by Robin Hardy
The Commander dipped a bit of bread in his plate. “You drew an accurate admission from the emissary. Polontis is in danger, but we are not.”
“And what if this new tyrant does conquer Polontis?” Roman asked, looking around the table. The Second Kam and the Captains Colin, Olynn, and Reuel did not offer any speculations.
Sevter, the palace overseer, might have had an opinion, but held his tongue when he saw the administrator, Troyce, stir importantly. Troyce said, “Then he may find himself leading a lion on a rope. The mountains in that province make it hard to hold. And the Polonti are not generally a group that will submit readily to a foreign ruler, especially after so many of them were humiliated by enslavement to Sheva.” When the words were out he glanced at Nihl, who had been one of those slaves, but the Commander appeared not to take the remark personally.
Roman focused his attention on the clean-shaven, articulate administrator. “You think they would revolt.”
“Without question.” With a jeweled finger, Troyce casually brushed a crumb from his red velvet coat.
“Yet historically, such revolts are seldom successful,” Roman observed.
“This is also true,” admitted Troyce.
“So they would expend resources, and lives, in attempts to shake him that would probably fail unless they were aided,” Roman concluded. Troyce raised his shoulders, unable to contradict him.
After a pause, Basil reasoned, “The question seems to be, Surchatain, whether you should sacrifice some of your men to contain what is essentially Polontis’ problem. What shall you gain that would make the sacrifice worthwhile? Polontis?”
“No,” Roman answered. “I would not annex them unwilling, and Bruc would just as soon hand over the province to this new tyrant as to me.” They were silent a moment, as those who had not yet finished eating cleaned up the last bit of brewis from their plates.
Then Roman said, “It appears I will have to go to Corona myself.”
This statement brought startled protests from those around him: “Surchatain!” “No, Roman, you must not—”
He raised his hand in a short gesture that stilled them. “Not only because of this. I haven’t forgotten what I saw in Corona when I was there searching for Deirdre. Now that Lystra is firmly established, I have been thinking more and more of the—the inhumanity I found there. And it has only worsened since then. The Lord has not given me this power to sit and be secure. I believe He wants to deliver Corona from the hell she has made for herself.” He stopped, eyes on the far end of the table.
Before anyone could think of an argument, Deirdre appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of pastries. “I thought you might wait for these, my lord,” she laughed, setting the tray before Roman with a bow.
He turned in the great chair and encircled her waist, pressing his face against her bodice. “You are a treasure of many talents, and how I thank God for you,” he said softly.
She stroked his hair, bending to kiss his head. The others at table relaxed and settled back in their chairs, smiling. The same thought seemed to flash from mind to mind: He won’t go to Corona and leave her.
“Sit beside me,” he said, waving at a sentry to bring a chair for her. She sat, handing him a pastry and taking one for herself before passing the tray to Nihl.
“Deirdre,” Roman said quietly, laying the pastry aside, “remember all the things I told you about what I saw in Corona?”
“The killing, and robbing, and slave trading? Oh, yes,” she said, grimacing. But the pastry was really excellent so she smiled again.
“Yes, all that,” continued Roman, and the others grew wary. Nihl leaned forward and Basil began to fidget. “And more trouble has sprung up. Some kind of warlord has begun gathering himself an army. Deirdre . . . I’m afraid I must go to Corona.”
She jerked her head up to gaze in his solemn brown face. “Oh, no, Roman, please,” she whispered. “You have such capable officers—can’t you send them?” Nihl looked intently at Roman but dare not interrupt in this discussion.
Roman lowered his voice. “Please don’t argue with me, Deirdre—that makes it so much harder. The Lord has laid Corona on my conscience and I must go.”
“Then let me go, too,” she said. “Let me go with you.”
“By no means,” he replied firmly.
“Roman, why not?”
“Expose you to that danger and corruption? I think not,” he said, offended.
“But what do you think I faced at Diamond’s Head?” she insisted gently. “I have handled danger before.”
“It would be foolhardy of me to risk your life for this,” he said, temper rising. “It is not your battle.”
“Roman, my love, I’m your wife. Your battles are my battles. Won’t the Lord protect me as well as you? You may need me!”
“Ariel needs you,” he countered.
“He needs you, also. Gusta is a faithful nursemaid and will keep him safe until we return.”
“I will not risk you for this,” he stated.
“Roman—”
“No!”
His sharp denial cut her so deeply that she clenched her teeth to avoid embarrassing herself with tears. But they were coming regardless, so she stiffly rose, nodded to him, and escaped from the hall.
After an awkward silence, Basil said, “It is certainly wisest to keep her here.” The others murmured agreement.
Roman sat back, stroking his brow. “I suppose we must scout the situation before taking an army.”
Nihl nodded. “Yes, Surchatain,” agreed Basil.
“Surchatain, I request to go,” volunteered Kam.
“And I,” added Colin.
“Very well. Kam, and Colin, and Nihl—I wish you to accompany me. Basil, you will have charge of the palace in our absence, answering to Deirdre, of course, and Troyce shall administrate, answering to you. Olynn, you will be acting Commander.”
The officers looked around the table, then Basil finally said, “Surchatain, at the risk of angering you, I must protest your going as a scout. Go if you must, but lead an army when you go.”
Roman smiled tightly. “I value a man who is not afraid to speak his mind. But I have to judge for myself what should be done. And until I make that judgment, an army is unnecessary. I’ll not be foolhardy, Basil, but I’ll not go trusting in a large number of men to protect me when I should have used discretion instead.”
No one else spoke, so Roman stood. “Kam, see that Bruc’s emissary is summoned before me tomorrow morning.”
“Surchatain.” He and the rest stood.
“Nihl.” Roman jerked his head toward the outer doors. “To the mews.”
The Commander joined him on a leisurely walk through the rear courtyard to the small building where the falcons were kept. On the way, Roman remarked, “Deirdre tells me you are reading like a scholar now.”
Nihl smiled faintly. “The Surchataine’s praise exceeds its object. But she has been kind and patient to teach me. I always desired to read for myself the pages of Scripture Josef wrote from memory.”
Roman murmured, “They have special meaning for Deirdre, too.” He lowered his head to enter the low door of the mews and paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and to not overly agitate the birds within.
As he slipped on a heavy glove, he quietly whistled a bar of a song. Some flutterment overhead followed, and the tinkling of a bell, as a gerfalcon flapped down to his wrist. “Pretty girl, pretty girl,” he cooed, gently putting on her hood with one hand. He untied her jesses from the perch and brought her outside.
He waited, stroking the bird, while Nihl brought out a greyhound from the kennels nearby. The dog, unleashed, bounded up eager for the hunt. Roman and Nihl took the animals with them to the stables, where they acquired horses, then rode southeast from the palace, toward the marshes near the river.
Under cover of trees, they left the horses and Roman unhooded the bird. Then they trod watchfully through the marshes with the greyhound leading the w
ay, nose to the ground.
Flushed by the hound, a flock of cranes sprang to the air ahead of them and the falcon shot up in pursuit. It targeted a lagging bird and seized it with its talons. When Roman whistled the call, the hawk dropped the crane disinterestedly and the hound retrieved it, bringing it directly to Nihl. The falcon, meanwhile, climbed to circle overhead.
After the first kill of the day, the hawk was calmer, so the men began to talk. “It’s amazing to see her hunt. I’m glad Troyce thought to introduce falconry here,” Roman muttered.
Nihl agreed, “It’s a good sport—far better than bows and arrows for small prey. Perhaps you should include it in the games this year.”
“Perhaps. But I think it more a test of the bird’s skill than the man’s.”
“The games are scheduled to start in a few weeks,” Nihl continued. “Will you delay them until we return from Corona?”
“No,” replied Roman. “With or without us, they’ll take place as set. It’s not fair to the men who have been training to put them off.”
Nihl nodded, watching the bird mount and soar. The hound ran ahead to nose for small animals. Nihl added as a careful afterthought, “Troyce has brought less useful ideas from Goerge than hawking, however—such as a desire for power. I am not comfortable leaving him in any measure of control while we are gone.”
Roman smiled imperceptibly. “Deirdre thinks he has done well with the household accounts.”
“The Surchataine does not supervise him very closely. But the Counselor does, and he does not think Troyce so wonderful.”
“Come now, Nihl—could that be due to the fact that Troyce is ambitious, and Basil feels threatened?”
“Ambitious men are dangerous,” Nihl said darkly.
Roman glanced at him. “Are you ambitious, my brother?”
“To serve you well, yes. Not to take your place.”
Roman watched as the hound dislodged a scurrying hare which the hawk pounced on and then dropped, dead. Nihl clapped his hands to hasten the hound’s retrieval of the hare. “I have no justification for censuring Troyce at this point—though your concern is noted,” said Roman.
Nihl’s face tightened as he took the hare from the dog’s jaws and dropped it with the crane in the large net bag slung over his back. “I do not speak idly about this. You know I have never lied to you or misled you.”
Eyes on the hawk above, Roman said, “If you have never lied to me, tell me this: Do you love my wife, Nihl?”
Their eyes met. The Commander slowly responded, “I love her, Surchatain. I could not feel otherwise. But I will never touch her.”
Their eyes were drawn skyward again as screams above indicated the falcon had found more prey. Roman whistled a different note, giving her permission to eat this prize. He then answered, “I believe you, Nihl. I will give Basil authority to censure Troyce in my absence, if need be.” They walked forward, the hound bounding ahead of them.
When they returned to the palace they went directly to the chapel, as the bells were tolling the hour for the daily Scripture readings. The service was conducted in a simple fashion by the holy man Avelon, who had won Roman’s mother to Christianity.
Roman and Nihl entered the lamplit hall quietly to sit in the back. Roman looked for Deirdre in the crowded chapel, but could not find her. She must be quite upset to miss coming today.
His eye then rested on the colored glass window above the wooden cross at the front. The window, which depicted a shepherd carrying a lamb, was a recent addition to admit light to the dark hall. Deirdre had seen picture windows for the first time in the cathedral at Ooster, and had convinced Roman of their desirability. Gazing at it now, he conceded that it was beautiful, although part of him missed the stark simplicity of the place where he had spent so many hours in prayer.
Brother Avelon came to the dais at front and raised his hand in a benediction. “Brothers and sisters in Christ, we continue our reading in the Psalms, with Psalm one hundred eight.” He paused to find his place in the heavy volume he held. His hands shook slightly with age; his thin white hair fell limply about his shoulders.
After a lifetime of humble service to the villagers in the name of the Lord, Avelon had finally been persuaded by Roman to serve in the palace instead. The moment of decision came when Roman had visited the coast to find the once-poor villagers ensconced in good houses, wearing fine clothes, due to their mastery of the fishing trade. But Brother Avelon was as poor as ever, living in wretched dependence on the haughty graces of those he had spent his life helping. The irony of it lay not just in that he had taught them to read, thus enabling their success, but that in the crisis of Tremaine’s invasion, it was Avelon who had taken them to the coast and introduced them to the established fishermen.
Roman, furious at finding the holy man in this state, had packed him up and brought him to the palace. And Avelon, old and tired, had acquiesced to stay on.
Now the holy man found his place in the book and read in a voice unaffected by age:
“My heart is steadfast, O God;
I will sing and make music with all my soul.
Awake, harp and lyre!
I will awaken the dawn.
I will praise you, O Lord, among the nations;
I will sing of you among the peoples.
For great is your love, higher than the heavens;
your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
And let your glory be over all the earth.
Save us and help us with your right hand,
That those you love may be delivered. . . .
Who will bring me to the fortified city?
Who will lead me to Edom?
Is it not you, O God, you who have rejected us
and no longer go out with our armies?
Give us aid against the enemy,
for the help of man is worthless.
With God we will gain the victory,
and he will trample down our enemies.”
The words sank down like a lead weight into Roman’s soul: Who will bring me to the fortified city? . . . Is it not you, O God?—and he knew his decision to go to Corona had been confirmed.
Chapter 2
At dinner, Deirdre and Roman sat together at the head of the table with the captains, the officials, and their wives sitting around it. There was an unusual heaviness at the table tonight; Deirdre’s head was down the whole of the dinner. She refused the suckling pig, choosing to listlessly stir the pea pods around on her plate.
Roman sighed and glanced away, then took her hand and kissed it. “The children are dancing tonight,” he said. He had chosen her favorite entertainment this evening in hopes of lifting her spirits.
“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled fleetingly at him, then lowered her head again.
“Sevter, will you see if they are ready?” Roman gestured in distress to the beefy, ruddy man beside Troyce.
“Surchatain.” The palace overseer left his seat. In moments he returned, leading a line of eleven children ranging in age from ten to two. Deirdre straightened and smiled, as did all those at table, for most of these children were their very own.
The eldest boy carried a small lute, and the next two girls held tambourines. Bringing up the rear, grinning and clutching the hand of the little girl in front of him, was Ariel.
The children bowed solemnly to Roman and Deirdre, who nodded gravely in response. Then the three instrumentalists stood aside to play, and the children began an earnest quadrille for the delight of the grown-ups. They stepped and twirled to the beat of the tambourines and the melody of the lute.
Ariel, however, kept missing his steps, turning to laugh and wave at his mother. The little girl who was his partner, and who felt responsible for seeing that he did it right, grew increasingly agitated at his waywardness until she stopped in the midst of the dance and burst into tears. The quadrille disintegrated into a confused jumble.
The adult audience
quickly turned their faces and raised their cloths to conceal their laughter, and even Roman had to suppress a smile. Deirdre sprang from her chair to embrace Ariel and the little girl, consoling her, “You did well! Don’t cry—you did the best you could with him.”
The child stopped crying and hugged her neck. Standing and patting her, Deirdre added innocently, “The men sometimes go their own way without regard for us.”
Roman sat back abruptly; the table stilled. Then Roman stood, tossing his cloth aside. “You are dismissed.” As his guests hastily rose, he determinedly held his hand out to Deirdre. Carrying Ariel on her hip, she took Roman’s hand. He led her out, up the stone stairs.
Deirdre left Ariel to Gusta’s care for the night while Roman waited in the corridor, then she meekly accompanied him to the Surchatain’s suite. They passed by the sentry into the receiving room. It held Deirdre’s bill of freedom, framed and hung as a memorial to her father Galapos, who had procured that bill to free her from slavery at the cost of his own life. Seeing it always renewed in her feelings of humility and gratitude.
Wordlessly, Roman opened the door to the lush inner chamber for her to enter. It was a room trimmed in purple and gold, cluttered with treasures collected by previous rulers for over two hundred years. Inside, she turned to face him as he closed the door. She respectfully waited for him to speak first. He was angry, she was sure, or at least exasperated.
But he took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, his arms tightening around her. As he loosed her hair from the gold band to let it fall down her back, he whispered, “Deirdre, don’t defy me over this.”
She opened his collar to kiss his neck. “Please, please let me go with you.”
“No.” He lowered her to the bed.
Unlacing her bodice, she raised her eyes seductively. “You’ll need me.”
“Don’t torment me, Deirdre. I can’t take you. I’m not allowing Kam or Colin to bring their wives.”