“Larry! No!” Gwen shouted. “No!” She dashed across the room and into Warner’s line of fire.
He’d almost squeezed off the round! He jerked the piece upwards to point at the ceiling, and from pure rage and frustration he fired. The shot sounded very loud in the enclosed room.
“Larry!” Gwen screamed again. Then she saw where the pistol was pointed.
“Move!” Warner commanded. “No son of a bitch comes bustin’ in on me! I’ll blow the bastard away—” He stopped shouting as he realized who the intruder was. “Caradoc?”
The archer captain had been in command of the search party that found Warner. He’d stayed behind to see that the balloon was safely loaded on the pack animals. And, Warner realized, he’d not only finished that task in record time, he must have ridden like hell to get here. Why? To see Gwen. And maybe he was jealous of Warner, too.
Now he stood there defiantly. “If you have honor, you will allow me a weapon,” Caradoc said. “You may have your star weapons, and I my bow . . .”
Warner laughed. “You talk about honor, Boy Scout. Not me. I fight for pay. And you’re dead.”
“Larry, you can’t.” Gwen wasn’t shouting any longer.
“Why not?”
“Captain Galloway will have you shot, that’s why.”
“I need no woman to argue for my life!” Caradoc shouted.
“You need something you haven’t got,” Warner said. “You also need to explain how you got in here.”
“Miss Tremaine!” The shout came from the hall.
“Jesus, that’s Elliot,” Warner said. He raised his voice. “In here, Sergeant Major.”
Elliot came in. His .45 was cocked and ready. He looked at Warner, then at Caradoc. “Okay, Professor, what’s happening?”
“Nothing,” Gwen said. “It’s nothing at all. Please leave.”
“Not friggin’ likely.”
“It’s okay, Sarge,” Warner said. “We were showin’ Captain Caradoc a couple of moves, and maybe it got out of hand. I let a round go into the ceiling.”
Elliot looked suspiciously at them. “Sure that’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s all right,” Gwen said.
“Okay, if you say so.” He snapped on the safety and holstered his pistol. “If you say so.”
Warner waited until Elliot was gone before he spoke again. “I’m still waiting to know how you got in here, Captain,” he said finally. “Past the guards. My guards. They weren’t supposed to let anyone in here, not anyone at all. But I guess I know, don’t I? You had them betray their trust. You being their commander and all, you could do that. So now you just tell me why I shouldn’t have them and you both up on charges?”
For the first time Caradoc looked worried. “There is no reason,” he said finally. “You are correct. But the men are not at fault.”
“Larry—”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Larry, don’t do that. He—had a right to think he could come here.”
“I see.”
“I have said it already,” Caradoc said. “I will not listen more to—”
He’s going to try it, Warner thought. He’ll come for me. He’s one of those, one of the berserker types and he’ll dive for the gun. When he does, it’ll be chancy. A .380 just isn’t that much slug. No fancy shooting, just empty the damn piece into him and take my chances after that. Should work.
But damn all, I don’t really want to kill him—
Abruptly Warner put the pistol in his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Caradoc demanded. “Have you discovered honor, or—”
“Main thing is, I’m unarmed,” Warner said. “And you, my friend, aren’t going to try unarmed combat with me. You’ve seen me practicing.”
Caradoc fingered his sword. “Get a weapon. Any weapon,” he said. “It may be said that Caradoc son of Cadaric is a fool. It will never be said that he slew an unarmed man.”
“Nobody’s going to be slain,” Warner said. “Gwen, would you please leave us?” He changed to English. “I got some talking to do with Muscles here.”
“You’re sure it’s all right?”
“Yeah, no problems now.”
“I want promises from both of you. That you won’t fight,” she said. She looked thoroughly miserable.
“Sure,” Warner said.
“I swear I will not draw weapons against this man except on a field of honor with all due ceremony,” Caradoc said.
“Good enough for me,” Warner said. He eyed Caradoc thoughtfully. I didn’t promise I wouldn’t draw weapons if he gets physical. “Gwen?”
“Oh, all right.” She paused in the door. “I—I’m really sorry.”
“Have a seat,” Warner said. He indicated the table. “There’s wine and glasses. Have some.”
“You make free with the lady’s table. As if—as if it is your table.”
“No,” Warner said. “That is not the way of it. But understand that the Lady Gwen and I are from the same lands. I have known her for many years. I know she would wish us to make ourselves comfortable.”
Caradoc went to the table and sat. He waited until Warner had poured for both of them, then drained his glass in one gulp. “It is not finished,” he said finally.
“Maybe it is,” Warner said.
“You have sometimes acted as a friend,” Caradoc said. He stared moodily into his empty wine glass. “And I think I have been a fool.”
“We all are, sometimes,” Warner said.
Caradoc took in a deep breath. “Lord Warner,” he said formally. “What is the Lady Gwen to you?”
“Why is that your business?”
“Perhaps it is not. And yet—If she has been more than a friend, without you promising a lawful marriage, I will have your blood. No, hear me out,” he said, raising a hand as Warner opened his mouth to reply.
“I know that if I kill you, the Lord Eqeta Rick will have my head. You are worth ten of me, in his plans for facing The Time. Perhaps he is even right to value you so highly.
“I do know this, however. No lord can ask me to stand by like a capon, while you play the cock with Gwen. I love her. If she does not love me, then let her say so and she can be free to bed any man she wishes. Until she speaks her mind, beware of my sword.”
Warner nodded. Nobly said, he thought. Corny, but noble. Larry me lad, you didn’t think it through. Old Musclebound here isn’t just a rival for a quick roll in the hay. He wants to marry the girl.
Come to that, you were thinking about it too—
That was when she was right here, and we were about to go in there.
He means it all. He’ll challenge me if he thinks I’ve wronged her. And what the hell, I might not win. He’s good with a sword, and better with that bow. Warner shuddered at the thought of a belly wound. And suppose I win? Captain Galloway would have my hide. And Caradoc’s got relatives and they’ll all want my blood. He’s sure as hell got more relatives than I have rounds. Sooner or later one of them will get me. Unless Captain Rick buys off Caradoc’s family. He might do that, and then lock me in some castle tower and let me have a girl once in a while if I’m a good little wizard . . .
What was it Samuel Johnson said about sex? “The expense is damnable, the position is ridiculous, and the pleasure is fleeting.” Yep. Just now I can sympathize.
“You’ve no horns from me,” Warner said. “My word on it.”
The look of relief on Caradoc’s face made Warner glad he’d said it. Hell, Gwen was all right, but there were other girls, and Jesus, the archer seems like he’s really in love with her.
Warner poured more wine for both of them. “Caradoc, I like Gwen. I like her a lot. She’s smart and pretty and I can talk about a lot of things with her I can’t talk about with anyone else. I don’t love her. She doesn’t love me. If there is anyone she loves besides her dead husband, it’s you.” He hoped that wasn’t laying it on too thick.
“Nothing has happened between us that yo
u need to worry about. Nothing will, either. If you get her to marry you, I’ll dance at the wedding and take your kids up in my balloon.”
Caradoc’s face twisted. He was trying to talk, but nothing happened.
“You mean that—” Caradoc said finally.
“Sure do.”
“But—” Caradoc sighed. “And yet it is too late.”
“Why in the name of Yatar’s pissoir is it too late?”
“I have betrayed my trust—”
“Not by me,” Warner said. “If anybody has you on charges for that, it’ll be the lady.” He laughed. “Go to her, you Yatar-damned idiot!”
* * *
Gwen sat in the chair by her bed, her face buried in her hands. She felt frightened, ashamed, and guilty all at once, and she wasn’t sure which was the worst.
She’d done wrong by her own standards, never mind those of Tran. She’d as good as played the tease with Larry Warner, and that was something she always tried not to do. Usually she succeeded too, particularly when she liked the man as much as she did Larry. She’d hurt Caradoc even worse, and more stupidly. She’d never played off one man against another. Nobody deserved that, not even some of the real turkeys she’d met the summer she worked as a secretary. Certainly Caradoc didn’t.
So much for her own standards. She’d done an even worse job by the standards of Tran, and right now they were what really counted. A woman was a wife, daughter, or mother of some man on this planet. She could also be a widow for a while, but her time for that was running out. Even if it wasn’t, being a widow didn’t give her the right to play around after a respectable man had made an offer of honorable marriage. Noblewomen here had more rights than she’d expected, but this wasn’t one of them.
If she went on this way, she would soon be considered to have lost her rank. She would no longer have a chance for an honorable marriage. Instead, she’d be getting one proposition after another, none of them honorable. If she accepted, she’d be hardly better than a common prostitute. If she refused, she’d need Rick’s protection from the angry man, and Tylara might not let him give it.
I could retreat. Be something like an abbess of the University.
The thought almost made her laugh. She wasn’t likely to take any vows of celibacy, or even pretend to have. And without that, the University might be wrecked and her own life would certainly be miserable.
So would Caradoc, the man who loved her.
Well, ducks, said the voice in her mind. It’s like this. You can’t be your own woman here.
Tell me something I don’t know.
All right, but if you can’t be your own woman, what about being the woman of the best man around?
Can I get him?
There was a knock on her door.
Maybe you’ve got him, she thought. She knew what she’d say if that were him—
Caradoc came in, kicked the door shut, and promptly knelt. Everything she’d planned to say went right out of her mind. For a man to kneel to a woman was to place himself totally at her mercy. He would listen to any insult from her, carry out any command, abandon kin or honor or life itself at her word. He was giving her absolute power over him, trusting that she would not abuse it.
He started to talk when she wound her fingers into his hair. She didn’t remember most of what he said, because she was trying too hard not to cry. All she remembered was a phrase about “my kin are beginning to wonder where my wits have gone.”
“Caradoc,” she said, and repeated it until he looked up.
“Yes, my lady.”
“No lady. Just Gwen.” She took a deep breath. “Caradoc, you know they never found my husband’s body, after the battle where he was killed.”
“Yes.”
“That is why I have not felt free to take another husband. I have not been sure that he was dead.”
“But—more than a year?”
“Caradoc, he was—so full of life. Like you. If you died but no one found your body, how long would your kin go on wondering about you?”
He smiled for the first time. “Quite a while, I think. Particularly my aunt, who is sure I am doomed for hanging.”
“It is the same for my husband. I have not until now been ready to think of another man.”
The smile faded. “But—now?”
“I am ready.”
Then she did cry. Fortunately Caradoc was there, with his arms around her and a shoulder for her to cry on, even if it was clothed in muddy sweat-fouled wool. Being in his arms felt so comfortable that before long she knew that if he led her to the bed she would go happily.
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I shall not ask for my betrothal rights tonight, or until I return from the war.”
“But—you might not return.”
“All the more reason for us to sleep apart until we know my fate. You are the mother of one child who will never see his father. Do you want to be the mother of a second?”
He was right, of course. But—“The priests of Yatar are said to know—”
“I will let no priest tell me when I may bed my wife!” He kissed her. “It will be enough to ride against Flaminius as your betrothed husband. My kin will swear to guard you if I do not return, or I will know why!”
Ah. This alliance made sense, more than any other. There was no man on Tran to whom Tylara owed more. While Gwen was unmarried Tylara could object to Rick working at the University; but Tylara do Tamaerthon wouldn’t risk offending the man who’d rescued her from Sarakos.
Even if Caradoc were killed—no. I won’t think of that.
And Les? Your baby’s father?
But Les was a long way off, and Caradoc was here; and Gwen had been lonely a long time. Too long. She drew in a deep breath. “Very well. I accept it as you wish.”
“Good. Now you can help me take a bath. Either that, or put me in the cellar so that my stink will kill the rats!”
11
Dughuilas dropped a handful of coins on the table without counting them, drew his cloak over his shoulders, and stepped out into the second-floor hallway. He did not look back. The girl was hardly worth it, and certainly not worth more than a fraction of the price the mistress of the house asked.
There must be something to be said for her, of course. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been whoring long enough to have a maid of her own. The maid was a little blonde who would have been lovely but for her broken nose. Probably a war orphan, and Dughuilas suspected she’d have been more interesting than her mistress. However, old Echenia wouldn’t let such things go on in her house, and that was an end to it.
Dughuilas tasted sour bile. The war would begin in less than a ten-day, and it was wrong. Far wiser to let the Romans tear each other like hungry stoats in a cage. Why couldn’t Drumold understand that? Fascinated by the warlock son-in-law, the upstart.
And I must follow him! A coward, who has never proved himself in battle. Even in the Roman battle—yes, yes a great victory for the Lord Rick—even there he avoided combat. He raced for the pikemen rather than falling upon the Romans like a man!
Dughuilas shuddered at that memory. The Lord Rick shamed him before a whole army, firing his star weapon to startle Dughuilas and nearly bringing him off his horse. He’d felt fear—real fear—and of Rick, a man whose blood would turn to water if he ever got within sword’s reach of a proper battle. He ruled from Tylara’s bed, not from the saddle, and what sort of chief was that for a man to follow?
At least they’d had a scare at the University over the sky-machine! Whatever Corgarff might have said under torture, it shouldn’t be enough to allow a trial of Dughuilas before the other clan chiefs. At worst, he could demand right of trial by combat against his accuser, and since that would be Lord Rick or perhaps Drumold, neither of them his match—
Something struck Dughuilas hard in the side of the neck. It hurt like a rat bite, and when he put his hand up to the pain he felt blood trickling and the tip of a dart. Some child’s p
rank with a crossbow. Curse Madam Echenia, she couldn’t keep order in her own house! She’d get no more custom from him or his clansmen.
He took another downward step, but unaccountably his foot came down on empty air. He fell forward, swallowing a shout and throwing his arms out to break his fall. He didn’t want anyone to see his clumsiness.
Pain shot up his arms and he didn’t quite protect his head. He tasted blood where a broken tooth had gashed his tongue, but somehow it didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. In fact, nothing felt quite normal any more. His tongue seemed thick and swollen, filling his mouth. Now he tried to shout, but only a croak came out.
Poison.
Poison on the dart.
The High Rexja’s men, a plot to ruin Tamaerthon! He had to live, to warn Drumold before it was too late—or could it be—
He couldn’t finish the thought. He rolled over to draw his dagger, but fell heavily on his back, his arms unwilling to obey. Above him the light from the candle on the stair landing shone on blonde hair. Another shape bent over him, and hands fumbled at his purse and sword. Dimly, as if from the bottom of a well, he heard leather tear and thongs snap.
Then a small hand in a glove clamped down over his mouth. He tried to bite, got a mouthful of leather, felt his stomach heave. Something cold struck him in the eye and he floated away on the pain until it and everything else ended.
* * *
“The dagger in the eye went straight into Dughuilas’ brain,” said Tylara. “Instant death. His killers took his purse, sword, and boots. They must have been well away before anyone found the body.”
“Is it known who did it?” asked Rick, as his head popped out from the fur chamber robe. The messenger with the news of Dughuilas’ death had arrived as he and Tylara were getting ready for bed.
“The maid to one of the women of the house has disappeared,” said Tylara. “She may have been working with the killers, or she may have been slain as well. She was only a half-grown girl, so she could hardly have done the work herself.
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