Arnulf was simply brute force to her, the absolute principle of violence at the center of the world. He was the bellow shattering the hall, the fist crunching bone, the certainty of destruction which awaited any man’s defiance— or any woman’s.
Arnulf would kill her for smaller things than loving Rudi Selven.
She loved him nonetheless. And that was the strangest thing of all: amidst so much fear, there could still be things over which fear had no power. Rudi was the son of the hunter elves, the warrior who would never be defeated, the prince who would take her to the sea. She was very young the first time he gave her a flower. She smiled and thanked him and went away again just as she was supposed to, and they all were pleased and said what a pretty child she was and forgot about it. Only she took the flower and sat alone with it in a corner where no one would find her, and smelled its sweetness and stroked its small petals one by one, and they changed into silver swords, they changed into birds, they changed into veils of coral silk which she would wrap around herself when she went with him into the forest.
No one could be allowed to know. She understood that from the first. So it was weeks until she managed to catch him by himself, in the courtyard, just for a moment. Long enough to ask him if he would be her knight, and love her and serve her faithfully forever.
He looked at her very strangely. She was small for her age, and delicate, but she was not a child, not inside. Maybe he realized it when she spoke to him, or maybe he had already known.
He rarely smiled; he was dark-souled even then, a stranger, a prince from some other, perilous land. But he smiled at her that day.
“I will always be your knight, lady Adelaide.”
For a long time she thought she would marry him. Then the messengers came from Stavoren; and Arnulf, beaming like a bandit with a bag full of gold, told her he had found a husband for her, a kinsman of the Golden Duke, a man with royal blood. She thanked him, as she was expected to do, and crept away. It was late October. The yellow hills were turning bare and dead leaves rattled all night against the stones of Ravensbruck, all night while the moon wept and the elves marched west into the forest, utterly silent, their faces bent and hooded. She knew they would not come back again.
Some nights she cried till the moon went down; some nights she lay shivering with fear. Who was this strange man who would come for her? A knight, but not like Rudi at all. Like her father, old and probably cruel. He would know he was not the first. They said a man could always tell. He would know and he would kill her.
She pleaded with Sigune: You can do things, I know you can…! She did not know, precisely, what things Sigune could do, but in the depths of her terror she did not care. Sigune was a witch. Sigune herself had those forbidden powers she once feared in Clara, which Clara did not have. Sigune would make him go away, make him change his mind, make him drown in the river.
But Sigune did not do it. She took Arnulf down instead. And the man from Lys did not kill her; he smiled, and gave her presents. The story turned strange, twisting like a deer path in a forest. Neither death nor life had any certainty now; either could melt in a moment like snow against her hand.
How was it possible, after all that black fear, to go to Rudi again? To walk to their secret room, holding her life like cupped water in her hands, one small stumble and it would be gone? It should not have been possible. It was simply necessary. She cringed at every shadow in the long passageway and listened for every tiny sound beyond. Her stomach hurt and her breathing was ragged; twenty times she thought of going back, but going back was equally unbearable.
It was over between them, even the stolen words, the gift of a look. It was a tale for the minnesingers now. He was leaving, and by spring the whole of the Reinmark would lie between them. Once in a while, in strange courts, in Stavoren perhaps, they would smile across a crowded room, or share a dance. Only that would be left, only that and his promise: I will always love you, Heidi.
But they would say good-bye. They would touch each other this one last time. It was possible, just barely possible, with the countess shivering with ague in her bed, and Karelian and her father’s men all gone hunting halfway to Helmardin, and no one thinking anything of it that Rudi stayed behind. Of course he would stay; he was preparing for his long journey home, to take charge of his kindred and his duties.
She slid the storeroom door open very slowly, stepped inside. There was not even a flicker of light. She did not speak; she could not. What if someone else were there instead of him?
But it was Rudi, his arms circling her, hard animal warmth in the darkness, beautiful although she could not see him, utterly beautiful and graceful and wild, kissing her, his hands hungering inside her garments, opening them to a twin shock of fire and cold. They did not speak much; they never had. Time was always precious and brief, and words could be overheard. They lay on his cloak on the stone floor and mated. He was greedy, always greedy like beggars were for sweets, but he never hurt her. For a while there was no fear.
“Did he say anything?” His voice was a murmur in the darkness, troubled and hard-edged. “On your wedding night?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Probably he was too drunk to notice. Is he nice to you?”
“Yes. Very nice. He seems… kind. Generous and kind.”
There was a long silence.
“Do you wish he weren’t?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Then, after a small time, she could feel him shaking his head. “No, I don’t. I don’t know what I wish, except to have married you myself.”
She burrowed her face into his neck, but said nothing. Twice she had begged him to run away with her, and each time his answer had been the same. Run where, and to what?
Do you know what a man is who has no land, Adelaide? He is a beggar, a bandit, or a mercenary. Nothing more. And do you know what such a man’s wife is, if she’s young and pretty? She’s prey for every scoundrel, every band of robbers, every bullying lord who crosses his path. And if he has the bad luck to die, she’d better find another man before his bones are cold, or she’ll end in a brothel. I haven’t loved you all these years for that!
Still she would have run. She would have thrown their lives to fortune, to the gods of love and defiance. It seemed strange to her that Rudi, who would take so many other risks, would not take this one. Perhaps he knew the world too well. Or perhaps it was too terrible a surrender to let the lord of Ravensbruck drive him into exile, after so many other wrongs.
“There is one other thing I wish for,” he said. “I wish your father were dead and in hell. But I will settle with him one day.”
She knew what she should say, what the world expected of her— certainly the Christian world, and maybe all the others, too. She should defend her father. No, you mustn’t say such things. He is your lord. He did what he thought best…. She should lie as the world lied, endlessly, kneeling before the feet of power.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not ever— not unless you’re sure of winning.”
“I’m not a fool, Heidi.”
“No. But you’re reckless sometimes.”
He laughed softly, ran his fingers down her throat to the tip of her breast. “God knows that is true. Or I wouldn’t be here.”
He was reckless beyond words, beyond all men’s forgiveness. Reckless to the death he had promised to die for her, because he was her knight and he would serve her forever. The door crashed open; torchlight spilled over them, torchlight and curses and the sound of iron striking flesh, and another sound which only long after could she identify, the sound of her own voice screaming, of her own body crashing into a wall of shelves, of pottery shattering around her, the last pieces falling with sad small tinkles into a sudden, inhuman silence.
And then the thud, scrape, thud of Arnulf of Ravensbruck moving from the doorway into the circle of light, dragging his lame foot and leaning on his cane.
She pulled herself to her knees, gulping terror, the scream
still howling in her throat, voiceless now. She had no breath to scream, and no strength. She saw Rudi pinned against the wall, blood running from his face. Three men were holding him, one with a mailed arm around his neck. She saw his sword still lying on the floor beside his cloak, where he had so carefully placed it and then somehow not found it in the darkness. He was dishevelled and almost naked, his trousers clinging in a huddle around one foot.
Arnulf looked at her. The hatred in his eyes blackened into absolute contempt.
“Cover yourself, you damnable whore.”
She fumbled at the lacings of her dress, helplessly. Then, sobbing, she groped out for Rudi’s cloak, and dragged it around her shoulders— and she saw her lover, with his unutterable defiance, smile to see her do it.
Arnulf turned back to him. “You bastard,” he said bitterly. “I trusted you. More than any man alive, I trusted you.”
“That makes us even,” Selven said.
The count waved at one of his soldiers. “Bring me a brazier and some iron spars. Lots of coals, too, and my chair. We’re going to be here for a while.”
Adelaide moved unsteadily towards him, trying to find words and the courage to use them.
“Father….”
The blow cracked her cheekbone and spun her back like a rag doll, into the broken shelving.
“Don’t call me father, you whore! And don’t beg for your life. Beg for a priest.”
She knelt, tasting blood in her mouth, feeling it trickle from cuts on her hands and her knees.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please…!”
They were coming already; she heard the tramp of feet, the smell of fire. Was hell so close then, already? What answer could she give to God and his judges when they stood before her? We never knew…. Oh, but you did! We never meant it…. Oh, but you did!
She shook her head, the motion turning into a slow, blind rocking on her knees. There was no use appealing to God. It was God who made the laws, God who condemned her, God who was waiting for it to end, so the real punishment could begin….
“Rudi….”
Arnulf shoved the iron spars deep into the fire. She knew what they were for.
“Let him go. Please let him go.”
Arnulf laughed. “Do you think I should? I’ll tell you what I’ll do, whore. I’ll give him back to you, one piece at a time. Nicely roasted. The best parts first.”
The men chuckled. She stared at them. Rudi’s fellow knights, his comrades in arms, chuckled…?
She tasted bile in her throat, burning, mixed with tears. It was barely possible to speak.
“Let him go, and I’ll tell you what happened to Silverwind.”
For the first time in her life, she had her father’s absolute, undivided attention. It terrified her as nothing else had.
“What did you say?” he asked. He was always dangerous, but most dangerous of all when he spoke quietly.
She backed away without even noticing, tearing her knees on the broken pottery.
“It wasn’t an accident,” she whispered. “Someone… bewitched him.”
“Really? How can you possibly know that?”
“I saw things. I heard things. I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She could not look at him. “I was afraid.”
“You were afraid, when my life was at stake? But not afraid now, for this dog of a traitor? What a loving child you’ve grown up to be. Very well. Tell me what you know, and I’ll let him go.”
She swallowed, and lifted her head, and tried to keep her voice from shattering. “Not here. At the gates. When he’s gone, and out of bowshot, with his horse and his arms— then I’ll tell you.”
The silence was devouring. No one moved. No one dared to. She shot a brief, desperate glance towards her lover, wanting to see hope in his face, and not finding it.
Arnulf took one lumbering step towards her.
“You mean to bargain with me, girl?” He laughed. It was a laugh of raw fury and absolute astonishment. “I killed a thousand men before you were born, and every one of them was smarter than you. I’ve bested every breed of man there is. Vikings. Prussians. Wends. Frisians. For damn near forty years, in mud and rain and blood and fury. Every emperor since Otto the Great swore these borders could not be held, and I held them. I held them, when God himself couldn’t! And you think you can bargain me out of my honor, as though I were a stupid boy haggling over a tin whistle? You? God’s blood, I’ll show you how to bargain!”
He moved another step towards her. She could not back away any further; the wall was at her back.
“I will set the terms here, and I won’t debate them. This man will die. If an enemy were standing here with a drawn bow, ready to kill me, and God himself were standing beside me, and God said to me: You may strike one more blow in your life, and then never strike again, I would kill Rudolf of Selven.
“This is my bargain, whore: tell me what you know, and I’ll kill him with a single blow. Refuse, and I’ll roast him alive. And then we’ll see who is stronger. We’ll see if you can listen to his screams longer than I can listen to your silence.”
She did not answer him. It was Rudi who answered him, shouting despite the arm pressed against his throat, the brutal plunge of a knee into his groin.
“It doesn’t matter, Heidi! Nothing is going to matter! Save yourself, if you can—!” The voice ended in a choked snarl.
“That’s enough, Franz!” Arnulf said sharply. “I don’t want him strangled.”
He picked up one of the iron spars and handed it to a soldier.
She scrambled to her feet, sobbing. She tried to run to him, but armed men blocked her way. The iron glowed a handbreadth from Rudi’s thigh.
She had always known they might die. She had even known they might die hard, but she had never imagined it would be like this,so shamefully, without even being allowed to do up their clothing first. They were not people any more, not lovers from the shining songs. They were only objects of sport, caged animals to whimper and howl until they were dead.
“Don’t! Oh, God, please don’t, I’ll tell you!”
Arnulf raised his hand, and the iron stopped moving.
“Well?” he said.
“The countess bewitched your horse. Lady Clara. To kill you.”
He stared at her, disbelieving.
“My wife? She wouldn’t dare.”
But nobody would dare; that was the problem. He was Arnulf of Ravensbruck, the man who fought half the northern world and walked away laughing.
“I saw her. She has… things… in her jewel box. Horrible things. I heard her calling devils into the horse, asking them to break your neck. She hates you. You know she hates you, and you know why!”
He was still staring at her. She went on, frantically. “I swear to you, I heard her…!”
He was tottering a little on his cane. For a moment she thought he was going to fall.
“And you never told me?” he said.
“I never thought… I didn’t know…!”
He turned slowly, spoke to the men. “Bind him. On his feet. Those pillars should do.”
Horror knotted her throat and dissolved the last of her strength.
“No!” she sobbed. “No, father, you can’t, dear God, you can’t, you promised!”
“I promised I would kill him with a single blow. And so I will.”
“What did you expect, Heidi?” Rudi said bitterly. “That he would keep his word to you any better than he kept it to me?”
And so she stood, prisoned between two soldiers who would neither let her fall, nor run, nor die, and watched her father take a lance, and balance it a moment in his hands, and walk forward on the steady arm of his squire, and drive the weapon through Rudi’s belly, low and hard— so hard that it lodged in the wall behind him.
She screamed. She did not know what the words were, or if they were words at all or only cries. Something hit her in the stomach, a fist, a club, she did not know whic
h, she did not care. She buckled, vomiting, and the darkness took her down.
TWELVE
A Matter of Honor
The adulteress Swanhild, he said, ought to suffer a
shameful end, trampled under the hoofs of beasts.
Saxo Grammaticus
* * *
I have left it to your hands, Karelian— unwillingly, I must admit. I don’t bear shame well, least of all in my own house. But you are her husband, and I have deferred to your rights.”
No, Karelian thought grimly. You have deferred to my kinship with Gottfried, and to nothing else.
“You may be sure,” the lord of Ravensbruck continued, “whatever punishment you choose, you need have no fear of offending me.”
Arnulf had aged. They had ridden out three mornings ago with their horns and their hounds, and he had stood in the courtyard with only a cape flung around his shoulders and naked envy in his eyes. “By God,” he had said, “next time I’ll be riding with you!”
Now he sat leaning both elbows on his wooden table, as though even his chair would no longer hold up his sagging body. His eyes were hollows of bitterness, and he drank without ceasing. The great hall was empty; even their squires had been sent away. The whole world knew what had happened, but he would not speak of it in front of others, and no sane man, after today, would ever speak of it in front of him.
“When I was ten,” he said, “my father told me to trust no one— not ever. No man, he said, and still less any woman. I heeded him for most of my life. And then I forgot.”
Arnulf’s wounded feelings were not something Karelian wanted to discuss.
“Where is Adelaide?” he asked.
Arnulf gestured vaguely. “In the prison. The men will take you.”
“Selven?”
“He died last night.”
Last night. He had lived two and half days then, shackled to a pillar, with a lance in his bowels…. Karelian rose, pulled his cloak around his body, looked again at his father-in-law, who was no longer looking at anything.
“You were here,” he said, “and the countess was confined to her bed. How did they come to be discovered?”
The Black Chalice Page 14