Tale of Elske

by Jan Vermeer

  “Yet the cells are full, as I hear it, and overfull.”

  “We build new cells as we need them,” Var Jerrol said. “They are not overfull.”

  As they spoke, Elske stood in the silence of her anger; for Beriel had taken Elske’s word and made it valueless. Elske felt as if Beriel had walked with her out to the hillside; and she had gone with her mistress, all trusting; and Beriel had left her there for the wolves.

  Elske did not know which cut more deeply, her defenselessness or her solitude.

  “I’d have thought you would be using Elske to translate for you,” Var Jerrol said, and Beriel answered him that she had improved her knowledge of his language, under Elske’s tutelage.

  Var Jerrol asked, “Do you ever think to open the door to your land?”

  “I think of it,” Beriel said. “I think of sending out emissaries, and merchants, and even of sending my unruly cousins to the Courting Winter. I think of giving my Kingdom a place in the greater world.”

  “Why should your Lords and Princes not wed outside of your Kingdom?” Var Jerrol asked. “If you were to have a brother, for example, and I a daughter both richly dowered and gently reared, might not all profit from a union between them?”

  Beriel agreed. “I have brothers, that much is true, and one a worthy Prince. I will think of what you have said, you who are the eyes and ears of the Council, and a man of wisdom.”

  Var Jerrol bowed his head, receiving the compliment.

  Beriel told him, “Mine is a land of stories, not like Trastad which is a merchant city. I think often of Jackaroo, who with his sword and his great heart brought justice to a people oppressed by poverty and misgoverned by Overlords. Jackaroo rides out only when the land has need of him, then rests in sleep under the mountains until he is needed again, to save his people.” Var Jerrol smiled tolerantly and Beriel reflected the expression back at him. “I always believe, however, that if my land needs saving, I must save it myself.”

  “Trastad makes a generous ally,” Var Jerrol told her. “But is your Kingdom in danger?”

  At that question, Beriel stood. Restless, she moved to the window, to look out at the ice-clogged river. She became again a young woman, sent into courtship against her will. “I do not know,” she said. “I have no reason to think so, but my father was not in health when I left and—I have been too long away.”

  Var Jerrol watched her the way a snake might watch a mouse. “It is a moon yet before you will set out on your return.”

  Beriel turned around to face him, and she was a Queen again. “It may be,” she said, “that it is time for we of the Kingdom to travel outwards from our own borders, and beyond the protection of the forests that surround us, and of the mountains that ring us. If it is that time, be sure I will remember you, and I will think of the skills of Trastad.”

  “You mean in trade.”

  “And carpentry, shipbuilding, too, in your paintings and goldsmiths, your spacious houses and the tile stoves with which you heat your chambers. There is much I value in Trastad,” Beriel said, holding out her white hand, “as you know well.”

  Var Jerrol became gallant. “When you leave us, there will be a diminishment in that sum. And more, if you think to take Elske with you.”

  “What happens to my maidservant does not concern you,” Beriel announced, to which Var Jerrol made no quarrel. “Escort my guest to the door,” Beriel commanded. “See Var Jerrol safely away, Elske.”

  When Elske returned, she found Beriel in the dining chamber, at the window, and looking out to where a sky of deep blue shone over the moving water, which carried its cargo of ice down to the sea. A field of ice-crusted snow sparkled white down to the water’s edge and across the river more white fields held the dark forests back from little houses. Smoke rose from distant chimneys into the bright blue sky.

  Beriel turned to greet Elske and her eyes shone like the sky, and her whole face was alight with her victory. “Now I, too, know where my child, my daughter, lives, and what child it is I had. Did you think you could keep a secret from me?”

  Elske gathered up plates and goblets. She was expected to make her own dinner from whatever was left on the platters, but she had no appetite for this meal.

  “Have you no answer?” Beriel demanded.

  “None.”

  Elske attended to her task.

  Beriel watched her, then said, “How could Var Jerrol know something so close to me and I not seek to find it out, since you must have told him.”

  “No.” Elske denied what Beriel already knew was a false accusation.

  “You need not fear my anger,” Beriel promised.

  Elske forced herself to respond. “I am not afraid.”

  “Then you’re jealous. You thought that you alone could hold Var Jerrol’s eyes and attentions. You thought that only your smiling ways could win him. I will not have a jealous servant, Elske.”

  “Nor jealous,” Elske said.

  Then Beriel did look long and hard at her, and Elske met the glance like a swordsman meeting a blow.

  “No, you are not jealous,” Beriel admitted. “But you would have kept me in ignorance about my own child.”

  Elske spoke her thought, “I gave my word.”

  “So you did, and you kept it.”

  “My word was made worthless.”

  “But you gave it to me,” Beriel protested. “Can I not say when you must change your word, if you gave it to me?”

  “I thought, it was my word. I thought, it was my promise.”

  “Not jealous, but proud,” Beriel said then.

  “Why should I be proud?”

  Beriel answered impatiently. “I do not know, unless it is for your charms and high-heartedness, which draw people to you. But what are those more than charms and high-heartedness? What cause for pride in these? Still, I am myself proud enough to recognize pride’s face when I see it in a beryl glass. So. So.” She stood taller even than before, her eyes still alight, and asked, “Are you grown too proud to be my maidservant?”

  “No, my Lady,” Elske said, for that was true.

  “Give me your word for that,” Beriel commanded.

  “I have no word to give,” Elske answered. “You’ve taken it from me, this day.”

  “Then I give it back, as a Queen can. Elske, you have never given birth, and neither had I when I asked for your promise. When I know that my child is cared for, named—a daughter—now I can truly leave her behind me. How could I have known my true will before she was born?”

  “You could not have, my Lady,” Elske said; and that, too, was true.

  Elske thought, How could Beriel, who would be Queen, be asked also to know herself? Willful, imperious, unyielding—how could Beriel accept not knowing of her child, when with wit and charm she could win that knowledge? Even at the cost of Elske’s word, Beriel would have her own way. Elske could not remain angry at Beriel, for how could Beriel have known how bitterly Elske would see her own little word gathered up into all the rest that a Queen possessed? As servant, Elske might have nothing but her own word and her own choices; but perhaps a Queen had no more—had less, even, if her royal word was not good, or her choices suspect. Elske would not wish to blame Beriel—but neither did she intend to give her word, her choices, into Beriel’s keeping.

  “And if I were to ask, would you come with me to the Kingdom? There will be others to offer you a more certain future here in Trastad,” Beriel said. “If I am displaced, I cannot promise you anything but death, but still, I ask you to come with me.”

  “I need no promise of rewards,” Elske said, making her own choice.

  Chapter 13

  BERIEL RECOUNTED THE OBSTACLES: A ship must be found and passage negotiated. It must be decided how they would leave Var Vladislav’s villa undetected—not that she thought the Council wished to detain her, just that they would require her to travel at the time of their choice, not hers. There was the question of what essentials to bring, for if she was to travel unesco
rted, she must travel light.

  But the greatest difficulty they faced was gold. If she wished to return to the Kingdom at her own will, Beriel needed gold to purchase berths on a ship, and then more gold to bribe the captain to set them ashore on the harborless coast close to Pericol. There, they would need yet more gold to purchase horses, food and safe passage from the cutthroat who ruled that city. And even when they had arrived in the Kingdom, who knew what preparations it would be necessary for Beriel to purchase. For Beriel couldn’t know how her land would greet her.

  “I know how my brother would like to welcome me. Guerric,” Beriel spoke his name as if she had her foot on his neck. “He is no question. But the others? The soldiers, Priests and Lords—they will be divided, I’d guess, they’ll be uneasy, fearful to choose the losing side and thus forfeit their high positions. Some are loyal, I think, Northgate and his heir, Arborford probably. I can’t know if my father still lives or what my mother might do after his death, except that she will not hope to have her daughter share the name of Queen. She is proud, and jealous. Oh yes,” Beriel answered, although Elske had not spoken. “I am her true daughter.”

  “You have my purse,” Elske offered.

  “For which I thank you, and promise to repay you manifold,” Beriel said. “If I live. The people will welcome me, I believe. My people, I think, know me. I trust my people,” Beriel said, her chin high and her eyes shining blue.

  They were in among the books and maps of the High Councillor’s library, and in fact stood with a map open before them. Beriel’s fingers traced the coastline between Trastad and Celindon. Elske could not find Pericol named on the map.

  “All the baubles they’ve sent to me, these Adels, these boys, and for which I have been so grateful and smiling, a goldsmith will buy them—at his own price, but between his price and nothing my choice is easy,” Beriel told Elske. “You must find the man, to conceal my interest. Wear those trousers you put on when you took my daughter—”

  “You saw?”

  “It was clever. In trousers, cloaked, your hair tied back like a man’s, no one would take you for a girl, and unprotected. So you can move as freely as a man through Trastad, and carry these jewels safely. Take my dagger, against thieves—for danger stalks anyone seen leaving bankers or smiths alone, even a man.” Beriel put her finger down on the map, on the coast north of Celindon, where a river entered the sea. “Pericol,” she said. “They put me in the midst of a troop of horsemen to go through Pericol, have I told you?” And Beriel laughed at the memory. “With Guerric’s hand-chosen captains in charge, and they did deliver me safely, so I have something to thank them for. I do not know if I can deliver us safely through that place,” Beriel said. “But I think I might,” she said.

  “I can take us that far,” Beriel said, and then added, without prologue or preamble, “If I have not already lost my Kingdom forever, and my people lost their chance of me, I must marry. For the heir,” Beriel answered the question Elske had not asked. “Be it boy or girl, my first child will be named heir to the throne of the Kingdom.”

  “I will set about finding a goldsmith,” Elske said.

  “And a ship, too. But none must suspect us. You have a wide and loyal acquaintance in Trastad, Elske; what help can you offer me in the matter of ships?” Beriel asked.

  “None,” Elske answered, truthfully.

  As it happened, however, after she had exchanged baubles for coins, she ran into Nido as she walked along the docks to see what ships were being readied for embarkation, to see what goods they were to carry and hear what destination they sailed for. Elske kept her head low to hide her face and her hands hidden under the short cloak to conceal the heavy purse she carried, but Nido had no difficulty in recognizing her. He insisted on walking with her, at least as far as the bridge that joined Harboring to Logisle. He hadn’t seen her for so long a time and there was much he wished to tell her. Was it that she didn’t want his company? he asked. He wouldn’t give her disguise away, he assured her of that, and besides, wouldn’t the disguise be improved when they were two young men, walking about together?

  Nido had grown taller, and had the shadow of a beard. The labors of apprenticeship hadn’t dampened his spirits. His great news was that he was to be sent out as the assistant to a ship’s carpenter, on one of Var Kenric’s vessels. “We are fitted and stocked, and the ice has broken up. Var Kenric wants to be the first to offer goods in Celindon—I’ll see Celindon again, Elske. The other time I was just a boy, the time we met you, Taddus and Father and I, when we were returning. He’s ill, did you know?”

  “Taddus?”

  “Not Taddus, Father. Taddus counts himself the luckiest man in Trastad, now that Idelle has given him an heir. They named the girl after you, did you know that? If Taddus were not Var Kenric’s heir, now, Father and Mother would worry where they might find stock, for Father will not be strong enough to travel out this summer. But Taddus supplies their shelves, and I am now placed on one of Var Kenric’s ships. In only two days, or perhaps three, I’ll be gone. So it is good fortune that I saw you here. What do you think of that chance, after all this time, Elske?”

  Elske thought it was a fair chance, and she decided to risk Beriel’s anger and spend some of these coins taking that chance. “Will your ship take passengers?” she asked.

  “Ships that will bear the Adeliers back to their own lands, and carry our merchants south, will await the fairer weather.”

  “What if I knew of two travelers who desire to commence their journey now and don’t fear foul weather?”

  “My ship has a stateroom, next to the captain’s quarters. But the sea is still rough, they say—and storms not unlikely. Although, less likely as we move south,” Nido told her.

  “I do know of two such,” Elske said. “What would the charge be, for your captain?”

  “I’d have to ask him, and he would have to know he wasn’t setting himself or Var Kenric against the will of the Council.” Nido looked like a man grown now.

  “These are two the Council will not object over,” Elske promised him. “There is no criminal, no traitor, no one Trastad wishes to keep within its own territory. I give you my word.”

  Nido studied her face. They had arrived at the bridge, and stood talking there. “Have they the Council’s permission to leave the city?”

  “Can two women, neither of them Trastaders, one of them impatient to be back in her own land, endanger Trastad by leaving it betimes?”

  Nido thought. “And the second is you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you give me the fare now, to convince my captain?”

  Elske opened the purse and took out four gold coins. She put them into Nido’s hands.

  “It’s too much,” he said.

  “You can return to me what you don’t need.”

  “Or it maybe will not be enough, if you cannot show the captain your permissions,” Nido said thoughtfully.

  Elske gave him four more coins, and so she had spent half of Beriel’s purse.

  “How will I find you?” Nido asked.

  “I’ll be here, in this place, at this time, every day until I hear from you,” Elske said.

  “You’ll hear from me tomorrow,” Nido promised her.

  SO IT WAS THAT TWO days from that time, Beriel strode up the wooden gangplank and onto the deck of the ship. Elske followed behind, wearing her warm Wolfer boots, carrying the pack in which whatever clothing they brought with them was folded.

  Nido led them down a steep ladder into the belly of the ship, then through a low doorway into a low-ceilinged, narrow, short room where two high, shuttered portholes let in light. With the three of them in the room, there was barely space to move, but Nido squeezed out past them, saying hurriedly, “The captain will send me when we’re far enough from land.” And he was gone.

  The boat moved gently under Elske. The sound of feet came from overhead. When she opened the portholes, she could see the open sky, with a few wispy clouds hur
rying across it.

  Beriel sat down on the bunk, to wait. Her first fury, when Elske had reported to her of the meeting with Nido, and the coins spent, and the plan laid, had faded away under her desire to return to the Kingdom. She had left behind her a letter for the High Councillor, an elaborate apology for her hasty departure, citing unease about her father who had been in poor health when she had left him, thanking Var Vladislav for his hospitality, hoping that he had intended her to take Elske with her, for that was her will. “I take with me the maidservant, Elske,” Beriel had written, and then offered a guileful compliment, “Your wisdom and good judgement in choosing me this girl for servant reveals how it is that Trastad has come to such well-deserved prosperity.” So Beriel completed her affairs in Trastad, and Elske—who had no affairs of her own—now sat beside her mistress on the narrow bunk, listening to the sounds of a ship being readied to sail.

  Eventually, the ship drew heavily away from the dock. Unable to see, listening, Elske heard the sails being raised and knew they were on their way even before the ship came alive all around them. Elske felt the quickening and asked, “Can we go up on deck, my Lady?”

  “Now you’re the impatient one,” Beriel observed, refusing. “Remember, your little Nido will come to tell us when that is permitted.”

  “He is not little anymore.”

  “Will you marry him?”

  “Why should I marry Nido?”

  “Why should you marry any man?” Beriel answered. “But you will. You are like a flower for them, and they come around like bees to suck the honey of you, the happiness. But perhaps you will not marry.”

  “Why should I not marry?” Elske asked her. “When I choose. Who I choose, if he chooses me. When it’s a good time for marriage, then if it is good to do, why should I not do it? Yours is the dangerous case, as I think, my Lady.”

  “I know that, Elske. I don’t know why you trouble me with it now.”

  Elske fell silent.

  The ship rocked beneath them, like a cradle, and they swayed on the bunk. The lamp which hung down into the center of the room stayed still. Elske’s skin felt cold and her mouth dry, but when Nido opened the door to call them out she stood eagerly.