, Elaine fainted dead away. Bernarr ordered the servants to carry her to her room and then turned his fury on her friends.
Zakry, the squire’s third son of whom Elaine was once so fond, seemed overcome with astonishment. His handsome features slowly turned from amazement to anger under the Baron’s blistering attack. ‘I would never try to hurt the Lady Elaine!’ he exploded. ‘She is very dear to me.’ For a moment Bernarr was certain the boy would draw his sword, and found himself anticipating the confrontation with pleasure. Then, Zakry seemed to come to himself and gestured behind him to where his friends stood. ‘To all of us. I apologize for being insensitive to your lady’s delicate nature. We should have anticipated what a shock the news would be.’
They all nodded and curtsyed and murmured their agreement.
Bernarr looked at them, his nostrils pinched with disapproval and his face white with rage. ‘Because my wife has such regard for you, and because you meant well by coming here I will, of course, extend to you the hospitality of my house. But I warn you, at the slightest hint that you are upsetting her, I will order you to leave.’ With that, Bernarr spun on his heel and followed the servants to his lady’s quarters, to sit by her bed until she woke.
Indeed, it seemed to Bernarr that Zakry’s estimation of Elaine’s feelings for her father was correct. For, although she should have been in deep mourning, after recovering from her faint, she showed no signs of distress: rather, she spent all of her time with her old friends, laughing and gossiping and even dancing and singing. Bernarr didn’t approve; it was unseemly. And yet, he could deny her nothing. Especially since he’d met her wretched father and could well understand her lack of concern. It must have been a horror being raised alone by such as he. Still, after several social galas Elaine organized and many forays into the city to shop, the local squires and rich merchants could barely hide their disapproval of her frivolous manner. He felt embarrassed. Yet he forgave her everything, accounting her actions to her youth and the influence of her callow friends.
He wanted to stay by her side every moment, but the duties he’d left behind had piled up over the months he’d been away and there was always work to be done. Often he was called away to the city, or away at nearby villages, conducting the business of the barony, and was gone for two or three days. The old castle overlooking the city was garrisoned, but it was otherwise empty, lacking even a pretence of occupation. Other than soldiers and his personal secretary and the city officials who visited, Bernarr was alone. On those occasions, he burned with jealousy and hated himself for it.
He knew her friends were leading her into unseemly behaviour. Elaine meant well, but she was so innocent that she truly saw no harm in their silly play that in this time of mourning bordered on the debauched. Not in Rillanon, perhaps, but certainly in Land’s End.
He must do something! At the very least he must do something about Zakry. He was the instigator, the one who led them all astray. Get rid of him and the problem was all but solved.
Yes, something must be done, and soon.
The old man’s pain did not lessen in his sleep, but the thin lips with their deep vertical grooves pulled back from yellow teeth. There was little strength left in his face, but for a moment an observer might have seen him as he had been in youth and anger, a cold pale rage the deadlier for coming from the mind as much as the heart.
But there was nobody to see; no one at all. Outside the door stood two members of t
he household guard. Hand-picked, they followed orders, and the orders were the same tonight as they had been every night since they had taken duty with the Baron: no matter what they heard or thought they heard from within the Baron’s chamber after he retired for the night, they were never to enter unless called for by name by the Baron. Both men on duty were used to cries and moans and curses. Both men ignored the piteous weeping they heard at that moment.
Images cascaded, one on top of the next, and Bernarr gripped the sheets as a drowning man would a lifeline.
He was hunting, and Elaine’s friends were with him. An arrow flew, killing a boar, and Bernarr turned in rage. The impudent whelp had robbed Bernarr of his kill!
Suddenly he was near the cliffs, the pounding surf on the rocks below, as he sat listening to Zakry shout, ‘Sir! You will listen to me!’
But Bernarr could hear nothing over the pounding of the waves on the rocks, and while Zakry’s lips moved, Bernarr could not make out the meaning of his words. Bernarr pulled up, waved his boar-spear in rage, and Zakry’s horse shied, and suddenly Bernarr sat alone on his horse.
A ride, and suddenly he was back in the castle, his guests dismounting as a chirurgeon hurried forward, glad tidings on his lips. He was to be a father!
Then he was at Elaine’s side, and she wept, her shoulders shaking and he couldn’t remember why. Was it the news of Zakry’s disappearance? Or tears of joy?
Then he saw carriages as her friends from Rillanon left, eager to depart by ship before the winter storms prevented them.
Now the old man lay still, the only motion the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the movement of his eyes behind the closed lids.
The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy Page 85