She paced four quick steps one way and the seven at right angles, over and over as noon crept to one and Virgilia arrived to distract her. The fourth day as she sat and picked up a new piece of embroidery she’d started in hopes of focusing her attention once again, the door opened and Huon walked in.
The fine linen cloth with the pattern of yellow roses growing on it went flying as she sprang up. For one long second she stared at him and then they rushed together. Strong arms went around her and his tears fell on her shoulder. They swayed together, laughing and crying.
Huon had been a good three inches shorter than she when he left to go be Lord Chaka’s page. Now he stood just slightly taller, and he even smelled different; clean, but with an overtone of smoke and leather and horse, and his hands were rougher with callus. When their spate of tears had passed she found herself sitting in the little window seat, still in his arms.
“Tell me,” he said urgently, his rough voice breaking into a boyish treble. “Tell me what happened and how?”
“But I don’t know!” she exclaimed, sliding her eyes towards the door and the wall she suspected of a spy hole.
Huon shook his head impatiently.
“Don’t worry about them eavesdropping on us, Yseult. The Spider knows much more than we, and we cannot hurt ourselves any worse than Mama has already done. Our only hope is truth and mercy.”
“Then . . . you know.”
“Lord Chaka told me. What did you learn?”
“Goodwife Romarec said Mama and Uncle helped the men who came last year to Sutterdown and endangered the Princess.”
“Tried to kill everyone in that building including the Princess. And including Odard. He fought for her . . . fought beside her, and killed several of them at the risk of his life. I think that’s why we were left alone for as long as we were. Mother was getting a second chance that he bought us with the sword and his blood. And look what she did with it!”
His voice had changed too, deeper and rougher, and there was a different look in his eyes. They said he looked more like their father than anyone else in the family, and suddenly she believed it. Her father had been a hard man; never unkind to her, and she remembered him affectionate with her mother, but a very hard man in very hard times. People had been frightened of him; commoners never talked much about him in her presence. The Lord Protector had used him like a dagger held up the sleeve.
“But before she could tell me any more, Sir Garrick arrived and took over the castle,” Yseult said.
“Start at the beginning, then, Ysi. You and I are all of House Liu left here and we have only each other. You must tell me everything or I won’t know what to do or say.”
Yseult searched her brother’s eyes. He was the only one of them to get ones of their father’s dark blue, but with their mother’s open lids.
He’s only a boy! she thought, with a stab of remorse. I should . . .
She spoke aloud. “You’re my little brother! I should be protecting you!”
Huon laughed suddenly. “And if we had a kitchen or a solar, you’d be bustling around doing all the womanly things, taking baskets to the poor and supervising the weaving and getting the winter supplies done and the herbs put up and the accounts balanced. And doing it right!”
“Listen to the bearded knight!” she said gaily, then hugged him again. “Oh, this is good. I thought I’d go crazy . . . how have you been, over there in Mollala?”
Enthusiasm glowed from him; he was still only thirteen. “It’s great! Lord Chaka and the knights and their squires are strict, but they’re fun too, and the other pages are mostly good guys. I thumped a couple and a couple thumped me and we all know where we stand.”
Boys are weird sometimes, she thought, not for the first time. He went on:
“We train really hard and study, but there’s lots of hunting, they’re right on the edge of the Cascades there you know, and I’ve got a horse of my own and I’ve started again with the lance. And Lord Mollala says I’ve got a good seat and eye!”
“It does sound like fun,” Yseult said enviously.
She should have been a lady-in-waiting; for a year or more now. Learning skill and courtesy and the ways of another great house, with a kindly noblewoman to oversee her, and parties and hawking and some carefully chaperoned flirting, and seeing new places and people and making friends among the girls who’d be close to her all her life and link the families together the way page service and being a squire did the boys.
Huon grinned at her obvious thought: “And if we were under siege you’d be counting chickens and eggs and firing those deadly little darts of yours at the invaders.”
Yseult suddenly smiled. “I’m even better than Alex with the crossbow! Oh!”
“Alex? Vinton? He came back? I heard, but nothing definite.”
“I think so . . .” Yseult thought carefully and then told Huon everything.
It took some time, but she didn’t mind. I want the Spider . . . the Lady Regent . . . to know the truth! The truth is I didn’t know anything about treason! Neither did Huon!
It might not make all that much difference. The law spread guilt for treason throughout the kin. More than an hour later Huon said, very softly:
“Par le bon Dieu!”
Yseult nodded, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. In the keyhole opening of the neck of his shirt she could see the little medal of St. Valentine Huon had always worn. There was another medal next to it.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Huon looked down and fingered the medallion. “Well, the Dowager Mollala gave it to me. It’s a Michael; the archangel, you know. Grand Constable of the Heavenly Host. Said if I wanted to be a warrior I needed a saint that could do more than just be a target and end up a holy pincushion.”
Yseult nodded. “Bernadette and Lourdes have been a great help to me.” “You always loved them.”
She nodded again, suddenly tired. All the tension that had been holding her together for the last five days drained out of her body and surprisingly, she found herself very sleepy but content as she hugged her brother. It seemed like a long time later when a thought floated up in her exhausted brain.
“I . . . it’s horrible, but I was . . . not glad, but, but, I wish I knew what words to use . . . when I saw Uncle Guelf’s body in the courtyard, I wasn’t angry he was dead. I felt like he’d deserved it and I was safer with him dead. How awful is that?”
Her brother sighed. “We probably are much safer with him dead and Mother under house arrest somewhere. They say to get out of a pit first you have to stop digging, and now he’s buried himself and Mother can’t do anything to make things worse. Where is Fen House? People just whisper about it when some noble really screws up and disappears.”
“Sir Garrick said we didn’t need to know. Do you know Sir Garrick?”
Huon looked down at her and shook his head. “The Protectorate is a big place, bigger than I realized. There’s a lot more empty space between the baronies than I realized, too. The Betancourts live in Bethany, up near Portland, a little west. It’s prime farmland, I think they have about a dozen manors, and vineyards in their demesne, too. A rich estate. But all the kids are a lot older than we are. Roderick and Garrick are the grandsons. I think old Lord Betancourt, the first of the line, is either dead or dying; though I might not have heard. They were Society people like Mother, but on both sides.”
Huon was quiet for a time. Then: “I can understand your not being sad that he died. I’ll bet the headless body gave you a shock, though.”
Yseult shuddered. “I don’t think it was the body. I’ve seen executions, after all. I think it was the unexpected sight, and knowing him. And he never used his head for anything but a helmet-rack anyway.”
She knew that the words were just bravado, but Huon laughed in approval and hugged her and she relaxed.
I’ve missed him; missed being able to share my feelings and thoughts. Missed it so much.
Huon pulled her closer
. “It could be. He just knew he was smarter and better than Mother was and that he was supposed to be the regent for Odard, even though he loved Mother. And Mama loved Guelf, but she hated it when he tried to tell her what to do. I went to Loiston to be his page, remember? It was just for three months and I was only seven. Mother made me come home when I swore at her. And she and Guelf had one of their fights over his teaching me bad language.”
Yseult gave a watery chuckle. “The kind where we were scared they’d pull each other’s hair out by the roots? I remember that fight!”
“I do, too. But I saw that he truly loved Layella and cared for Aunt Theresa. He was really hard on Terry and Odo, but then I realized that he was really stupid about how he showed how much he cared, but he really cared. So, I understand your not being unhappy he’s dead. But I’m sorry; he did love us. I wish I knew what happened, that he abandoned his post.”
“Did he? Did he really? He ran away?”
That shocked her to the very core. You could forgive an Associate most things except cowardice.
And treason, her mind added.
“Yes, but that’s all I know. Walked out on all the men; just left them and headed back home . . . I don’t think it was cowardice, really. He was a fighter, at least. Everyone agrees he fought like a lion at Pendleton! Why?”
“I was really sorry for Aunt Layella. I don’t know if she cared for him, but she was a good aunt to us and Châtelaine for him.”
She licked her lips; she was dancing around the most important question of all:
“Huon, why did Mama do this? What made her so mad all the time? She hates me. She’s always after me, always irritated, always angry. And Uncle’s . . . was . . . so much worse than he used to be, too.”
Huon started, eyes focusing on her again. “But she didn’t hate you!” he protested. “Mama loves you so very much. Don’t you remember the silk violet dress with the eyelet surcoat she made for you that Easter you led all the girls into church? And the flowered drapes and hangings for your bed she embroidered . . . all your ‘special’ flowers?”
“Oh,” breathed Yseult. “I’d forgotten.”
Remembering Mary’s tender hands dressing her and carefully braiding her hair in a complicated pattern. She’d been eight and so proud to be old enough to lead the girls with their baskets of flowers up to the altar.
“She did the white work herself. I still have it, carefully put away. Or, I did. She changed. She changed . . . when?” she asked, puzzled.
“Some when our father died, Lord Chaka says. I was just a baby. He told me she became obsessed with revenge. But it was the fortunes of war, for heaven’s sake! He wasn’t slain by treachery, that would be grounds for a feud. He died sword in hand with his face to the enemy. What better can you hope for? A man drops it once the war is over. But she was just a woman widowed and grieving.”
“Hummmphf!” Yseult snorted, and Huon waved it aside. “Then, then Uncle Jason died in Corvallis and she had to struggle along with just Sir Richart Reddings to help her besides Guelf, and he kept thinking he should be in charge. And Sir Harold’s father; but he was already old and sick. And he didn’t like her very much.”
“Was it then?”
“Later, I don’t know. I know that she wouldn’t let me leave to become a page, again. There were at least five offers that I heard of, good ones, Houses it would be smart to have links to, but she wouldn’t even discuss them. That was three years ago, but I never knew why. I think, I think that was the start of a . . . a . . . worse change, but even Lord Chaka didn’t know the true answer. He only had guesses.”
Yseult pondered, picking at the crusty scabs on her cheek, before giving up on the conundrum.
“I wish I knew. It hurts to think of Mama being a traitor. It hurts the honor of House Liu and I don’t know how we’re going to make it clean.”
Huon nodded. “Yes. But she never really accepted that the Lady Regent was her ruler. She felt . . . I’ve heard her say . . . that Gervais was an independent Barony, or should be, after the Lord Protector died.”
“But that’s nonsense! We’re tenants in chief, we hold directly from the Crown, and that’s an honor, it makes us equals of the Counts even if we’re not rich. It was the Lord Protector himself who gave Gervais to Mama to hold in ward for Odard after Father was killed. We were there at court with Mother when he made the decree!”
Huon shook his head. “I would have been, what, under two? I don’t remember it. We’ve been to court enough that it’s all a blur that far back for me. But why couldn’t Mother just be happy that the estates weren’t put in Crown wardship until Odard came of age? What more did she want?”
“Oh, I know when that happened!” exclaimed Yseult. “It was a year or so after the war. Everybody’d lost a lot of peasants with the new law that they could move if they wanted to. And we hadn’t. Somebody noticed and told on us. The Lady Regent sent a couple of spies. Mother and Guelf and Sir Czarnecki, the older one who died a couple of years later, had all blocked the ’tinerants from coming in and letting people know and they were keeping people against their will. And Mother was still running tolls on the highways and roads.”
“She did what?” Huon pulled away from Yseult. “I am certainly learning a bit more dirty laundry than I thought was in the basket!” He shook his head in disbelief. “That was part of the peace treaty! And Gervais is really too close to Mount Angel and the Bearkillers and even the Mackenzies to risk any accusation of bad faith.”
Yseult laughed, a catch in her voice. “Oh, Huon. I’ve never thought things out, just watched them happen and never questioned. Mama was called to court and given strict orders. Sir Czarnecki and Uncle Guelf were fined. So was Gervais, but the Lady Regent told Mama that she was fining everybody who should have known better. She never forgave it.”
Huon sighed. A discreet tap at the main door panel announced their dinner.
“Two o’clock? I’m famished!” said Yseult. Huon nodded. The fare was very simple but filling and they ate quietly.
“I’d forgotten how happy we were once,” Yseult said. “Before it changed. I feel sorry for Mother almost, but she . . . made it all go bad.”
She picked at the crusty yellow scab again and Huon made a wordless sound of impatience and took her wrist.
“Leave your cheek alone! You’ll scar if you pick at it! What happened?”
“I fell onto the embers. My wrist still hurts, too.”
Huon scowled and released it at once. “Has the chirurgeon come?” he asked.
“No, why? I haven’t asked for him. Do you think . . .”
The thirteen-year-old boy strode to the door and pounded on it.
“Ho-la!” he yelled, his voice deep and then cracking. “Guard, to me, to me, the Guard!”
The door jerked open and two feet of steel poised its point on Huon’s breastbone.
“What?” asked the man-at-arms, gruffly, his face hidden behind the visored sallet helm.
“My sister was injured and nobody has bothered to send a chirurgeon to her. Her wrist and her face need attention! And put that blade down and your visor up! Don’t you know better than to draw on a gentleman, and in the presence of a lady, you mannerless barking dog?”
Yseult held her breath as the barely visible eyes studied her brother and then her. Abruptly the steel was withdrawn and the man showed his face before the door slammed. There was no doubt that Huon was brave!
He turned, frowning. “Sister, tell me again about Mama and what they did to her when they took her prisoner.”
When she was done he began to pace, frowning; some corner of her mind noticed that he took fewer strides to cross the strait confines of the room.
“Laudanum?” he said, half-incredulous. “A straitjacket? And she never used to have hysterical fits. I wonder . . .”
The chirurgeon came, a middle-aged man with a short grizzled beard. He clicked his tongue angrily when he saw the neglected burns and wrist.
“The wrist wil
l need exercises. I’ll talk with Gallardo; he can add it to your morning routine. I wish he’d told me, he’s supposed to report on your condition.”
“I didn’t tell him, it’s not his fault,” said Yseult. “I didn’t know it mattered.”
The chirurgeon snorted. “Any injury that doesn’t heal is a problem, and it gets worse if untended, young mistress. The face is a problem now. It’s impetigo. Luckily we don’t seem to have brought any serious diseases like MRSA through the Change but it’s not good. I’m going to soak it, gently debride it and then paint it with Gentian violet. You will wear gloves all day, and keep your hands completely away from your face. Young Master Gervais, will you go to your chamber?”
Huon jerked out of his reverie. “Why?” he demanded imperiously; the man was a commoner.
“Because this will hurt your sister. I can’t have you hit me because I hurt her,” said the chirurgeon impatiently.
Huon glared at the chirurgeon and sat down next to Yseult and put his arms around her. “Hold on to me, sister, we’ll weather this together.”
“Oh, that was awful!” Shawonda Thurston said.
Yseult jerked a little, wrenched back across the years. She used an exercise one of the Sisters had taught her, thinking about a candle burning before the altar, to relax her mind; the muscles of her shoulders followed, and the pain in her knee faded.
“What happened after that?” Shawonda said.
“Do you want that last piece of the apricot tart?” Janie added.
Yseult laughed at her angelic expression. I wish I’d had some sisters. We were always such a small family, just the three of us youngsters, and I was the only girl. She realized that she was going to enjoy being a lady-in-waiting again, once things settled down. It had been the first time in her life she could be one of many of her own sex and age, and she wanted that again for a while.
“Go ahead,” Shawonda said. “What happened?”
“Then . . . then I saw the Lady Regent, a few weeks later.”
Emberverse 08: The Tears of the Sun Page 47