“Prince Beren was taken by surprise. He sprang up as I spoke, and when I had done he cried out, ‘Who has done this to my kinsmen?’ I could not understand this cry. Prince Borss said, ‘Your honor is increased, Prince Beren!’ and Princess Gaveril Tramarn laughed and said, ‘Now there are two kings and a duke of Lien who all seek the pearl of Pendark!’ Then the young Prince Beren seemed to recollect himself. He greeted me heartily and said that he longed to hear of his cousin, Sharn Am Zor. He accepted the king’s suit and praised the troth gift. More than that he spoke of the laws of hospitality, saying that he would fail in them if he did not bid the envoy of King Sharn to lodge in the Pendark Court. So I accepted his offer with fair words. I was led with my esquire to the seats of Destiny, and our escort were taken to the place where the followers had their own feast. So I accepted his offer with fair words and the first part of our embassy was successfully concluded.”
Aidris felt herself join in the general sigh of relief. Sharn was still on his feet, glowing with excitement.
“There, you see?” he cried. “The Messengers have served us well! And what a happy chance that allowed our envoy to be the wonder at this banquet!”
Count Barr cleared his throat discretely.
“It was not quite a happy chance, my king,” he said. “The Messengers had smoothed the way for us. I paid over half of the gold that I brought into Eildon to the Lord of the Revels for the privilege of being the wonder. I understand that others coveted this place.”
“Count Barr,” said Aidris, “I know you must be weary from your long journey, but I would hear more of Prince Beren. Why did he hesitate? Why did he cry out when the king’s suit was proclaimed?”
“My Queen,” said Barr, “I cannot tell. I never spoke to the prince again.”
There was a certain discomfort at the Council board, but the king looked undisturbed. Count Barr went on with his story.
“We were taken to the Pendark Court when the banquet ended by a young esquire of the Fishers. He told us that Prince Beren was required to go into a knightly retreat, a vigil, after the banquet. He carried a letter, written in the Prince’s tiring room, to be delivered to his mother, Princess Merigaun.
“The Pendark Court, when we came there, was a fair white mansion, very old, and the lady of the house came out to greet us: Princess Merigaun. She is well-made, small and fine, with hair of an ashen fair color. Many of the Eildon nobility used magic to smooth away their wrinkles, but Princess Merigaun always ‘wore her years,’ for she is of a beauty that resists age.
“She was plainly delighted to receive a visit from such a great distance and spoke of the king at once as a cousin of her house. So I followed her into a spacious bower, and there, with one or two ladies-in-waiting, I first beheld the Princess Moinagh, sitting by a little stone pond in the floor of the chamber watching the golden fishes in the water. Truly she is an enchanting creature; she outshone all those ladies present though some were very beautiful.
“She is of the middle stature and very slender. Her hair is brown-black; it was drawn back from her face with a jeweled clasp and then fell loose, almost to her waist. She is pale, her eyes large and widely spaced, of a soft grey or grey-green. Her teeth are small and even, her voice sweet, childlike, yet she speaks well.
“When Princess Merigaun read her son’s letter, her look became more grave and formal. She sighed and said that she understood what had passed. I presented the troth gift again, and I am sure Princess Moinagh was pleased with the pearls. Then, saying that tradition must be observed, Merigaun sent her daughter away with her ladies.
“Then I sat alone, at the fireside, with Princess Merigaun, and told her of the Chameln lands and of the Daindru and of King Sharn Am Zor. She heard me out gravely and said, ‘The Land Pledge will not be a burden to such a king.’ I swore that it would be worth any parcel of land of the king to have such a bride. Then Merigaun said, ‘It cannot be helped.’ She asked if I had anything about me that belonged to the king or anything that he had touched. I had, of course, the king’s ring with the crest of the Daindru, for sealing documents, so I let her hold the ring.
“She clasped it in her hand, shut her eyes for a moment, then said at last, ‘Your king is all that you say and more, Count Barr. I believe it is his destiny to journey to Eildon.’
“I felt this was a most hopeful reply that augured well for the king’s suit.”
Count Barr who had spoken with great concentration and eagerness, paused for breath. The Council board stood in a circle of daylight shining down from open shutters overhead, in the midst of the dark hall. There was a murmur of voices in the darkness where the guards were standing, and a figure strode out of the shadows into the light. It was Jaraz, the queen’s healer, with a long dark cloak, richly lined, over his customary robe of homespun wool. He carried a staff and held it up urgently.
“My Queen! My King!” he said. “I beg leave to speak to you and to this Council!”
Aidris recalled with a twinge of old fear the very first time that she had set eyes upon this man, Jalmar Raiz, as he rose up in the path of the royal hunt. She wondered if Bajan and Sharn, who had ridden at her side, could recall this moment.
Sharn said angrily, “Aidris, have you bidden Raiz to this Council?”
“No, Cousin,” she said, “but I would hear him speak.”
The king glowered at Jalmar Raiz then gave a curt gesture of assent.
“I have come against my will,” said the healer, “for I know that the king will not hear reason from a man he hates. Yet I must implore the Daindru and the Council to turn back from this act of folly. King Sharn Am Zor should not go into Eildon. He will never be permitted to wed the Princess of Pendark.”
“You are mad, old man!” said Sharn Am Zor. “Aidris, your healer presumes too much!”
“Why do you say this?” the queen asked Jalmar Raiz. “Count Barr’s embassy . . .”
“The Count is an honest man,” said Jalmar Raiz, “but he is no diplomat. He was paraded before the Banquet of the Long Board straightaway with no chance to consult with the House of Pendark, and he did not even check the crests of those at table. He was brought in by the Messengers of the Falconers to embarrass both Paldo and Pendark; as the envoy of the King of the Chameln he could not be welcome to the Princess of Mel’Nir.”
“And Pendark?” asked Lingrit Am Thuven, following closely. “What do you say to Prince Beren’s reaction?”
“He was trapped,” said Jalmar Raiz. “As soon as Count Barr put forth the king’s suit before that company, Prince Beren was honor-bound to accept it, even if he knew that King Sharn had little chance of marrying his sister and must incur the loss of land and goods.”
“But why? Why?” exclaimed the king. “Am I so unworthy a suitor?”
The Council chimed in with the king, challenging the boldness of Jalmar Raiz, assuring the king of his worthiness.
“Eildon is old and its ways are strange,” said Jalmar Raiz. “The Princes of Eildon are not close even to Lien, their former tributary. Dealings with the Chameln lands lie far in the past. Eildon has its own cult of honor and a lasting prejudice against foreigners. No princess of the blood would be allowed to wed beyond the borders of Eildon!”
“Great Goddess!” said the king. “I share that blood! I am cousin to the princess!”
“This brings me to a further danger,” said the healer. “You are known, my King, for a hatred of magic. Yet in Eildon magic is widely used in everyday life.”
“The king will take magical protection!” said Aidris.
“Yes,” said Sharn Am Zor. “Yes, if it must be. In any case I am proof against magic. The Messengers of the Falconers, whom I trust at least as much as I trust you, Raiz, have told me this is a rare thing.”
“This was known to me,” said Jalmar Raiz, sadly. “You are a bandhul, one dark and light at once. It is indeed a rare condition. My King, I beg you not to go into Eildon!”
“Be damned to you, traitorous fellow!”
cried Sharn Am Zor. “You know nothing. You have not heard all of Barr’s report. I am pledged to take part in a tournament and a knightly retreat. I may bring seven champions. Here is the invitation, a fair parchment, richly illuminated . . .”
“Fit for a king,” said Jalmar Raiz. “I hope a copy was taken at once, in Eildon.”
“No,” said Effrim Am Barr, alarmed. “No, we did not take a copy. Why should we? Could the letters change upon the page? Could the ink fade? I protest, my King. This healer goes very sharply against my honor, as well as your own!”
Jalmar Raiz caught the eye of the queen and bowed his head. Sharn saw that the healer was deeply moved, and this increased the anger and revulsion he felt. The young king could not bear to be pitied by this man any more than he could accept the sharp warning he had given. Now the healer bowed deeply to the Daindru and returned to the shadows.
There was an uneasy silence, then Nenan Am Charn asked, “Has Count Barr anything to tell us about the Land Pledge?”
The Council turned to this matter with relief. Only Aidris, the queen, sat still and white in her gilded chair. Bajan pressed her hand, and Sharn whispered, “Do not heed this Raiz! I have sworn to take care of myself . . .”
“The Land Pledge,” said Count Barr cautiously, “is a further and greater troth gift. My King . . .”
“It is some kind of bride price,” said Sharn Am Zor. “I do not fear it.”
“No, my King,” put in Nenad, “as Barr has said, it is a gift, a gift of land offered by a suitor. It is paid before the courtship or the marriage arrangements begin. A piece of land equal in value to some named possession of the lady’s family.”
“Equal in this case to the Cantry of Tallien,” said Barr. “It is a mining district not far from the old Pendark fortress in the southwest.”
“My Land Pledge must exceed this, of course. I think of the Adz, or that part of it with the Silverbirch Mine.”
“We must hope that the pledge is redeemed,” said Aidris, “for this is indeed a rich part of our kingdom. I wonder if this custom was used in old time, in the time of the Sea-Oak Twins? What was the pledge given for Princess Eilda, the sister of Prince Tamir?”
“I know more about these two, my Queen,” said Nenad Am Charn. “They lived during the reign of Voyvid, the Wild Warrior King of the Zor, who ruled with Nagra, a King of the Firn. The Sea-Oak Twins wed the children of these two rulers. It was long before the coming of the men of Mel’Nir, and the Chameln lands extended far beyond the inland sea. The Daindru was allied with the rulers of Eildon; the alliance was sealed with the legendary double marriage. The Land Pledge for Princess Eilda, who wed Prince Ayvid Am Firn, was given long before marriage. I have it marked on this map.”
“Was this her true name?” asked Aidris. “Eilda of Eildon?”
“No, my Queen,” said Nenad Am Charn, busily unrolling his map. “Her name was Eidalin, I believe, or Ydillian.”
“Ydillian!” exclaimed Lingrit Am Thuven.
He bent over the map as the others did.
“You see,” said Nenad, “it is listed as well in other ancient documents. ‘All the land between the rivers.’”
Lingrit Am Thuven began to laugh, and all the members of the Council joined in a little apprehensively. It was clear that ‘Ydillian’s Pledge’ was nothing more nor less than the Mark of Lien, the richest land in Hylor.
“It has remained bound to Eildon,” pursued Nenad, “almost to this day. The Land Pledge, my King, is not a bride price but a gift, an earnest to prove a suitor’s worth. There is no tradition that a Land Pledge should be redeemed or returned, even if the noblewoman in question weds another.”
In after years Aidris the Queen thought of this moment in the hall of the Dainmut. She wished that it could be set down that she herself or any of the others . . . Lingrit, Nenad, Seyl . . . had seen into the matter, grasped its meaning. Yet no one did, and least of all the king who smiled at Count Barr, his torch-bearer.
“I am well pleased with Count Barr’s embassy,” he said. “We will speak further . . .”
Aidris and Sharn walked side by side out into the sunshine, where Tazlo Am Ahrosh and others were waiting for the day’s hawking. The queen asked after Esher Am Chiel, Barr’s esquire.
“Merilla and Carel have carried him off to ride in the Hain,” said Sharn cheerfully. “Perhaps I will take him into Eildon again. This is a year of changes, cousin, and you will see how generously I can behave.”
In the Hain, the royal grove, on this spring day, changes are working like the sap in the tall old trees. A young girl on a roan horse and a young man on a bay amble down the royal ride. Prince Carel and his riding companion, Count Caddah, have galloped away on a kind of mock hunt, following a cub fox. Esher Am Chiel brushes back his fair hair in exasperation.
“Barr does not understand,” he says. “I spent my time with servants and soldiers. Often we were treated as if we had the plague or had lost our wits. The Eildon soldiery, even in the Pendark court, were all on tiptoe ready to fight for what they called honor. To keep any large body of followers in Lindriss would need magic indeed.”
“You must tell this to the queen,” says Merilla. “Sharn will never hear it.”
“Lady, how can I? Barr is the best of men. Among the nobles themselves it may be different. Certainly the princess and the knights and ladies that we saw were all comely and fine.”
“Tell me again of Moinagh Pendark,” begs Merilla.
“I found her passing strange,” says Esher, “a fairy creature, not of this mortal world. I saw her but once, and it was the second time Count Barr met with her. We walked in the garden of the Pendark court, a very fair, soft, green place even in winter, with trees and a pond that they called the lake. Beyond the wall, in Lindriss, it was snowy and grey. The princess came down to walk by the pond every afternoon. She wore this day a green silken gown and green jewels; everything about her had a greenish tinge from the light in the garden. She trailed her small white hands and her sleeves in the water. When Count Barr bade her good day, she smiled and spoke to him of his journey over the western sea.”
“But she is beautiful?” asks Merilla rather gruffly.
“Yes,” says Esher Am Chiel, “very beautiful. Not to my taste, of course, but perhaps the king . . .”
Two birds burst noisily from a tree, just over Merilla’s head, and her well-trained mare takes fright, shies, is brushed by a spray of briar, and bolts away. Merilla, a good horsewoman, is surprised and can only cling onto Rondella’s neck and bend low to avoid the overhanging boughs. She hears Esher thundering after her, calling her name. Then there is a twist in the path the mare has taken, a tall thicket and one last branch. She cries out, and as the mare checks, she comes off, sliding sideways to the ground in a heap, and for a few moments the breath is knocked out of her. She has never fainted in her life, and the fall does not make her faint, but she comes close to it soon afterwards. Esher Am Chiel is beside her, taking her in his arms, calling her name still in a voice that trembles with anxiety.
“Merilla . . . my dear love . . .”
“Esher . . .”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, not hurt.”
She clings to him.
“Oh I have missed you, Esher!”
They kiss and kiss again in the heart of the grove. Merilla says in a wondering voice, “Oh Goddess . . . what will we tell the king?”
A good question. They tell the king the truth; and at once, without any consultation, coming before him hand in hand like two children, still with leaves in their hair. They have plighted their troth; they will marry; they ask the king’s blessing. Sharn Am Zor takes it badly. He says harsh and destructive things to his sister and heir, Merilla, worse things to his cousin Esher Am Chiel. No one overhears except Nerriot, the lute player.
The cloud of the king’s displeasure hangs over the palace of the Zor; the Countess Caddah is distracted with anxiety; even Queen Aidris is vaguely displeased, although she qui
ckly sees the suitability of such a match. After days of separation and secret meetings, the two are married, suddenly and with little ceremony in the west wing of the palace, giving rise to unfounded rumors. The king himself performs the marriage and stays only long enough after it is done to suggest that Count Am Chiel take his bride home to his miserable estates until such time as he is summoned to court again. In short the young pair are banished from Achamar, and they ride off happily with a very small number of attendants.
Merilla has knelt before her brother Sharn, subdued her will, which is as strong as his own, and humbly begged one favor: that Prince Carel will not suffer any evil consequences of this rash marriage. She goes off into exile believing that the king has given her some brusque assurance on this point. But Sharn Am Zor is not yet satisfied, and the brunt of his unreason falls upon poor Carel. The Caddahs, mother and son, are sent home to their estates, too, and Carel is not permitted to accompany them. When he tries to ride after Count Caddah, his friend, he is brought back in disgrace by Engist and the palace guard.
Yet when all this excitement has died down, there is another wedding to look forward to, one of which the king approves. At Midsummer, Denzil of Denwick is married with great pomp to Veldis of Wirth at the Zor palace. The bride’s family is an old one, distantly connected to the royal house of Lien; the bride’s father, Sir Berndt, and her two young sisters, Mayrose and Fideth, attend upon her. One thing is unusual: the pair are not married by a shaman, a moon sister or even by the king himself, but by a housepriest of the Wirth family, a follower of Inokoi, the Lord of Light. The seat of the Wirths happens to be at Larkdel, not far from the First Hermitage of Matten. The long summer festival for this wedding seems a fitting rehearsal for the wedding of Sharn himself in another summer not far distant.
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