“I have one honest daughter left,” Arnulf said. With great difficulty, like a man forced to remember that the world was still with him, he straightened a little. “I hope you won’t hold this against me. Against our friendship. The duke wouldn’t wish it so, and nor would I. When this is over, I trust we can discuss a new alliance.”
“I am honored, my lord.”
There was no warmth in Karelian’s voice. There was barely respect. Arnulf, ill and weary as he was, still noticed, and a spark of anger ignited in his eyes.
“Don’t judge me until you’ve raised your own brood, Karelian. You may find it’s harder than you think.”
“So I may.” He bowed faintly. “Good day, my lord.”
It was a fine afternoon. So often, in the very depths of the winter, the northern lands enjoyed these days of quiet warmth. It was a favorite time for visiting, for festivals, for great, far-ranging hunts. They had come home laden with game, singing. It was a fool, Karelian thought, who ever sang in Ravensbruck.
She was such a gentle thing. So young, so afraid of the world and everything in it. At times he wanted to shake her, and other times he wanted to wrap her under his cloak like a starving kitten and wait for her to purr.
He was a worldly man; he knew the physical evidence of virginity was sometimes very slight, and could be lost in completely innocent ways, often when the girl was still a child. He knew all things were possible in Ravensbruck, rape and incest among them. Whatever had happened to Adelaide, he was prepared to consider her innocent, and to go on doing so until he had a reason not to.
He knew she did not love him, or even trust him much. But she had tried to please him. She liked stories; she enjoyed it when he told her about his travels, about the cities he had seen, and the marvels he had found in strange lands. After the first few nights, she did not turn away when he slept, to huddle alone on the far side of the bed. He would wake to find her nestled against him, like a wary cat who nonetheless knew enough to stay where it was warm.
And all the while she was in love with Rudolf of Selven. Thinking of him. Wanting him. Bedding with him. Nothing, he thought, was ever as it seemed, and human creatures least of all.
The soldiers who led him across the courtyard kept their eyes straight ahead, and did not speak. What did you say to a man who was not married a month, and was already a cuckold? Reinhard walked beside him, his face ashen and set, and Pauli shadowed them in mute yet eloquent despair.
They went through a narrow gate into the western bastion. The soldiers took torches from the wall, and lit them, and they went down a long stone staircase. He heard shouts, a man’s voice babbling somewhere in the caverns beyond. Their breath turned into puffs of fog, grey and scattering in the torchlight.
This is my life then, the same life still, the life of a man who never mattered, except to those he killed….
The men stopped before an iron door, mauled it roughly with a twisted key, and yanked it open.
There was a huddle lying in the corner; a very small huddle. He thought they had made a mistake, it was only a child, and what on earth was a child doing here? But the child wore Adelaide’s clothes; he recognized the dress, recognized the face lifting from the straw, fever-eyed, hung about with tangles of matted hair.
She sat up. For a moment it seemed she did not know him. Her sight was never good, and the torchlight was flickering in her eyes. Her mouth trembled faintly, but she did not speak. She waited. He stood over her, and found he had no words, either; they dissolved against the terror in her eyes. He had seen such terror before, many times, but always on the faces of enemies, always in a sea of blood. This was his own wife, a woman barely grown, looking at him the way fallen soldiers looked at an advancing foe, knowing the next blow would kill.
So many of those faces. Jerusalem had been full of them— faces backed against walls, against the edges of roofs, against rings of iron-clad men, always with the same wild, empty, bitter look.
She had on nothing but her dress and her shoes, and she was shivering. Shivering and dirty; her face was bruised and there were smears of blood on it, as though she had touched it with bleeding hands. Whore… deceiving wife… unfaithful… without faith… infidel….
He was swept by vertigo, and found himself reaching to steady himself against Reinhard’s shoulder. My own house…. Is this where it ends, then, or where it all begins?
He had not known what he would feel, walking across the courtyard. But his judgment came easily now, so easily it surprised him. He knew what he would do, and he knew he would live with it. After Jerusalem nothing would be hard to live with, not ever again.
“Your cloak, Reini.”
The seneschal surrendered his garment without a word.
He lifted Adelaide to her feet, and wrapped the cloak around her.
“Can you walk?”
She did not answer. There was nothing but fear in her eyes, fear and a black, wild grief. She did not make it even to the cell door without stumbling, and would have fallen except for Karelian’s arm. He picked her up and carried her like a child.
Everything stopped where they passed. The world stood frozen into watching statues: servants and soldiers and men-at-arms. A few crossed themselves, and their eyes followed him, but otherwise they did not move or speak. As each door closed behind him, he knew, there would be an outburst of question and dispute:
— Is she dead?
— What are they going to do?
— Maybe he’ll forgive her; she’s only a child.
— She’s old enough; she knew what she was doing; she should pay.
— You’re heartless; what if she were your daughter?
— I would wield the knife myself.
— Aye, and go to the brothel afterwards, just like you’ve been doing for the last twenty years, you damn hypocrite….
Adelaide’s chambermaid was a steady young woman named Matilde.
“Oh, my lady…!” One glance, and she was reaching for the reeling girl, shouting for hot bricks and broth, stripping off Adelaide’s fouled clothing, slipping a gown over her head, wiping the blood from her face, all the while talking softly like a mother to a child: “There now, my lady, it’s all right, it’s all right….”
In better light, he could see that Adelaide was very sick. Her face and throat were flushed with fever, and when she tried once to speak — whether to thank him or to plead he did not know — all she could manage was a harsh whisper and a broken cough. Matilde tucked her into the canopied bed, and she curled there into a shivering ball.
“She’s burning up, my lord,” the maid said. “Shall I send for Sigune?”
“Sigune?”
“The Wend woman. The scarred one. She’s better than the doctor, if I may say so.”
“Get her then— quietly. And send Reinhard in here, too.”
“At once, my lord.”
The seneschal, waiting outside the door, entered immediately. He said nothing. He would rarely comment on anything concerning his lord’s personal life unless he were asked. But he carefully did not look at Adelaide, and that was comment enough.
“Nobody comes into this room when I’m not here, Reini, except Matilde and the Wend woman. I will depend on you for it.”
“We are in Count Arnulf’s house, my lord.” It was not an objection; it was simply a fact.
“I will deal with Count Arnulf.” Karelian hesitated before he spoke again, not because he was unsure of his decision, but because he did not know how Reinhard would react. It was painful to be thought a fool.
“If it comes to a fight, Reini, I will defend her.”
“That is your choice, my lord. I made mine in Stavoren.” Bent on one knee, with his raised hands held between those of the count of Lys, swearing his allegiance….
“Thank you, my good friend.”
He touched Reinhard’s shoulder briefly, fondly, and went back to Arnulf’s hall, dreading the encounter more than he dreaded most of the battles he had ever faced, even
the nasty, outnumbered ones. He was not afraid of Arnulf, at least not in any personal, physical sense. But he was afraid of chaos. He knew how little he or anyone could control the lunacies of other men.
He sat down by Arnulf’s elbow. A mute servant brought beer, served them both, and withdrew to the far reaches of the hall. Arnulf looked up from his dark brooding; their eyes met and held. Whatever else, the count of Ravensbruck was an intelligent man; intelligent and shrewd. He was rarely mistaken in his judgment of others. When it happened, he did not take it well.
“Why,” he asked flatly, “did you bring that whore back into my house?”
“There would be little point in trying to punish her now,” Karelian said. “She’s too sick to notice.”
“And when she’s better?”
“We will return to Lys.” Karelian drained his beer. It annoyed him to realize how much he depended on it for strength. “I’ll deal with my domestic affairs in my own house, my lord, and according to my own judgment.”
“I wonder,” Arnulf said, “if you have the balls to deal with it at all.”
“You presume on your infirmity, my lord.”
“You may challenge me any time you wish. I have three hundred men in range of my voice. Any one of them will stand good for my honor— better than you seem willing to do!”
“Keep throwing your men to the wolves, my lord, and one day you’ll wake up and find you haven’t any left.”
Arnulf knotted his hands together on the table before him— whether to prevent himself from reaching for a weapon, or to hide their trembling, Karelian did not know.
“When I was on my feet, you wouldn’t have crossed me like this, in my own house! By God, you wouldn’t have!”
He was finished, Karelian thought. He was done and shredding like an old cloak. But he was still dangerous. Evil men were the most dangerous of all when they were going down.
“I mean you no offense, my lord. But I won’t kill Adelaide. She’s only a child.”
Why am I apologizing? I’m under no damned obligation to kill anyone, not any more, and please God not ever again….
“You’re a guest in my house,” Arnulf said grimly. “One word from me, Karelian, one single word and by God’s blood it will be done with! I won’t sit here in my own house unavenged!”
“If you speak that word, my lord, there’ll be a bloodbath.”
Arnulf stared at him. His hands were gripping the edge of the table, as though he were about to heave himself to his feet. “You would fight over it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I choose to.”
“You will lose.”
“No, my lord. I will die. You will lose.” Karelian reached, poured more beer from the flagon. “You’ll lose your ally in Lys. More important, you’ll lose your ally in Stavoren.”
“Duke Gottfried would never take your side in a matter like this! There isn’t a man in Christendom who would!”
“Indeed? Your first words to me, as I recall, were that you put the matter in my hands. Because I was her husband. You know yourself where the right of it lies. So will Gottfried. Besides….” Karelian had the edge now, and he knew it. He paused, deliberately. “Besides, Duke Gottfried owes me his life. And the temple of Jerusalem. Had we not been blood kin, he would have given me one of his own daughters to marry.”
“And he owes me the north of the Reinmark!”
“Yes. We’re his best-loved vassals, the two of us. He wanted this alliance very much; he’ll never forgive you if you destroy it. And a man who earns Gottfried’s enmity is as much to be pitied as a man who earns yours. Don’t forget, my lord: I’m not the only man who came back from Palestine in high favor. There are others— young men, brave men, as willing to fight and hold these borders as you have been.”
He rose. “We are, as you said, guests in your house. We won’t stay long. You may slaughter us; the choice is yours. But I swear to you, it will cost you Ravensbruck.”
“For a whore? And a whoremonger? For a whelp of the weathervane of Dorn?” Arnulf laughed, and then spat. “Your father was a spineless fool, and you’re nothing but a mercenary with a purchased fief and purchased honors. Gottfried will spit on you as I do.”
“Are you sure?” Karelian said softly. Darkly. The power in his voice surprised him; it was almost sorcerous. “That is the question, is it not, my lord? Are you sure?”
* * *
Adelaide recovered slowly. She was pitiably grateful for her life, yet she didn’t really seem to want it much. Her life was a shadow to her now, a story with no further meaning. One quiet afternoon, when the fever was gone, and she could sit up comfortably, and speak without coughing, he sent the others from the room— and immediately the fear leapt back into her eyes, the fear and the voiceless, numb waiting.
She judged the whole world by Arnulf of Ravensbruck, and why should she not? It was all of the world she had ever seen.
“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked.
The question bewildered her. “Did his lordship not tell you?”
“He told me what he chose to tell me. I want to hear what you have to say.”
She looked at her hands. “I wronged you, my lord. I have nothing to say.”
“Was I so unworthy a mate for you, then?”
“Unworthy?” For the first time, there was a flicker of something in her eyes besides fear. “It was never that, my lord. I thought you were kind and generous; I admired you….”
She fell silent, and the flicker went out.
“And Rudolf of Selven?”
“He’s dead,” she whispered.
Dear Jesus, I know he’s dead….
“They said his father was not the lord of Selven,” she went on softly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “They said he was sired by one of the hunter elves. The dark ones, who don’t need light to see. No one really believed it, only me. I knew he was different; he wasn’t one of them at all.”
“You could scarcely have known him,” Karelian said, “living as you did.”
She looked at him as though he were a fool. He did not know whether to be angry about it, or to wonder if perhaps he was.
“I knew him,” she said. “He loved me more than the world.”
“Did he ask to marry you?”
“Yes. Years ago. My father never said yes or no; he said it was too soon, I was too young. He let Rudi hope; he encouraged him to hope. He used him. He used him and used him, and then he killed him.”
Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and spattered onto her nightdress. She seemed unaware of them.
“When his friend Nicholas rebelled, Rudi would have joined with him, except for me. Instead he brought him back. Because my father promised. He said: bring him back, and you can name your own reward—”
“But I was assured there had been no other betrothal,” Karelian said. “The duke had your father’s word on it.”
“It wasn’t a betrothal. It was only a promise, and no one else was there. My father knew how Rudi would take the promise, but it was easy enough, afterwards, to say he’d never meant it so. He just laughed about it. ‘Come now,’ he said, ‘you know such a promise has limits; suppose you asked for my castle and my lands— would I have to give them to you?’ He had a better offer for me now. He could marry me to one of Gottfried’s favorites, to a man with royal blood. He offered Rudi twenty marks and one of his bastards.”
Karelian said nothing. It was a lord’s right, of course, to arrange his affairs as he judged best. It was the duty of his vassals and his children to accept his decisions. But there was also such a thing as justice.
“He used to leave me things,” she went on. Her voice was soft now, drifting. “Colored stones, flowers, pieces of driftwood… we had places to leave things, behind tapestries, and in cracks in the walls. Once he left me two flowers, all knotted together, I don’t know where he found them, there was still snow everywhere. He said he would take me to the
sea one day; there are castles there, under the water…. Do you know where they buried him?”
“No.” But his head is on a pike on the northern wall; pray God you never have to see it there….
“Sigune says the hunter elves come sometimes and take their children back. When they’re still little. I wish they had taken him…. Father sent messengers to the prison … three times … to tell me he was still alive … still alive … like that….”
She was choking with sobs, wrenching sobs that convulsed her body like a seizure. She turned away from Karelian and wrapped herself into a ball on the bed. She did not want comfort. She did not believe comfort was possible, and perhaps it was not— at least not for a very long time.
He knew he should feel deeply wronged— by her, and even more so by Rudolf of Selven, who apart from everything else had tried to murder him in cold blood. But he felt only empty. Betrayed yes, but less by them than by his own unfolding reality. He had fought for twenty years so he might come to Ravensbruck, or somewhere like it, with land and rank and bridal gifts, and this was what he had come to.
Raven had warned him. You know what kind of world lies outside my walls…. Yes, dear God, he knew, and every time he forgot, the world reminded him with a club.
He thought of her now with unbearable regret. Raven the sorceress, the dreamer of other worlds. Raven kneeling over him in the depths of Car-Iduna, her splendid body swaying in the curtain of her hair, her eyes and her voice dark with knowing. Beautiful Raven who still shadowed his path, who sent her witch-birds out to shield him from the treachery he himself — however innocently — had set afoot. His longing to see her now, to wrap her in his arms, was so bitter he could have wept.
Rudolf of Selven abandoned his honor for love, and I my love for honor. Which one of us, in the end, will prove to have been the greater fool?
THIRTEEN
Shadows
Hard and fell am I to him, though I hide it from others.
Volsunga Saga
* * *
It was long past midnight, the sky clear above the northern mark, the white land lit with a waxing moon. In the great hall men slept restlessly, with troubled dreams, or did not sleep at all. Sigune heard their silence, their quiet waiting for blood. She heard the moon pass shimmering; she heard the snow crunch beneath the feet of the hunter elves.
The Black Chalice Page 15