“You see?” Estefen interrupted. “She confesses her guilt.” But he was silenced at a gesture from the prince.
“Continue. We have not yet come to the heart of the matter.”
Then Margerit told of the new mystery she had worked and the visions on All Saints’ Day. “And I prayed to them to be deaf to his words, but they—they seemed to have answered by silencing his voice instead.”
“What was it you saw?” The question came from the woman Barbara assumed was Duchess Annek—she could be no one else and she had the Atilliet look about her.
Margerit answered hesitantly. “It was strange—like in a nightmare. A phasma, not like a regular vision. I saw leopards with glowing eyes prowling in the dark. And hedges of briar crept across the land. Then the saints stood before me, blazing like the images in the cathedral windows with swords in hand, and I thought they would cut down the thorns but then there was a great light and the leopards were edged in glory and the Virgin came in her blue mantle and spread it over the thorn and it blossomed and—” She trailed off as if suddenly self-conscious. “And then I fainted, I think.”
“A pretty tale,” said the princess from the other side. “Are we to spend the whole day listening to more of this?”
“She speaks the truth,” Annek said. “There were strange things on the road that day. Things she couldn’t know unless she were there in spirit.” She turned directly to Margerit. “So it seems I owe to you both our peril and our salvation. I say you’ve proven your point and you should have the chance to make your witness speak. But what will that avail you? It seems he could confirm your guilt, but I’ve heard nothing to place any on Baron Saveze.”
Barbara took up the answer. “Lutoz didn’t plan this alone. My charge is that Estefen Chazillen set all in motion, both the guild itself and the mystery aimed at you. He worked through Lutoz and then betrayed him in turn for the sake of his own revenge. Lutoz never meant the second mystery to come to light, that was Chazillen’s doing. And if not for Lutoz’s affliction Chazillen’s plans would have fallen short, for the evidence wasn’t found at the guildhall as he meant it to be.” Some of that was guesswork, but she saw nods among those who would know and knew she hadn’t stumbled yet.
Estefen tried for one last bluff. Barbara could see the fear under the bravado. “It’s a tale worthy of a gothic novel. All it needs is a kidnapping and a moldering ruin. Let her try her little tricks but I want no chance for plans to be made against me. Let it be done here, now, or end this farce.”
“Not here,” the prince said mildly, “but in the cathedral, surely, if mysteries are to be done. And to keep the peace of God on the proceedings. Let Lutoz be brought there. As gently as you may, given his madness, but bring him.”
* * *
When the court reconvened in the nave of Saint Mauriz’s cathedral the crowd of spectators had doubled. Within the palace assembly hall there were limits to who might enter, but as word of the spectacle ran through the plaiz every idler and curiosity seeker that could fit into the aisles came to watch and repeat fifth-hand stories of what was afoot.
There was time, only briefly, for a private word with Margerit in the confusion of the procession. “Can you do it? With no preparation and no experiments?”
“I think so—if I can do it at all. And nobody knows what to expect, so there’s some chance to try variants in the guise of repetitions. I wish—well, it doesn’t matter. This is what we get to work with. But Barbara, the baron…how did you know—”
“Not now. There’s no time even to begin. Hush now, they’re coming.”
And then they were separated. Barbara moved to where the prince was installed on his chair of state and where Estefen stood apart, not quite under guard but close in hand, while Margerit went to the space before the altar. The archbishop had given his assent to the mystery but declined to lend his presence and the priest who remained seemed to be content to assure the seemliness of the proceedings.
Lutoz was led in. Though the guards sent to fetch him stood close by, he was supported on the arm of his father. The old man’s careworn face told much of the last four months. Lutoz himself moved listlessly and his gaze focused on nothing in particular. The boyish good looks were gone and his face was thin and haunted. Only when he passed by where Estefen stood did his expression change—a brief flash of recognition, a movement quickly forestalled, his head turning over his shoulder as he was guided past. There was no emotion shown, just the glass-hard look that a hawk might give at sighting movement. He changed when he was brought to face Margerit, shrinking back against his father’s shoulder and shaking his head. The old man looked embarrassed and clumsily patted his son’s hand, then stepped away at a signal from the guards.
Margerit looked around and said something quietly to Lutoz. Estefen protested loudly but when Margerit looked to the prince his vague gesture gave no guidance. Just begin, Barbara thought.
Even with the best intent, Margerit’s voice was weak as she began the preliminaries, explaining what she believed had happened and asking Lutoz’s forgiveness for her part in what had befallen him. That was a nice touch, Barbara thought. There was enough in that beginning to let him know how matters stood. God only knew what he had heard or understood of what was happening—and if he had, how much temptation there might be to remain mute by choice. But he showed his assent by kneeling at the rail and bowing his head.
Barbara had seen Margerit at work often enough to know how tentative her opening was. First, the general prayers asking the blessing of God on the undertaking and for Christ’s mercy on all present. Then the addresses to the saints invoked in the invasion tower. She was re-using some of the original text and Barbara saw Lutoz raise his head in recognition at some of the passages. Finally she moved into the meat of the ceremony: the petition for mercy and forgiveness. It was simpler and more repetitious than her usual work. Barbara took note of the little changes at each cycle. There were candles and a few other symbols but mostly it was only her words weaving around him: cajoling, praising, pleading. She added Saint Tirok to the roster, patron of deaf-mutes. That was a nice touch.
Margerit gave no sign of her progress but when a ripple of scattered exclamations ran through the crowd Barbara guessed that some had seen the saints respond. And then the repetitions grew more focused and more intense until at last Margerit exhorted Lutoz to join her in the Ave. As she drew out and repeated the opening phrases Aaa-veee Maaa-riii-aaa, Aaa-veee…a croaking sound—more a sigh than a word—joined her voice, growing gradually stronger until she led him through the entire prayer.
And then it was done. Lutoz still knelt, his hands covering his face and his shoulders heaving, but now the sound of wracking sobs could be heard where only silence had gripped before. His father ran to embrace him and help him to his feet. Margerit had stepped back to the edge of the crowd as if to disown her part in the cure.
A decent interval was allowed before Lutoz was brought before the prince. So he wanted a speedy conclusion, Barbara thought. Well, that was to their advantage as well. Lutoz still seemed dazed—and little wonder—as he knelt.
“Like your deliverer, you are in a delicate position,” Prince Aukust admonished him. “You do not now stand accused and yet your testimony requires your confession. She gave hers freely and I have taken note of that. To you, I can promise only that if you speak the truth unstintingly I will require nothing greater than your exile.”
But if he expected defiance, it seemed he hadn’t accounted for the sobering effects of Lutoz’s penance. “What I did,” he began, “I did for Alpennia. As I have been judged in a higher court and granted mercy, I will stand by the truth.”
His story, coming first haltingly as his ragged voice found its way, held few surprises. How could it? Knowing the end, knowing how everything had focused on destroying Margerit, there was only one possible beginning. But to the prince and the others who would judge, Margerit was nothing and the tale must stand on its own merits. The guild—tha
t had been Lutoz’s dream, but Estefen had urged him to realize it. And Estefen had insisted on expanding the membership to bring one particular name into play. The idea for the mystery? That, he thought, had been consensus—his memory wasn’t clear. But Estefen had insisted on the invasion tower, laying out the specific symbols to use, and suggesting they keep it close until the celebration.
“And what was the purpose of that part of the ritual?” the prince asked harshly. When Lutoz faltered he added, “The truth. Unstintingly.”
“To protect the interests of your true heir, Aukustin, against…against those of foreigners.”
“Against my beloved daughter and my grandsons,” he countered. “And did you have no thought for the consequences of raising the guardians of our land against them?”
“That, I left in the hands of God.”
“And we see how God answered. Continue,” the prince commanded.
The accusation, the search of the guildhall—he had been shocked at that, but mystified and grateful that only the public mystery text had been found. The treasonous turris? Only he and Margerit had copies. At some point Estefen had borrowed his; was that before or after? He had thought it best to let things lie but Estefen had urged completion, had arranged for a venue. Then came the disaster of All Saints’ Day. And on the heels of that—when all the doctors and priests had come and gone to no avail—betrayal. Estefen had ransacked his papers and notes and carried away all trace of the ritual. And if the ritual was the foundation for the treason that was charged, then the charge belonged as much to Estefen as to any other.
Barbara watched the prince’s face closely as the questioning concluded. Was it enough? Was the miracle of speech restored sufficient to give credence to that speech?
Estefen, challenged to respond, was dismissive. “My old friend Hennis lost his wits and his voice but only his voice has returned. When have I shown any interest in chanting mysteries? If I’ve been arranging all these secret meetings, who has seen me? If I’ve been dictating the details of this treasonous ceremony, who has heard me? Where is the proof? Who can produce a single document that taints me with any greater crime than a poor choice of friends?”
As the silence stretched out Barbara stole a brief glance at Margerit. Did she realize how close they were to failing? And then, like the voice of doom, two words fell into the silence.
“I can.”
The stir in those around her identified the speaker. Mesnera Chazillen had no need to raise her voice to command attention. Her words, like her face, seemed chiseled from ice as she addressed her son.
“If you had betrayed a friend out of loyalty to your prince, I could forgive that,” she said, stepping forward into the space where Estefen stood alone. “If you had betrayed your prince out of zeal for a cause, I might forgive that. But to betray your family, to drag our name into the gutter, to trample your honor into the mud underfoot for no better reason than petty revenge on this…this burfro girl? You are drowning in your own bile and now you won’t be satisfied until you drag all of us under with you. It’s time to make an end.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Margerit
And suddenly, just when it seemed they might fail, it was over. Did she know about that too? Margerit wondered. A crowd clustered thickly around the principals with voices raised in babble. As much as Margerit longed for the reassurance of Barbara’s presence, she hung back from the press of people. This was Barbara’s realm—her game to play out. But it seemed there would be no further spectacle today. Judgment would come later. She saw Estefen being led off under guard. The ordinary folk slowly began to drain away, leaving the cathedral quieter and suddenly colder.
When the crowd had thinned enough she caught Barbara’s eye. After a brief conversation she came over, bringing the vicomtesse with her. “The talking is likely to go on for some time. It might be better for you to leave now. Jeanne has said she can see you safely home. I’ll come when I can.” But she looked worried.
“I thought it was all settled.”
The vicomtesse laughed and not in amusement. “The game is only begun in earnest. One takes another’s pawn—so. The other disclaims the pawn but demands a knight in return. A third player enters the board and the game changes. They will be arguing all night over moves that no one dares to make openly.”
“Don’t frighten her,” Barbara chided. “Our part is nearly over but we’ve upset the balance of something larger. I need to stay to see how it plays out. At the moment, I’d rather you kept out of view as much as possible.”
“But Barbara, when did you—”
“Hush. Later.” Barbara laid a finger across her lips and let it linger there a moment longer than necessary. “Later.”
* * *
Margerit hardly knew what to say to the vicomtesse on the brief carriage ride from the cathedral to home. The day’s events were too vast to address and the past that bound them together seemed perilous territory. And she wasn’t put at all at ease by the knowing smile that lingered at the corner of Jeanne de Cherdillac’s mouth. But at the last, as the footmen came out to let down the steps and open the door, the vicomtesse leaned over to offer a quick embrace and whispered, “Be good to each other. I think you suit her far more than I could.”
Margerit remembered little of that homecoming later: a long tearful welcome from Aunt Bertrut; careful, incisive questions from Uncle Pertinek; a constant parade of curious servants, peeking around corners until she capitulated and went understairs to show herself and share reassurances that she didn’t entirely believe herself. In turn, she learned the fate of Maitelen, who had thought it wise to remain in Chalanz until sent for. Nikule too hadn’t returned to the city and Margerit could only imagine what Uncle Fulpi would have to say when next they met.
And then, after a quiet supper, there was nothing left but to wait. Aunt Bertrut fussed at her to rest. “Not until Barbara returns,” she responded firmly. Her aunt looked worn thin by the past months.
“But I thought…” Bertrut began. “That is, she doesn’t…work for you now. That was the arrangement, wasn’t it? And Charul said…” The highlights of the days’ revelations had traveled faster than she had. Those of the household that had served in the baron’s time found Barbara’s news of far more interest than the actions of the court. No detail of that matter had escaped discussion. Bertrut finished at last, “Will she be staying here, then?”
“This is her home. Where else would she go?”
“But I should have them make up the guest room. We can’t put a baron’s daughter in an attic room with the servants.”
Margerit forestalled her. “Tomorrow is soon enough to worry about it, Aunt Bertrut.” She had a sudden thought. “We’ll be up late talking. I expect Barbara will simply stay in my room tonight.” But how to excuse the next night? And the night after? How did one arrange these things?
* * *
Alone, waiting in the library as so many times before, she finally had time to start turning over the puzzle pieces. The baron’s daughter? Had LeFevre told her…just two nights before, it would have been? But then she thought of the charter, when she’d refused to use the name Arpik. She must have known then. How long? Had she known when she’d vowed to have no more secrets between them? And why? Why had it been secret all those years?
She hadn’t meant to sleep. She would have sworn she hadn’t, but the next thing she knew there was a hand on her shoulder and Barbara’s whisper in her ear. “Margerit, wake up, I’m here.”
Margerit blinked a moment in confusion then threw her arms around her and held her as if she never meant to let go. She could feel the other woman’s body vibrating with tension. “Is it over?”
“Not entirely. But the rest will only be formalities. Estefen…Estefen will be condemned. Mesnera Chazillen had letters, documents—it wasn’t just you. If it had only been the trap he laid for you he might have wriggled free. He’d kept his hands nearly clean of the mystery plot. But he owed too many debts—bo
th in Alpennia and out—and he’d sold his honor to pay them. She’d looked the other way for too long. Even family loyalty has its limits.”
“And Hennis?” Even now, Margerit found it hard to feel worse than pity for him. They’d worked so closely for so long. As callous as he’d been toward Duchess Annek and her sons, she wanted to believe he’d been ignorant of Estefen’s plans for her.
“Exile, as the prince said. He stands convicted by his own words. Margerit, you haven’t asked—you’re safe, you’re free; the charges won’t be laid.”
It was the relief in Barbara’s voice that struck like a blow. “But I thought…when no one took up the charge…”
She was suddenly shaking and Barbara eased her down into the chair by the fire. “That only held until the case against Estefen was settled. Even condemned, he could still lay his charge against you. That was one of the reasons I wanted you away while it was all being argued. So there would be a chance to have the charge voided before it could be laid. Princess Elisebet was looking for blood. She couldn’t defend either of the men directly but she could seek to even the score. And it didn’t matter to her that neither of us has any stake in the succession. She wanted your exile to match Lutoz’s.”
Exile. The images flashed through her mind. Wandering, homeless, a stranger…and would Barbara be willing to follow her?
“It’s all right, you’re safe,” Barbara repeated. “Annek…I don’t know what she really thought, but she suggested to Aukust that someone of your talents shouldn’t be driven into the hands of foreigners. And since she was the most concerned in the plot he took her advice and pardoned you of any charges.” She gave a little forced laugh. “I think you impressed a fair number of people today.”
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