The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  “True. But for many years I had no thought of ever being Holder. Zaddin – my brother – was established, and there was Ish to follow after him. I had no wish to sit around on my well-padded bottom all day doing elegantly useless needlework, so I set up the Red Sail. It was my escape, you see. I have rooms here, I could hide away when Tia – my brother’s dear wife – was on the rampage, which she often was, even before she went mad. They say she died, but some people claim they hear her moaning still in the Great Tower. But that only happens when the wind is from the south, so who knows?”

  I began to wonder whether she had summoned me just to talk about old family history, but even as I had the thought, she laughed and said, “But that is not what I wished to discuss with you today, dear.”

  I sipped my wine, but I didn’t set the goblet down. It was made from a particularly pleasant combination of metals, and it felt warm and comforting under my hands. I liked the feel of it.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your husband.”

  That made me take notice. “Mal?”

  “You have other husbands tucked away somewhere? Yes, Mal, dear. Your Bennamorian guard. He is – a very agreeable man, would you not say?”

  And I swear she blushed as she spoke, and she must have more than ten years on me.

  “If you like that sort of thing, I suppose.”

  She looked surprised. “You do not find him pleasant? Well, perhaps you have grown accustomed, but he seemed very charming to me. And he gave me to understand—” She blushed again, and gazed fixedly into her wine goblet. “It seemed to me—” She spluttered to a halt.

  I could have let her struggle on, perhaps, but it seemed undignified in a woman of her age.

  “You want to know what the situation is.”

  “Yes! Exactly so. Because I am aware that the marriage – well, it was a legal matter only, a formality. And I wondered… if you… whether you and he…”

  “We don’t sleep together,” I said flatly.

  She must have noticed something in my tone, though, because her face fell. “Oh dear. I thought perhaps you would not mind. But I have no wish—”

  She looked at me expectantly. I had no idea what to say to her. Did I mind? I’d told myself so many times that I disliked him intensely, that I’d be glad to be rid of him, yet my stomach felt like a ball of lead. Could I smile and sleep easily at night, knowing he was with another woman, touching another woman, bringing her the sort of pleasure I’d known with him? Could I bear it? Yet did I have the right to deny him some bed play, when I wouldn’t let him anywhere near me?

  “He’s a free man.” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help that. “He can do whatever he pleases.”

  “Oh! Oh, that is good news.” She beamed at me, and simpered a little. “It did seem as if… when he walked me home the other night… he was most… but of course I would never dream… if you disliked it…” She heaved a sigh of contentment, and reached for her goblet.

  Goddess, what fools we women are. We never seem to acquire wisdom, or even common sense, where men are concerned. The body may grow shapeless and wrinkled and ugly, but we still giggle and blush and toss all our dignity overboard for our stupid dreams of love. I try to resist, but Ish has me cornered. And here is Tarn chasing round after a guard fifteen years her junior, a man who can barely string a coherent sentence together. Dragon’s teeth, but we’re pathetic.

  Tarn clapped her hands. A door in the corner opened, and two maids, barely adult by the look of them, dragged a trolley laden with plates and dishes across the floor, lifting it awkwardly, a corner at a time, to get it across the rugs, so that the plates rattled alarmingly and a small cake toppled over and rolled under a table.

  “Girls, girls! Gently, if you please. That will do, leave it just there. Thank you, dears. Off you go now.”

  They scuttled out, whispering behind their hands before the door was closed. Tarn rolled her eyes.

  “They are impossible. No brains in their heads at all. But I do not quite like to beat them, not when they are little more than children.”

  “Sometimes it is the only way,” I said, and realised with shock I had no idea how to train servants. I’d never had to do it. I was merely repeating my mother’s words. She’d always said new servants had to be beaten for a year before they understood how to behave. Whatever she did, it seemed to work, and I’d never found any fault with them.

  Tarn and I worked our way through the selection of cakes. Whatever the deficiencies of the two who’d brought the trolley, I had no grumbles at all about Tarn’s baker. Everything I sampled was delicious, and I sampled everything.

  Tarn chattered on about nothing very much. I had only to listen, or toss in the occasional leading question about the Hold family, but Tarn was too much the diplomat to be caught out by that. She had the skill to talk at great length without ever saying anything interesting, or at least interesting to me.

  Something niggled at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite work out what it was. It was only when I eventually, and with regret for the few remaining cakes, rose to leave and Tarn leaned forward to kiss me on one cheek that it struck me.

  “Your perfume…?”

  “Perfume? I wear none. Oh, but perhaps you are catching a hint of the lavender soap I use? A very pleasant aroma, and it lathers nicely. I can give you the name of the shop that supplies me, if you wish.”

  “So it was not you…? Forgive me for asking, but Mal was not with you last night?”

  “With me?” She coloured. “No, indeed. I would not—! Not without talking to you first.”

  “I beg your pardon. But then who? Someone with a powerful, musky perfume. The expensive kind, not whore scent.”

  “I have no— Oh! No, surely not!” Her face was wreathed in dismay. “Not Tella. Surely she would not…?” A long silence.

  “Tella?” I prompted.

  “Ish’s wife. She was there… The night your husband walked me home, I invited him in for a glass of wine, just being sociable, you understand, since he was so charming to me. Well, I took him into the Great Tower, the public rooms, you understand, since it would hardly be proper… Anyway, she was there, she came in and chatted for a bit. I thought nothing of it. So you think…?”

  “I have no idea what to think. He came home very late last night, stinking of that perfume.”

  There was a long silence while we both pondered that.

  “Oh dear,” was all she said.

  I wasn’t minded to go straight home. I had a great deal to think about, and, besides, I was heavy with cake and needed to walk it off. I crossed the road to the harbour wall and strolled out towards the open sea.

  The harbour is the heart of any port, with ships constantly on the move, gliding about, or just bobbing on the water, with creaks and plops and snapping pennants. There is always activity to watch, repairs going on, rigging tidied, paint applied, or little clusters of lifters working on cargoes, with shouts and waved arms. Even at night, there are cheerful lamps scattered like stars, and always a ship or two readying for the next tide.

  I had no mind for the entertainment today. I walked on, lost in thought, but glad of the length of the harbour wall here, the longest anywhere on the coast, so that I could stretch my legs.

  What did I really want? That was the thought on my mind. Not Mal, that much was certain. I had never wanted him as a husband, and I wouldn’t stand in his way of moving on to someone more amenable. That was how it often was with an annual marriage; after a while, one or other would start looking elsewhere, lining up the next likely conquest, and Mal needed another wife to keep his job here. Then I could go back to Carrinshar, as I’d always planned.

  So why did the prospect fill me with such gloom? I was happy for him, I told myself, and Tarn would keep him in some style. I wondered whether she would have to be found some invented position at the mages’ house, so they could live there, or whether Mal would move into the top floor of the Red Sail. Given h
er position, probably the latter. How cosy they would be.

  Of course I would miss him, a little bit. He’d always treated me well, buying me clothes and feeding me hugely expensive meals. I would miss that, I’d miss it very much. But mostly, I realised glumly, Mal was the closest to a friend that I’d had for years. Even if he didn’t share my bed, I’d liked knowing he was only next door, that he took an interest in my welfare and watched out for me. It made me feel safe, protected. Now I’d be alone again, living back in Carrinshar.

  Or would I? There was Ish to consider, but I wasn’t at all sure how that would turn out. He was the Holder now. He was not merely a representative of his town, he was Dristomar, in every sense that mattered. He might feel that his position was too important now for him to consider his own selfish wishes.

  But we were meant for each other, I’d always known that, and I knew his love was still there, waiting to be rekindled. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me, I could hear his voice soften when he talked to me. He sought me out so eagerly. He had even kissed me, once, as if he couldn’t help himself. When I’d been on fire for him, he’d responded without hesitation.

  His wife, though, was a complication. It must be an annual marriage, because she was foreign, but that didn’t necessarily mean he could dispose of her the minute the contract expired. There might be treaties hanging on the marriage, or he may have made private commitments to her. He could hardly just pack her off back to the plains.

  And now, it seemed, she was entangled with my husband. That was an unexpected difficulty, and I wasn’t sure what it meant. I wondered how Ish would take it if he found out? It would almost be worth telling him to watch his reaction.

  One thing I was sure of, I wouldn’t go crawling after Ish. I enjoyed his company, for he was an educated and intelligent man, naturally it was a pleasure to spend time with him. But my feelings were under tight control. I was not nineteen any more, to let a man reduce me to rubble. I was a woman of mature years, with my life in my own hands. I had my pride. If Ish wanted me, he was going to have to make the move himself. More than that, he was going to have to beg, to crawl to me on his hands and knees, before I’d have him back again.

  I’d been so engrossed in my thoughts, I’d reached the furthest point from the shore before I’d realised it. From here the harbour wall bent to the west and ran parallel to the beach. There was a splendid view out to the open ocean, nothing but the vast, featureless water in all its infinite moods from here until the southern ice flows. To east and west were the promontories that sheltered the bay and made Dristomar such an important port. On the western headland, the strange tower was visible from here, several storeys tall but without doors or windows. It was an odd structure altogether, tucked into a fold of the hills so that it wasn’t visible from land or sea, except from a tall building or, as now, through a crack in the rocks surrounding it. And what was the point of it, when it was all but invisible?

  I’d walked far enough. The breeze was strengthening now, chilling me, and above the harbour-master’s office only one hour flag remained. I would be late for evening table.

  I turned and walked briskly homeward past the shops closing up for the evening and the sailors’ bars just opening. I hadn’t been in Dristomar for many moons, but already it felt familiar. Not quite home, for I had no home now, but a settled and comfortable place to live. I turned into the gates of the mages’ house feeling more cheerful altogether, with the prospect of a good meal and a pleasant evening ahead of me.

  Such hopes quickly fled. I found the house in uproar, the servants white-faced and disorganised, the guards shouting and Losh – poor Losh – in tears.

  “Sweet Goddess, whatever has happened here? Losh, what is it? What is this about?”

  “Gret,” he said, tears trickling down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. “She… she is dead.”

  20: A Confrontation

  I could hardly take it in. I had left Gret just after noon discussing with the lawyer how to get hold of a copy of the treaty between Bennamore and the Port Holdings, thinking that would occupy her for some days, and give us a chance to consider the next move. Now, it seemed, she’d had some accident at the Hold. How had it come to this? And why was it always the Hold involved?

  “Why did she go to the Hold?” I asked, but no one was listening. A dozen people were talking at once, and the two stupid girls from the Hold were crying loudly, clutching each other for support, even though they had barely known Gret.

  I tried again, louder. “What happened?”

  I was ignored.

  In annoyance, I grabbed the hammer for the gong used to announce meals, and rang the gong violently. Everyone turned to gape at me, and even the two bawling girls quietened down.

  “That’s better. Now, Mistress Controller, please take your staff downstairs. There’s nothing constructive they can do here. Everyone else, into the table room, if you please.”

  Like cowed children, they trooped in, and eventually I got them all seated in a more or less orderly fashion.

  “Lenya, Wornest, would you please pour wine for us? Now then, Mistress Lawyer – I’m sorry, what is your proper title?”

  “Oh. I’m a Law Scribe, so the correct form of address is Lady Scribe.”

  “Very well. Lady Scribe, if I understand correctly, you witnessed these events. Please tell us why Lady Mage Gret went to the Hold this afternoon, and what happened there.”

  It appeared that Gret had wanted to find a copy of the treaty straight away, so she and the lawyer had gone straight to the Hold, found the treaty, identified an ambiguous clause and set off to confront the Holder instantly.

  “I tried to dissuade her,” the lawyer said sorrowfully. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but she wouldn’t listen to my advice. I really tried.”

  She looked round at us with great pleading eyes.

  “We all know how determined Lady Mage Gret was,” I murmured, and waved her to continue.

  “We set off to find the Holder. She shouted at one of the servants until he told us to try one of the upper galleries. The Holder was to be at a reception there – diplomats, or some such.”

  “A Greetings Ceremony, yes, yes.” Such polite rituals were usually held in the afternoon, keeping the morning free for business.

  “I don’t know. Anyway, we were walking along the gallery, an open one with gardens on one side down below. Several servants were chasing after us, trying to turn us back, when she spotted him, just arriving with his entourage. Well, she ran – ran – towards him, shouting. I don’t know what she said, it was just noise…”

  “We can guess.”

  “Yes, well… Of course, he was alarmed, anyone would be, and his guards were very much on the alert. You know, ready to draw their swords.”

  “But they didn’t? Not straight away?”

  She shook her head. I could picture the scene very well, Ish and his retinue surprised, prepared for trouble, but not really expecting it from this grey-haired woman, however irate she may be.

  “The servants came up behind us, and there was a bit of shouting, but the Holder silenced them and said he would hear what Gret had to say tomorrow. She could make an appointment, like everybody else.”

  Losh had been sunk in despair, but he raised his head at that. “Like everybody else?” he said in outraged tones. “A mage is not like everybody else. That is offensive.”

  “And that is exactly the attitude which got us into this mess,” I snapped. “Whatever goes on in Bennamore, everyone here is required to follow the proper procedures, even mages. Otherwise we have anarchy.”

  By his side, Kael whimpered like a beaten dog, and for a moment I thought I saw flames flicker across his fingers. Losh didn’t notice, but Corsell leaned across and laid his hand over Kael’s.

  There was a long silence. The lawyer cleared her throat nervously, watching me from the corner of her eye.

  “Please continue, Lady Scribe.”

  “I think…”
She licked her lips, her eyes flicking to me then skittering away again. “I think Gret was offended, too, because she just seemed to… I don’t know, go crazy. She shrieked at him, screamed all sorts of… of most unpleasant things, and he just stood there, emotionless. Then one of the guards tried to get hold of her arm and that made her even worse. She got away from him and she grabbed something – I don’t know what, something big, an ornament I think. She threw it at the Holder, and he had to jump aside. One of the others was hit, I think. And then—”

  She covered her mouth with her hand, and heaved a great sigh, like a sob. Then, as if willing herself to finish the tale, she set both hands down on the table again.

  “That was when the guards drew their swords.” He voice was calmer, but flat, toneless. “Everyone jumped back, of course, and screamed. Gret too. Well, maybe she didn’t scream. But she jumped back and they just went for her, swords out, and…” Her voice rose, despite her outward control. “She turned to run but she was right by the balustrade and… and she just went over. Straight over. Down into the gardens below. The paved part.” A long pause, rocking gently, before she composed herself again. “I went and looked over, but it was clear she was dead. There was blood. And her neck—”

  “Thank you,” I said, struggling for composure myself. “There’s no need for all the details.”

  Lenya jumped up from her chair and wrapped the lawyer in her arms. They both cried a little.

  At least this time there was no possible doubt as to what had happened. Mal fetched the wine decanters and passed them round the table.

  “So what happens next?” he said, looking at me.

  “There will be an inquiry,” I said. “For a person of Gret’s importance, the Holder will conduct it himself. He will interview witnesses, there will be a physician’s report, that sort of thing. In such cases, certain family members are permitted to attend, but not to speak.”

  “What! But that is outrageous,” Losh said.

  “No, it is the correct procedure for an unexpected death. That is the law here, and you can argue all you like about whether Bennamore law should apply, but unless you have an army sitting upriver, I don’t suggest you try it. The Holder has already demonstrated his opinion of that argument.”