by Jan Vermeer
“Among the Volkaric, you would be but one of many women,” Elske explained patiently. “You might ask one of the men to accuse me before the Volkking, but the Volkking might easily give the same justice to both, give both to the wolves and thus be rid of our quarrels.”
Elske must sew, now, whenever she was in Beriel’s apartments, to return Beriel’s gowns to their original seams. This occupied her hands and so to save them both from tedium, also to practice her skill in Norther, Beriel read aloud from the animal tales. In the stories, the animals had speech, like men and women; like men and women they were vain, ungrateful and greedy. “This tale-teller mocks us,” Beriel cried, but she was amused, not angered. “He mocks us from the greatest to the least.”
When Elske was called to Var Vladislav in his library, Beriel used her to discover what the Trastaders knew about the Kingdom. As far as Elske could tell from the maps Var Vladislav collected and from the few questions he asked her, the Trastaders knew almost nothing of the Kingdom, only that Beriel claimed to be its Queen.
“As Queen, do you rule everyone in everything?” Elske asked Beriel one evening, her hands busy with needle and thread.
“I do, but also I do not,” Beriel answered. “I will share rule with the law, as the Priests read it. Also there are two Earls, each given lands that together make near two-thirds of the Kingdom. The Earls have power over their lands and people, but must bend the knee to the King and serve as his vassals, just as their own vassals bend the knee to them, and serve them. But there are also royal moieties, greater than what any Earl possesses. The people serve each their own Lord, who awards them their holdings, and each Lord serves his Overlord, until it comes to the Earls, who serve the King.”
“Among the Volkaric,” Elske said, “all men serve the Volkking, with no other to stand between them and him.”
“Among the Volkaric, then,” Beriel said, “if a man is not the Volkking, he has nothing more than any other man.”
Elske agreed and pointed out, “Thus each man’s loyalty is to the Volkking only.”
At the end of her enforced time in bed, Beriel had her plans begun. “There is only one moon of winter left to me here in Trastad, and I will use that time to my own advantage. I will have Var Jerrol to dine with me, as my guest. You will deliver my invitation, Elske, at the next Assembly. I will have him come to me two days after the next Assembly. I will not be gainsayed in this,” Beriel warned. But Elske thought only to obey—except she wondered if she would find such another, master or mistress, to serve, and she wished that Beriel had not made her know how little time remained in this Courting Winter.
The next Assembly came not four days after.
New-cut greens freshened the air of the hall with their sharp, bitter fragrances, as they did at every first-quarter moon. The table was set out with ale and cheeses and breads, as well as sweet apple cakes. For entertainment, a ropedancer performed on a thick hawser hung down from one of the open beams. Held by his strong arms, his legs stiff and straight, he swung up and down the rope, turning, twisting, poising to balance weight with strength in a solitary dance as measured and slow as a ship docking.
Beriel entered to the Assembly altered in no way that could be seen, but everything about her was changed. Now everyone attended her, Adeliers both men and women, both betrothed and free, and all of the servants and the overseeing Vars as well. None could keep their eyes from noting Beriel’s progress through the hall—even while each continued his own private talk and flirtations. All wished her to notice them and yet hoped also to avoid her glance. Adelinnes praised her dress and wit. Adels offered her plates of food, and their arms to escort her around the floor. These attentions Beriel received as if they were her due, and her custom.
“What illness did she have?” the servants asked Elske, who shook her head, to ask how such as she would know the name of a disease. “How is she to serve?” they asked, and did not dare hope to be answered. They pressed Elske with questions, but also now kept back a little distance from her, as if fearing to be in conversation with her. So that Var Jerrol could speak to her from behind without danger of being overheard.
“Has your mistress had a proposal, then?”
“No,” Elske answered. “She wishes to dine with you.”
“That likes me well. I’ll send to invite her,” he said, but Elske told him, “She asks you to be her guest, two days hence.”
“Ah,” Var Jerrol said. “So she has sent her servant to me. And what have you learned about this Kingdom of hers?”
“Of the royal house, something.”
“Royalty doesn’t concern me. And if I know the world, this girl—however bright she glows today—will not rule in her Kingdom. For haven’t they sent her here to marry her away into some distant land and bury her there? To make some lesser marriage than a Queen on her throne could command? She might do well,” Var Jerrol said into Elske’s ear, “to take one of these boys. If she cares for her own safety. Does she care for her own safety, do you think?”
Beriel stopped walking, and freed her arm, so that her escort could reach into his purse for a coin to put into the soft hat the ropedancer was now handing around. Beriel spoke a word to the dancer, who bowed from the waist to her, without asking her for coins; when she had turned to walk away from him, the ropedancer followed her with his eyes.
“When your Queen has gone into whatever fortune may prove to be hers,” Var Jerrol said to Elske, “have you thought how alone and helpless you will be?”
Now Beriel was surrounded by Adels, like a wolf in the midst of a pack of dogs, and she freed herself from their attentions with a single glance, like a wolf keeping a pack of dogs at bay.
When Elske did not answer him, Var Jerrol said, “Tell your mistress, I accept her invitation to dine. Var Vladislav’s cook has a fine hand with fish, I hear, and with the sweet pastry his master favors. Tell her, I anticipate luxurious hospitality.”
All of this Elske reported faithfully, when Beriel wanted to know how Var Jerrol had received the invitation. Hearing what his questions, and concerns, and opinions were, Beriel only smiled. “I wonder what future Var Jerrol has planned for you,” she said. “Once I’ve gone, I doubt you’ll escape his bed. Fetch me the cook, Elske. My time here runs out and my will scampers before it. I’ll have a menu, first, and then the housekeeper, and then I’ll be ready for your Var Jerrol.”
WHEN VAR JERROL ENTERED BERIEL’S private dining room, he looked around with pleasure. Against the dark wood of walls and floor, the table shone with the whiteness of its cloths, and gleamed with silver plates and utensils. Oil lights burned in sconces on all the walls, driving shadows from all but the lowest corners. The air was sweet with the odors of dried spices which Elske had tossed into the fire. Elske stood beside the chest, ready to pour red wine into the waiting goblets and serve the soup, which was being kept hot on top of the tile stove. Her mistress had not wanted to confide her purposes for Var Jerrol, so Elske watched this dinner unfold before her as if she were an Adelier watching an entertainment at the Assembly. Her own purpose at the dinner, she knew, was to enhance Beriel’s queenliness.
Beriel entered beside Var Jerrol, so tall that she came up to his chin. Her brown hair hung down loose, and they had made one of her golden chains into a coronet. She wore her grandmother’s medallion on her breast. Beriel noticed neither her maidservant’s readiness nor her guest’s pleasure; she merely indicated his place and allowed Elske to seat her across from him. Elske served the soup and placed a woven basket of little breads between them. She set down before each a goblet of wine so dark it seemed like a red ruby disk set in a silver ring.
“Do you always entertain in such luxury?” Var Jerrol asked and Beriel answered, “Always. But you aren’t unaccustomed to being richly entertained. For you must often dine by invitation with the Adeliers, although perhaps not often with an Adelinne, and alone.”
“Correct,” Var Jerrol acknowledged, then reminded her, “You were less circumspe
ct, when last you were our guest. I was led to expect something less . . . civilized.”
“I would never think anyone could lead you, Var Jerrol,” Beriel said, as amused as he was by their exchange. “And is it not fine weather we are enjoying?” she asked.
They discussed the spring melts, already begun, sending flat islands of ice floating out to sea. Var Jerrol explained how the fishermen in their little boats could avoid the dangers of ice, but said it would be a few sennights yet before the less agile merchant vessels would set out for the year’s trading. “And to return our Adeliers to their own homelands, their futures now happily settled, as we hope,” Var Jerrol said.
As the dinner progressed, soup and fowl, fish and roasted meat, plates of savories, Elske removed the empty plates from the table and exchanged them for trays from the kitchen.
“They might be enjoying spring already in your homeland,” Var Jerrol said, leading the topic of the weather into a new direction. “It lies far enough to the south, doesn’t it?”
“They might, but I have no way of knowing. And you will soon be opening your mines?” When Var Jerrol didn’t respond, “In the Kingdom,” Beriel told him, giving him something of what she knew he wanted, “spring is long and generous, a slow, sweet-smelling, soft-winded time upon the land.”
“In the Kingdom, you say? Do you know, I couldn’t find your Kingdom on any map?”
“And I could find my way there blindfolded.” She was playing a game with him, as if he were a child.
“It is no great thing to find your way blindfolded when you travel on a ship another man captains,” Var Jerrol pointed out humorously, playing his own game with her. “The ship must come to land, somewhere.”
“At a small city,” Beriel agreed.
“Celindon?” he guessed.
She didn’t gainsay him. “I was there under close guard, to protect me from contact with its inhabitants.”
“So you know nothing of it?”
“It is a city on a river.”
“It must be Celindon,” Var Jerrol decided. “You would have approached it from inland, traveling down that river.”
“We traveled downriver for many days,” Beriel agreed.
Elske didn’t know what Beriel would need her to have understood, when they discussed afterwards what information had been gained in the evening. But she had to be careful not to let her attention to their talk lead her to neglect her duties.
“You traveled from your home on horseback? Or by boat?”
“On horseback,” Beriel said. “The Kingdom is hidden away, as if we wished to be concealed from the rest of the world. Although merchants do find us, for the Spring and Autumn Fairs.”
“Never Trastaders.”
Beriel agreed. “It’s odd, isn’t it, that they knew to send me here for your Courting Winter?”
“To find yourself a husband,” Var Jerrol said.
“What would I want with a husband?” Beriel asked, signaling for Elske to offer around the platter of fish again.
“Only if you had need of an heir.”
They ate, and Elske served them, and they talked together, each maneuvering to gain much from the other, and to give little in exchange.
“If I wanted an heir, I would find myself one,” Beriel told Var Jerrol.
“There are some things which, however much you desire them, you cannot be certain they wish to be found.”
“Like the alchemist’s stone,” Beriel suggested, agreeably, “able to turn any material into gold, or like the storied black powder, or the fountain of eternal life.”
“Black powder turns stone walls into dust,” Var Jerrol said. “Turns living men into dead. Black powder is, I am afraid to say, easier to come by than any alchemist’s stone, or waters of miracle.”
“Who would desire such a weapon?” Beriel asked.
“Anyone who feared that his enemies might already possess it.”
“Yes.” Beriel was thoughtful. “I would give much to be able to protect my Kingdom from such weaponry. And then, a merchant might desire the weapon also, for the great profits to be made in selling it.”
“A man who knows its formulation would grow powerful,” Var Jerrol said, adding, “But that is a closely guarded secret.”
“Oh,” Beriel laughed now, as lightly as any Adelinne who had her Adel on his knees before her, “do you never think that there are too many secrets in the world?”
Elske offered Var Jerrol a platter of thick slices of roast meat, from which he served himself, with onions and carrots that had been roasted beneath it, catching up the juices as they dripped down.
“I am a great believer in secrets,” Var Jerrol told Beriel. “I draw them to me, as flowers draw bees, as beauty draws the hearts of men.”
“Are you here to draw my secrets from me?” Beriel asked, still teasing.
“Who would want to take anything from you, my Lady?” Var Jerrol returned the question. “Any true man would only hope to give you the choicest of his treasures, and if you were to reward him with a smile, he would count himself overpaid.”
Beriel returned the smiling compliment. “As if a Var were like any ordinary man.”
“Vars are but ordinary men,” Var Jerrol said. “Unusual in their wealth but wealth cannot buy all you desire. Our Vars have disappointments.”
“What could disappoint men of such substance?” Beriel wondered.
“You speak lightly. You think I speak lightly,” Var Jerrol said. “Or perhaps, you think I speak falsely. Let me give you a plain tale, which none but I know the whole of, with a happy enough ending for a Lady’s soft ears.” He drank from his wine, and went on. “There is a young merchant of the city who married well—so well that he will become a Var while still a young man. In fact, now I remember myself, it was just this young man who accompanied our Elske to Trastad, and it was just his new wife she saved from attack by ruffians.”
“I remember hearing something of such an incident,” Beriel observed, with a glance for her maidservant.
“This young couple had no child, to their great sorrow. For she was the only surviving child of her father’s house. She must have a child to inherit the wealth of the house, which otherwise must return to the Council of Trastad,” Var Jerrol explained, as if this loss of wealth were the point of his story.
“To be divided among them? I can’t think, then, that such a lack would be all grief to the Council,” Beriel said, as if she were only hearing another tale of Trastader greed.
“That question is now moot, for the young woman has a child.” Var Jerrol glanced carelessly at Beriel as he said this, and speared an onion on his fork, and ate it.
“A great happiness for her,” Beriel responded with equal carelessness.
He chewed, and nodded pleasure at her kind thought. “Yes. It is that. Were her friends and family, and the young husband also, not so gratified by this turn of events, they might wonder at so secret a pregnancy, so sudden a birth, but— All is gladness where before sorrow shadowed the house, and who would deny them their happiness? So you see, our Vars are indeed ordinary men.”
“Did I doubt you, that you needed to give me such proof?” Beriel inquired.
Elske poured more wine. She kept silent, but she saw the direction of this intricate conversational dance. She saw its direction, and unease gripped her heart. Meanwhile, she gave their plates to the kitchen maid and sent the girl back to fetch the cold fowl. Meanwhile, she set out clean silver plates, one before each diner.
“I am ready to believe whatever you might tell me, Var Jerrol,” Beriel continued.
“I tell you only the tale I heard,” Var Jerrol concluded.
“What happiness for the young husband, this child. But I am still curious. Is it a girl child, or a boy child?” Beriel asked offhandedly, as she lifted her goblet to her lips.
So this was Beriel’s purpose for Var Jerrol. Elske’s heart grew chilly, to know why she had been kept ignorant.
“The child is a gir
l, as I hear, with a strong pair of lungs and a healthy appetite. The Varinne is already famous for her motherly devotion.” Var Jerrol continued to eat, too clever to let Beriel see that he knew he had given her what she wanted from him, too clever to ask immediately for a favor in return.
“I wish her many children,” Beriel said, with another glance at Elske. “And much joy of them all. But now I wonder, have they given their daughter a name?”
“I’ve heard that they call her Elskele, as if to honor Elske for her rescue of the Varinne, with that gratitude always fresh in their minds.”
“As it should be,” Beriel announced happily. “As my own gratitude would be kept fresh, should Elske have so well served me.”
This wasn’t gratitude, Elske knew, even though she knew also that she had served Beriel so well, and better. She stood with her back to the table, listening, carving the fowl. She offered the platter to Var Jerrol, first, then to Beriel. The silver platter was icy cold in her hands, from having been set out in the snow, lest the fowl grow warm in the heat of the dining chamber. If this fowl were to grow warm, Elske thought, it would be from the fury that burned in her, and from the hot grief for her sworn word, now a dead thing.
Why should Beriel take from her the worth of her own word, which was all that she owned? And which Beriel herself had given to Elske, by showing her that she did own it. Although Beriel had given it to her, she now seized it back, imperiously.
The two were talking now of trade, and how it served the well-being of Trastad, or any other land. Var Jerrol asked Beriel what metal ores were to be found in the Kingdom, and what crops grew there, and if they had coins and how they were minted, how sold, what cloths, blades, books and ales. He argued that understanding of letters was best distributed freely among all who wished to learn it, although Beriel feared that knowledge would lead to discontent. They spoke of law, and Beriel wondered how the Council could govern without written laws. But he assured her, “We have custom and tradition, to be considered during any judgement. We are well-governed.”