Back From Chaos

by Yvonne Hertzberger

  Marja would know where this was leading, of course, but Brensa would have to swallow her embarrassment. At least this was one piece of the puzzle she could solve. With that decision made, she fell into an exhausted sleep. She did not wake until Marja knocked on her door, and the sun shining through the window slit told her morning had already passed the halfway point.

  Marja’s voice came through the door, full of concern. “Brensa? Are you all right? Please open the door and let me see you.”

  Brensa jumped up, chagrined that she had slept so late, grabbed a robe and flew to the door. “One moment, my lady, forgive me.” She did not even have time to think about the scene that would greet Marja when she entered, the wet pillow, her dishevelled hair, puffy eyes and her face still mottled from last night’s tears. What must Marja think of her, to have given her yesterday away from her duties, and now still be kept waiting for Brensa to attend her?

  “Oh, Brensa, whatever is wrong? What happened?” Indignation crept into Marja’s voice. “What did Klast say to you?” She put her arm around Brensa’s narrow shoulders, led her to the bed, and sat beside her. “Tell me what happened.”

  Brensa hurried to defend Klast. “Oh no, my lady, Klast has not said anything to upset me.” She briefly told Marja what Klast had offered her, leaving out the part about brother and sister, since she had already decided against that option.

  “But, my lady, I do not know what to do!” And she blurted out her fears about her ability to consummate their eventual joining. Marja listened with such sympathy, it gave Brensa the courage to ask if she might have the midwife examine her. Marja agreed it was a good idea.

  Since the midwife was expected momentarily, Brensa agreed to get dressed. Marja assured her she would bring Lotha to her once her own examination had been completed. Brensa nodded, feeling apprehensive. It was all happening so quickly. But it had to be done, so she dressed, brushed and braided her hair, straightened her chamber and tried to drink some of the tea Marja sent. She found she could not swallow any of the bread and honey.

  The wait seemed endless. Waves of nausea assailed her as she contemplated the woman’s hands and eyes on her … on those parts she had allowed no one to see, other than the two baths Marja had given her when she had been too weak to protest. Not since Klast had tended her after … but she was determined to go through with it. Only if she knew that her womb had healed could she even think of sharing Klast’s bed. And if she could not do that … well … then she could not dwell with him.

  Questions ran in circles. Would Lotha be disgusted by her, by what had happened? Would she blame Brensa? Would she be gentle or rough? Would she understand Brensa’s fear? No tears flowed any more. Terror prevented even that release.

  ~78~

  WHAT NOW?

  Klast wrestled with his own demons. After he had returned Brensa to the main castle, he went back to the private courtyard to think, knowing no one would look for him there, not even Gaelen. He desperately needed to be alone. Once there, he again spread the blanket he had hidden and made himself sit.

  The kiss Brensa had required of him had sent him reeling. How had she done it? She had already breached walls he had built so carefully in order to survive. Now the rest came tumbling down. The strongest men had not been able to penetrate them with their cleverest or cruellest strategies. But this mere slip of a girl had completely unarmed him with the request for a single kiss.

  He knew that he could no longer be merely her brother. He wanted to be her lover. And somehow, he understood that this was exactly what she had meant to discover. A thousand words could not change what she had learned from him. And, he realized, this was probably what Liethis meant should happen. Though he had to admit that he hoped it was so only because it was what he himself wanted. Liethis had made it plain that she had not really known what Earth’s sending meant. Klast ran his hands roughly through his hair in a vain attempt to clear his mind. He might as well have stood on his head for all the good it did.

  Now that he had admitted to himself what he wanted, he felt helpless. What if Brensa did not share his wish, or was afraid to pursue it? He had offered her the choice. She had the right to ask it of him. He had given his word, so could not back down now. If he did, it would surely break the fragile trust they had built. And that could, most certainly, not have been what Liethis meant should happen. So he must keep his word, if Brensa asked it of him. And he would. But how? She would know eventually if she did not already … she did know already! Oh Earth! What could he do?

  He took some deep breaths, as he had taught himself to do many years ago and somehow only now remembered. It stilled him enough to reach one conclusion. He must woo her. He must help her overcome her fear sufficiently, that she would allow him to lie with her. Or tell her she must stay at court, just be friends. No! That could not be what Earth destined for them. He ran his hands through his hair again.

  So he must woo her. How? He had never lain with a woman, let alone tried to get one to return his desire. He had heard tales, it was true, of what happened in the bedchamber. He knew what to do, physically at least. But this was different. The tales of conquests and lovemaking he had heard had come either from bragging soldiers or from ladies of pleasure trying to lure him. Such bawdy behaviour would terrify Brensa. Impossible! So what could he do? He knew it would require patience, and he had plenty of that. But every time he pictured himself above Brensa, his desire plain before her sight, all he could see was her screaming in terror and fighting to get away from him. What would it take to convince her he would not hurt her?

  The answer, when it came to him, was filled with such irony that he laughed in spite of himself. Who better to teach him how to please a woman than one of the ladies of pleasure, the very sort of woman he had avoided all his life. He had chosen to remain celibate, believing that too many secrets were given up in the bedchamber. Too often, women came, or were sent, to men for just that purpose.

  Klast had met many ladies of pleasure in his travels. Some had filled him with pity or disgust. These were not the kind who could help him now. He eliminated them immediately. No, the woman who could tell him what he needed to know had to have both discretion and refinement.

  Not all women who lived by their bodies were loose, stupid or down on their luck. There were a few who chose the profession because they liked men, who could afford to be selective about their clients and had the connections, wealth and freedom to show for it. Joining would have made them servants of their husbands, a state which they found unacceptable. These independents chose freedom over the security of a loveless joining. They could not be found in brothels but lived alone, or in twos, at select, high-class inns. The owners of the inns afforded them protection in return for keeping certain clients satisfied. The women paid for their own rooms. The food and drink with which they entertained were, for the most part, purchased at the inn. The payments they received for their services were their own, and they were free to leave if they wished. The arrangements suited both innkeeper and lady.

  In one such establishment, the Lucky Stallion, Klast had become acquainted with a woman who worked her profession there. Klast knew Simna liked him. She had tried more than once to lure him into her bed. She had even once offered herself at no charge, but Klast had never taken her up on her invitations. He had made it plain that he was not interested. He had explained to her, once he came to understand that she would be discreet, why he eschewed the company of women, at least in the bedchamber.

  Since the food at the inn was to his liking, and his business had taken him there on several occasions over the years, a sort of friendship, or understanding, had developed between the two. The last years, whenever Klast had come for supper or on other business, Simna had shared a meal and conversation with him in the main room. She had proven her discretion, and Klast had grown to trust her. It was of Simna that Klast now thought in his search for tutelage.

  His decision made, Klast replaced the worn blanket in its
hole and left in search of his bed. On his way to his rooms, he stopped by a doorway, and making sure no one spotted him, removed a stone and felt behind it. There he retrieved a small leather sac filled with cooking herbs. When he found the bundle, he gave a grim smile of satisfaction. At last, he had a breakthrough. Perhaps now he could find the proof he needed to convict Sinnath. Duty came first. Sleep and Simna would have to wait.

  ~79~

  EVIDENCE

  Klast put off his sleep, donned his Bethin disguise and proceeded to the inn to speak with Haslin. Dawn just showed its first glow of red behind the buildings, hinting at rain to come, when Klast entered the inn and sat at his usual corner table.

  He ordered the not-so-usual breakfast of porridge with a fried egg on top and brewed chicory, a bitter drink made from the roasted, dried roots of that plant. Klast liked its bitterness sometimes, when he needed to sharpen his mind.

  Norlain protested that the porridge was not quite ready, so Klast advised her he would wait for it. The odd breakfast request was a code Haslin would recognize. Norlain would merely think it strange.

  Shortly after Norlain disappeared into the kitchen, Haslin came out to Klast to apologize for not having porridge ready. Klast knew Haslin had told Norlain to stay behind in the kitchen so they would not be disturbed. Haslin had the mug of hot brew with him as he approached Klast’s table.

  “What do you have for me?” Klast demanded.

  Haslin shifted from one foot to the other. “A man received a message, sir, delivered by my son. Paid him well, too.” He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. “Top room at the right.”

  “And the address he got it from?”

  Haslin licked his lips, now clearly nervous. “Second house on the left, past the bakery, the one three streets over in the good part of city.” He looked ready to run. “Sir, my wife will become suspicious.”

  “Go. I will send your payment when I see the message and verify the address. Do not allow your guest to leave. I suspect he will sleep late, so that should not cause difficulty.”

  Haslin heaved a sigh of relief and hurried back to the kitchen. Norlain soon reappeared, scowling. She stalked out with his bowl and plunked it front of him without a word. Her attitude had not changed. So, thought Klast, Haslin is keeping his word. She does not suspect.

  Klast ate hurriedly, left coin for his breakfast and went in search of guards. They frequented another inn a street away, which had friendlier young maids. Removing his old tunic along with his sly demeanour to reveal his true identity, he strode hurriedly over to find them. His memory served him well. A half dozen soldiers shared porridge, ale and flirtations at a table in the centre of the main room. Two recognized him immediately and hailed him to join them. Klast knew they did not like him particularly, but it was politic to be friendly with the lord’s man. No matter. As long as they did their duty.

  Klast went directly to one of the guards who had hailed him. He gave him and a second man he did not recognize orders to arrest the guest at Haslin’s inn and place him in the dungeon away from others. They were not to question him or give him a reason for his arrest. He ordered the other guard who had recognized him to accompany the first two and to stand guard outside the man’s room to make sure no one went in or out until Klast returned to inspect it. He took the remaining three with him and headed for the address Haslin had given him.

  Klast knew the house well. Sinnath had kept his mistress here until she died of the fever. Sinnath’s wife had refused to take in his son by the woman. Now the boy was looked after at the house by another woman, who had lost her husband. This woman also had a child, a year younger than Sinnath’s son. Klast suspected the new woman offered Sinnath more than housekeeping and childcare. The arrangement no doubt suited them both. No matter. That was not what he was after.

  Sinnath had already left when they arrived. Undeterred, Klast posted one man at each of the two doors and set the last one to hold the woman and children in the kitchen. The woman was plainly frightened and perplexed. She shrank back from the door, pushing the two curious boys behind her skirts. Klast surmised she knew nothing of what Sinnath had been up to and did not bother to question her. He only asked if Sinnath had received a message from a young lad the evening before and where Sinnath usually wrote his correspondence and received visitors. His started his search there.

  The chamber where Sinnath conducted his business held a table where he kept his correspondence. It bore the traits of a man organized to the point of compulsion. The room was clearly out of bounds to the children. Everything had a place and kept its place. Klast went straight to the ornately carved writing table in the centre. It had a foreign design. Eastern, Klast decided, perhaps from the demesne of Karlin, rare except in the homes of certain aristocrats. He found no letters on top and pulled out each of the three drawers. Here, too, he found nothing of interest until he turned the smallest one upside down. There, affixed to the bottom with bee’s wax, sat a flat sac of stiffened folded linen. Inside, he found three pieces of scraped leather with writing on them, in two different hands. Each showed that the wax from the broken seals had been removed, leaving only the stain of their colour, so that the identity of the sender could not be traced. Klast’s reading skills were only rudimentary but he recognized Lord Gaelen’s name and the words woman, dead and poison in the one with the odd hand and red wax. He knew the orange colour of the stain on the other two to be that used by aristocrats in Catania.

  Klast carefully peeled off the sac, placed it and its contents in his belt pouch and searched the rest of the room, finding nothing more. He hoped it was enough. He gave the rest of the house a cursory search and concluded there was nothing more of interest to be found. Then he left the three puzzled guards with orders that the woman and children were not to leave the house, and no one was to be allowed to speak with them or enter the building.

  Klast needed to find Sinnath before the traitor found out what had happened. And he needed to search Haslin’s guest’s room as soon as possible. He hoped the guards he had left could be trusted. He felt confident about the two who had recognized him at the inn, but knew nothing of the others and had no time to find out more.

  As he left the house, Klast considered the best way to arrest Sinnath without creating a public spectacle. Such attention could alert Sinnath’s supporters and cause speculation among the rest. Both must be avoided.

  .

  ~80~

  HASLIN’S REVENGE

  When the three guards burst into the inn, Norlain froze, and her face went ashen. Then, as many fearful persons do when they think themselves found out, she went on the offensive.

  “Stop! What is the meaning of this?” she shouted, striding after them as they approached the room Klast had indicated. “I will not have my good guests disturbed!”

  She might as well have ordered the sky to fall.

  While one guard stood aside, the first two burst through the door and hauled the groggy trader out of bed and onto his feet. Ornan had slept with his clothes on. Norlain gawked through the open door as they relieved him of his only dagger and checked his boots, where they found another blade.

  Ament, the first guard, commanded, “Put on your boots. You are coming with us.” He also sliced a pouch from his captive’s waist and threw it on the bed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ornan sputtered in indignation. “I am a peaceful trader. You must have the wrong man.”

  “No questions. You will find out later,” Ament growled, nodding to the second soldier to tie the prisoner’s wrists and hobble his ankles, while he held him. Without another word, amid ongoing protestations, the two each took an arm and marched him down the stairs, out the door, and down the street to a cell in the dungeons.

  All Norlain could do was wring her hands and watch.

  The third guard, Gresh, closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, alert, sword ready.

  Norlain fled into the kitchen, where Haslin had r
emained the entire time. She found him calmly preparing stew for the evening meal. She shrilled at him. “Haslin, what is happening? Do something!”

  He merely shrugged, looked at her, and said, “But my dear, I already have. Surely you can see that?” and went back to his carrots.

  This only agitated Norlain further. “I see nothing of the sort.” Her voice rose to a shriek. “We are undone! We shall go to prison!” Then she stopped and looked at him, suspicion dawning as he continued calmly chopping carrots. “What have you done?”

  “Assured our survival and the goodwill of our lord. What else would you have had me do?”

  He turned and gave her a sardonic smile. “I suggest, my dear, that you be quiet before you give yourself away. I have been granted safety for us both, but only if you do not implicate yourself. Then I cannot protect you. Your own mouth will send you to prison.” He hesitated a long moment and added, “Or shall I tell the guards what you have been up to?”

  Norlain paled again and took a step back from him. “No. You would not,” she whispered fiercely. After a pause she eyed him carefully and asked, “Would you?”

  “No,” he answered mildly as he scooped the carrots into the pot, “not unless I need to.” Then he smiled at her knowingly again. “I will not need to, will I? Now, do you have no work to do?”

  Norlain knew she was beaten. She said nothing. Her shoulders sagged as she retreated back to the main room.