The Still

Part III
Chapter 29

Elryc in tow, I dashed up the stairs to my room, dripping and exultant. “Garst! Warm towels from the hearth, and call Anavar to help peel these sopping clothes!”

The Eiberian got to his feet readily enough. “I’ll help you. Anavar’s with the Lady Soushire.”

“Impudence! I told you both-”

Rustin appeared in the doorway. “What irks you now?”

I scowled, but my jubilation was beyond quenching. “Anavar’s gone downstairs without my leave, is all. Rust, this jerkin sticks like fresh sap. Help me pull.”

Silent and glum, he did so. Eyes dancing, I pulled his face close to whisper my secret, but he jerked free his head, downed my hand with a sharp slap. “Don’t act the fool, Roddy.”

Like splintered glass my mood crashed. I tore the drying cloth from Garst’s hand. “As you wish.” I tried not to sound sullen, but gave it up. “Will you tell Soushire I would see her, or must I send Garst for that?”

“Oh, I’ll go. Choose garb finer than you wore this morning, and if you eat again, try this time to keep the egg off your shirt.” He left.

Garst helped dry my back. “He seems annoyed with you.”

“Don’t insert yourself in our affairs. Gather those wet towels.” I waited until he was gone. “Elryc, what comes over people sometimes?”

“I’ve oft wondered.” My brother finished drying himself. “You were in such high spirits, then …”

“Dress well, Elryc. I’ll want you with me for the interview.”

His meager chest swelled. “I won’t be long. Wait for me.” He trotted to his chamber to dress.

Outside, the downpour had finally eased to a drizzle. The sun made valiant effort to break through the swirling clouds, but in the keep the deserted and ill-lit banquet chamber was silent and gloomy. Elryc’s hand crept into mine. Rustin, still cool, walked ahead.

“Ah, there you are.” Lady Soushire, a torchbearer lighting her way. “Could we not wait ’til midday meal?” Her belly preceded her across the hall. “I had a chat with your Eiberian. Did you know his father is cousin to Tantroth himself? What a capture.” She eased herself into her accustomed place. To the torchbearer, “Set it in the sconce and go.”

Past the window, servants and boys called to their mates, but all I could hear was the thudding of my heart. Yearning for wine, anything, I licked my lips. “Your ambition for Groenfil,” I said. “Can it be dissuaded?”

“No.”

I paced, to calm my nerves. “Will you settle for any small concession, rather than the whole?”

“No.”

“Well, then,” I said. “What do you wish of me? Acquiescence?”

Rustin stiffened in his chair, his eyes radiating a bleak dismay.

“More than that, Rodrigo. The armed might of Caledon, to secure the Duchy of Groenfil for my House, and your authorization and recognition of my conquest.” She folded her arms across her ample paunch.

“At the moment I have no force to lend, other than my paltry escort.”

“Not so paltry that it didn’t fend off ambush by Tantroth’s regiment. But I understand your fulfillment must wait until the crown is secure on your head.”

“Very well, I-”

“Roddy.” Rustin’s voice, subdued. “Please.”

The interruption threatened my moment of triumph. My voice turned harsh. “No, it’s decided, if Soushire meets my conditions.”

The Duchess stirred. “I won’t vary my terms.”

“They’re minor. I’ll want funds, until the treasury is mine, and-”

“How much?”

I hadn’t thought that far. “Negotiate with Lord Rustin,” I said airily. “I’ll ratify what he approves. My other condition is simple. For your conquest of Groenfil-as I assume the current Earl would object-I’ll provide the same number of troops you send me to defend my realm against usurpation, and to repel Tantroth after I’m crowned.”

“I need enough men-at-arms to hurl Groenfil off his land.”

“Then raise half that number, to fight for me and Caledon when the time comes.”

She made no objection, so I took a deep breath. “Now do I, Rodrigo, vow by the True of Caledon which I hold dear …” I swore, by my Power, to aid and ratify her conquest of Groenfil.

When I was done, she nibbled at a knuckle, her expression one of deep concentration. Then, “Rodrigo of Caledon, rightful Prince and heir, I swear that I shall, when called upon, vote in Council that you be crowned King, that thereafter I shall send men-at-arms to your standard.”

Rustin put his head in his hands.

“Done.” For lack of a staff, I rapped the table.

She held out her hand; I rose swiftly, gave the formal bow of completion, to avoid a touch of hands. “Good day, my lady Soushire. Be so kind as to send up my manservant Anavar; I have want of him.”

I paced our bedchamber in near delirium. “Three votes! We need but one and I’ll be King!” What if Soushire’s spies heard me? It no longer mattered. “Now, on to the Warthen!” I ran to my bags, unwrapped the dented crown. “Remind me to find a smith to tap out the bumps. At coronation I can’t very well wear-”

“Roddy.” Rustin’s voice was flat “How could you?”

“It’s not how it seems. My vow-” I bit off the rest, conscious of straining ears. Some things, at least, I must keep secret. “Groenfil’s of no account,” I said for benefit of the listeners. I beckoned Rustin close, to whisper.

“Isn’t it?” With each emphasis of his words he thrust me closer to the wall. “I hoped you’d be a noble king, and find instead you’d be King at any cost.” His eyes blazed. “You used Groenfil. As you’d use me, or anyone.”

“Rust, that’s not how-”

“You revealed your true character.” He’d worked himself into a splendid rage. “Thank Lord of Nature I am but the son of a traitor, and not myself renegade to all that is decent!”

“Rustin!”

He took breath, and began an outpouring of my faults and foibles, that, for all its unfairness, left me flushed and discomfited. Never had I been censured so, by one whose opinion I cherished.

I waited him out with as good a grace as I could muster, aware of the one thought he’d overlooked. At last he ran down. “Rust, take a moment, hear what I have to-”

He flung a pillow; it knocked over a candlestand.

“More lies, more evasions? Almost, I thought you were a man!” With that he left, and just in time; I’d snatched up a boot and hurled it at his head. It bounced off the door as it swung shut.

I sat fuming at my mentor’s willful stupidity. Surely Rust must fathom that I wouldn’t betray Groenfil without good reason. Why could he not trust my judgment?

A knock. Was he back to apologize, so soon?

“Pardon, Lord Prince.” Anavar. “You called for me?”

With a howl I sprang from my bed, hurled myself at the startled boy, pitched him against the wall. “How dare you go from here without my leave!” My voice rose to a shriek. “Are you my bondsman, or no?” My fists beat a tattoo against his shoulders, his chest. “Think you I’ll tolerate such insolence?”

“Stop!” The boy cowered against the wall.

“Good-for-naught! Lazebones! Ill-bred young jackanapes!” A blow, harder than the others, spun him about. He caught at the wall with one hand; reflexively, the other shoved me aside.

At that, I caught his jerkin, reared back with closed fist, caught him full on the jaw. Anavar dropped like a stone, but I wasn’t done. “Lay hand on your master?” I pounded his ribs while he lay dazed. In fury I flipped him onto his back, took seat on his stomach. “Insolent! Peasant! Brat!” Each word was punctuated by a blow to the face. “Vile … scum … of Eiber!” His head rocked slack.

The door burst open. Hands seized me from behind, dragged me kicking and screaming off the senseless boy.

“Fostrow! Come! Be quick!” Rustin.

“Let go!” I struggled to break free. “I’ll teach this lout-” I jabbed at Rustin’s ribs.

The soldier rushed in. “What is-Oh, Lord.”

“Carry the boy outside! Hurry, he has the strength of madness and I can’t hold him long.”

I screamed, “Take your hands off me!”

“Aye.” Fostrow scooped up Anavar in his burly arms, heaved him over his shoulder, disappeared out the door.

“Are you satisfied? I’m not done-”

“Oh, yes, you are.” Rust let go his bear hug. I launched myself at him, fists flailing.

He sidestepped, punched me hard in the stomach. I turned green, fell to my knees. “Oh, no.” I gagged, tried not to vomit. Lord of Nature, it hurt.

With no show of sympathy, Rust dragged over a chair, sat. He gripped me firmly and painfully by the nape of the neck and held me in a kneeling position.

I could do little to resist. Arms folded across my belly, I gasped and moaned until the ache faded. I fumbled at his fingers on my neck. “Let go.” No response. “Please.” Despite myself, my voice was a whimper.

“You’re to lie on the bed.”

“I don’t-”

He squeezed harder.

“All right!”

“Until I give you leave.” His fingers dug like claws into my nape.

Weakly, I nodded.

He released me, hauled me to my feet, thrust me to the bed. When I was full on it, he stalked to the door, shut it firmly behind him as he left.

It was a full hour by the candle before he returned, and I’d time to work myself into high indignation. “What does Anavar matter? He’s a mere-”

“Shut thy mouth.” His tone was one I’d never heard.

My words died in my throat.

“He’s not dead. Were he so, I’d be riding to Stryx, done with you forever.”

There was a finality about his last word that chilled me. Silent, I waited.

His voice dripped scorn. “You were too cowardly to vent your rage on me?”

“No, I-”

“Yes.” His eyes bored into mine, until I had to look away. “Roddy, I spoke harsh words to you, and came to regret them. Little did I know how soft they were compared to your conduct.”

“That’s not fair. A noble has every right to chastise a serv-”

“You call it that?” He stood. “Come.”

“Where?”

For answer, he took my wrist, dragged me to the door and beyond to the servants’ room. Within the dark and dingy chamber, Genard crouched by a bed, a wet and bloody cloth in his hand. When he glanced up, his eyes were full of reproach.

I leaned over for a look, and sucked in my breath.

Anavar lay on his back, his face swollen. Blood trickled from cut lips and from his nose. One eye was puffed. He was senseless.

My voice was small. “I didn’t realize-”

“Contemptible.” Rust snapped out the word, and I jerked like a goaded horse.

“Will he heal?”

“Out.” He steered me from the room.

In my own chamber again, I sank to the bed. “I was beside myself …” I looked up. “Rustin, I’m truly sorry.”

His mouth was tight. “Sorry isn’t enough.”

My stomach churned. “What, then?”

His eyes darted about the room, fell on the drapery. He lifted the hangings from the window, slipped free the supple rod that held them.

“What would you do?” My tone was wary.

“As my father did, when I merited it.”

“But after, you couldn’t sit for days!”

He said nothing.

I tried to keep the horror from my voice. “Rust, I can’t. I’m to be King!”

Again, nothing.

“Even Chamberlain Willem never took wood to me! You haven’t the right!”

“Innately, no. Only through your consent, by your oath to put yourself in my charge.”

Had I really been so stupid as to make such a vow? My mind whirled to that day in the clearing, when first I’d caught up to Hester’s cart.

Yes, I’d sworn. Now the True depended on it. Heart plummeting, I said, “Please, Rust. Don’t hurt me.”

“Kneel at the side of the bed, and lie across it.”

My limbs trembled. Wildly, I thought to cast away all, even the True of Caledon, for my fear, but my mind fastened on another vow I’d carelessly made: that I might feel the coward but would not act it.

That vow, somehow, it was vital that I keep.

Forcing my courage, I steeled myself to do as I was told.

Rust took my hands, placed them on the bed above my head.

“No decent lord batters his servants. No decent man knocks a helpless boy unconscious. The next time you inflict pain, Roddy, recall the feel of it.” To my consternation, he slipped loose the rope belt that held my breeches.

And then, with vigor, he beat me.

For two days there was no thought of our leaving Soushire; I passed most of them facedown on my bed, laden with misery.

I had been whipped like a cur, and, through a foolish promise, had been forced to permit it.

It went without saying that my friendship with Rustin was shattered. His indifference to my wails of anguish and the degradation he visited on me was ample cause. Yet, he seemed not to realize our association was ruined. When I healed, I would make my intentions clear. Until then, I needed his help, Garst’s-anyone present-for the simplest tasks.

I had much time to think.

To myself I swore an oath that no matter how much he might beg, never would I reveal to Rust the plan I’d conceived, by which I’d made my promise to Soushire. Let him wait until its fruition, as would the rest of Caledon. On each visit I waited with spiteful glee for him to inquire, but always his mind was elsewhere.

Garst was angry with me, and his effort to conceal it failed.

Well, he had a right to his wrath; Anavar was his countryman, and I’d abused him. Despite my fury at Rust, I knew I’d erred. In Caledon, Anavar was my bondsman, but in his own land he had great rank, and I ought not to have treated him so meanly.

Anxious to clear my conscience, I asked Elryc to summon the Eiberian for me, but he said, “Don’t be absurd,” and changed the subject. When he’d gone, I struggled into my robe, walked with painful care down the long hall to the servants’ quarters.

It was Chela who opened, and I saw she was much recovered from her injuries; she made an elaborate and derisive curtsy, which I ignored.

They were all inside: Genard, Garst, and the convalescent Anavar, who lay on the bed they shared. His face was bruised and puffy. Shame washed over me. I wouldn’t allow Ebon to be treated as I’d done him.

For a moment I wished I hadn’t come, then faced my task.

I faced Garst first. “For what I’ve done to your compatriot, I’m sorry.” I studied his reaction, saw none. “I was wrong, and admit it.” A generous concession, but he didn’t seem impressed. I snapped. “That’s all. Leave us.” My true business was with Anavar.

When we were alone, I sat-knelt, rather-at the bedside. The boy’s look was wary. I said, “I don’t know whence came the rage that overtook me. I-well, I do, it was over Rustin, and politics, and had nothing to do with you. I apologize.”

“Thank you, great Lord.” His words came swift. His wary eyes watched mine.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said. “I won’t hurt you again.” My knees ached, and I shifted position. He said nothing. In the hot room my hair dampened and fell over my eye, and I raised my hand to brush it away.

Anavar flinched.

Could he not understand plain speech? “I told you to have no fear!”

“Aye, my lord!” His hand tightened on the bedcloth.

I ought to strike him for his obstinacy. It would serve him right, teach him-

Lord of Nature, what comes over me?

I hoisted myself to my feet, walked to the tiny window that was the room’s only light. “I have a horrid temper,” I said. “Rustin knows, and has tried to teach me better. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I’m …” My voice dropped.

“Yes, my lord?”

I made myself finish. “Too witless to see what I’m doing.” I swung to face him. “I don’t intend to be evil, Anavar.” My face was crimson. “Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

His voice was tentative. “I wasn’t hurt so badly.” He shifted. “I was dazed, and fell.”

Lord of Nature; he thought to reassure me. Was it from fear or compassion? No matter; either was unbearable. “I’m very sorry.” I hurried to the door, opened it to make my escape.

“-he’ll give him a silver pence to make it all well, until the next time.” Chela, her tone full of contempt. “Think you he’ll change his ways? Sooner a cow lay eggs than-” Someone nudged her. Seeing me, she fell silent.

Scarlet, I retreated to the servants’ room, slammed shut the door. Did all share such opinions of me? Was it for my bullying, or because I fled such moments as these? It must not remain so. I took a deep breath, faced Anavar once more.

He watched curiously, and I had nothing to say. Desperate to fill the silence, I blurted, “Have you ever been beaten?”

His swollen face showed surprise. “Of course, my lord. Who has not?”

I crossed again to the window. “I, until yesterday.”

“Really?” He seemed astounded. “Had you no father?”

“I was nine when he died.”

Anavar’s brow wrinkled. “They say Margenthar of Stryx is your regent, and he is not among us. Who could beat you now?”

I hadn’t foreseen such questions, but I’d opened the door to them. “My frie-Rustin. He acts as my guardian.”

“You have a regent and a guardian? Who appointed Rustin to watch over you, sire?”

“I did.”

The boy’s bewilderment was almost laughable. “You set someone to chastise you? I’ve never heard such a thing.”

Nor had I, until I’d done it, and look at the result. I bore welts that wouldn’t fade for a week. I muttered, “It hurts.”

“I can imagine, if he used leather. A switch is nothing to speak of, but leather, or worse, a rod …” His grin was shy. “What was your offense, sir?”

I started. “You don’t know? My abusing you. He called it unforgivable.”

“In your land I’m but a servant”

“But you were noble, in your House.”

“That shouldn’t matter.” He spoke without thinking, then cringed in dismay. “I’m sorry, my lord! I mean no disrespect!”

“Go easy, Anavar. I won’t hurt you.” I walked with care to the bed, my rump smarting. “Why shouldn’t your nobility matter?”

He studied me before risking my wrath. “In our land, sire, a noble must earn respect as any man. His station entitles him to land and wealth, but not to mishandle his servants.”

I snorted. “I admit I acted wrongly with you, but not as a general principle. Your commoners don’t fear your nobility, and as a result even the army you send must be hired, rather than drawn from loyalty and obedience.”

“What nonsense!” His voice was hot. “Of course we pay our pikemen and archers; how else to keep poor folk in arms, when they could be home working their crops? But all the officers-oh!” His hand flew to his mouth. When he spoke again his voice was small. “Forgive my impertinence, sire.”

“Bah. How many times must I say I won’t hurt you? Must I remit your servitude to prove it? There, it’s done. You’re freed, as of this moment.” I waved it away, a small thing. “Finish your thought.”

Anavar’s look was one of wonder. “You truly mean-yes, my lord. I was saying …” Our officers serve from loyalty to their liege. We need no whips and chains to maintain order.”

“It’s unthinkable your servants have rights they may assert to their very lord.”

“Well, they must use care in the manner they assert them.” He flashed a grin, and for a moment his face was transfigured. Carefully, hugging his ribs, he sat. “Truly, Lord Prince, you allowed yourself to be whipped for beating me?”

“Yes.” My voice was tight.

“A thing of wonder.” He shook his head. “How strange a land is Caledon. Not at all what we were told.”

“And that was?”

“That you’re rustic boors, unwashed, uncouth, with no laws. That pigs and goats share your dwellings, even the castles.”

“It’s not so.” We lapsed silent. Finally, I stood. “I apologize once more. I’ll see you-no, I suppose you’re free to go, now. There’s naught to hold you.”

He swallowed. “As I said, they’d never believe-I’ve no place to go. Might I stay with you, until war’s end?”

“As what? Bondsman?”

“Not-” A sigh. “If need be.”

By the imps and demons, I liked him. And he was a noble. “What say I make you my ward in Caledon? Until you’re of age.”

He hesitated. “Provided, I will not fight my own people. With that caveat, my lord, I would accept.”

“That’s fair.” I allowed him to kiss my hand, make the bow that acknowledged his subservience. “Very well. I bid you leave, youngsire. I need to lie down.”

“Thank you, sire-er, my lord. What should I call you? Will ‘sir’ show my courtesy?” I nodded. He got to his feet, showed me politely to the door. “Oh!” He blushed. “I shouldn’t-yes, I must.” He looked up at me. “On the trail, I said Garst hadn’t told me he would flee. It was a lie.”

I shrugged. “I understand. To protect him.”

“No, sir.” Anavar blushed. “So I wouldn’t be beaten.”

“Why confess it now, when it no longer matters?”

He looked down. “Your example shames me.”

“Will you lie to me again?”

The boy took a deep breath. “Never, my lord. I so swear.”

I rested my hand on his forehead, in a sort of benediction. Then I limped back to my room.

At last, we set forth from Soushire, to the obvious relief of the Duchess, who still hoped to conceal our visit from Uncle Mar. For most of the first day I walked with our infantry, too sore for the saddle and scorning to be seen hauled in a cart The next morn, I gritted my teeth and swung myself onto Ebon.

We rode as a group: Fostrow, Elryc, Rustin and I, and now Anavar. From time to time Tursel joined us, to Fostrow’s evident displeasure.

Soushire’s domain stretched east to the foothills of the Warthen Peaks, the great mounts that barred the damp air of the sea from the desert. But the rise to the desert plateau was slow and steady, and the road wide and well kept. As we rode, I made note of the terrain. Tantroth’s army-or any other-could sweep unchallenged across the high slopes, but at the High Pass, the way narrowed to a tiny gap between rugged cliffs. There, the Warthen’s force stood guard. If we could pass, I would beg the Warthen, that his vote might free me of the need for Soushire’s.

The first evening of our journey, deciding on a place for Anavar was a problem. As ward of the Prince of Caledon, he couldn’t sleep with Chela and Genard. Garst was furious that Anavar had been remitted but not he, and his sullenness was such that I dismissed any thought of freeing him as well. Garst was eighteen, four years older than Anavar, yet his manner was by far the more childish.

I bade Anavar stay close to our band, and bed near Fostrow. Tursel might prove a danger to the boy. The captain had exploded with rage when he learned a freed Eiberian noble would travel at my side, and only my bluntest warnings held him in check.

Rustin had directed our tent be set up as usual. I noticed he’d even set our bedding together. He chatted to me with his usual good cheer, and I was hard put to limit my response to grunts and monosyllables. As we got ready for bed, he came at me when I didn’t expect him, and enveloped me in a brief hug.

Cast loose, I muttered, “You take my willingness for granted.” I busied myself with my bootstrings.

He dropped lazily upon our bed. “You’ll get over your pique, won’t you?”

“Not pique. Rage.” I made my voice cold.

“Odd, that you don’t sound the least enraged.”

“I contain myself.”

“Then you’ve learned something from your castigation.” He smiled. “Stand still a moment. You grow ever more tall. Should I say, even handsome?”

“Say little, and infrequently.”

He paused. “Because I lashed you?”

“Because you showed no forbearance. And I see now that you can’t guide me and be my intimate, all in one.”

He cupped his hands behind his head. “Which, then, would you have me be?”

“Neither.”

“Would you have me leave?”

It took effort to say the word. “Yes.”

“Your tent, or your camp?”

Why did he persist in goading me? “Both!”

Rustin’s face was without expression. “Yours is to command.” He uncoiled his lithe frame, swung to his feet. Within moments, his gear was packed. He thrust aside the tent flap. “Fare thee well.”

Despite myself, I cried, “Wait!”

“Yes, my lord?” The dry tone, which maddened me.

I forced my words. “Stay.”

“Where?”

“In camp.”

He waited at the flap, saddlebags in hand. “In the tent?” I floundered, cast about for succor, found none, struck my colors and surrendered. “Yes.”

I felt relieved, when by all rights I should feel the opposite. Under the covers, I talked incessantly-babbled, even-and caught Rustin concealing a smile. That annoyed me enough to sulk, but his hands found me, and enticed me insistently until I had no choice but to respond.

Later, calm and drowsing, I brought up my offer of Groenfil to Lady Soushire, but Rust covered my mouth. “If you had not good cause, your folly will haunt you long, and I’ve no need to chide you. And if you understood that which I could not, time will prove you the wiser. Let it be.”

“But, Rust, I-”

“For our sakes. For peace between us.”

Outside, the wind snapped the loose cloth of the tent, and I curled against Rustin’s warm shoulder. I wasn’t quite ready for sleep. “I know little about the Warthen. His visits were rare.”

“They said your mother held him in great respect.”

A pause. “Rust, at the funeral, did you notice the Warthen’s eyes?”

“I found myself wanting to look away, because of the pain.”

“It’s the Return, Rust. His Power has great cost.”

The Rites were secret They enabled the wielder-the Warthen, or his delegate-to return to an event he’d attended, no matter how far in the past. Not merely return, but well, reenact. No, that wasn’t quite it either. Not like the acting of the mummers, where the same scenes were played in castle upon keep, and always the outcome was the same.

With the Return, one might change what had been.

There was a drawback, of course. Not only must the Return be bought by suffering, moment by precious moment. But the wielder of the Power could only return to one event in his life. He might Return as often as he could abide, so long as he paid the cost. But when the event was chosen, he could return to no other.

The next day, we chose a route more easterly than was necessary, to lessen chances of encounter with Tantroth. Though the land would not hide ambushers well, Captain Tursel took great precautions, sending pairs of scouts to recheck territory already scouted, and himself riding, with a few officers, to the top of each rise to survey the region we were about to cross.

Elryc rode sometimes with me, sometimes chatting amiably with Genard. Occasionally, they shared a horse, though I rebuked my brother for riding with a servant clinging to his back. Elryc shrugged, replied that Genard was vassal, not servant, and further, that I was hardly one to teach him genteel behavior.

For that I boxed his ears, but when he was done crying, he rode again with Genard, and I did not forbid it.

That evening, Fostrow was atop a wagon some distance from the cookfire, taking his evening meal. With him was Chela. The old soldier nodded placidly. “Have you rehearsed your speech to the Warthen, my lord?”

“What speech?”

“Why, the one that will rend him from the Duke’s bosom.”

I glanced to see if he had too much drink in him. “And what business is that of yours?” With a plate of stew, I perched on the tailboard, studiously ignoring Chela. I tore a piece of bread. “Ow. It’s hot.”

Chela’s voice dripped venom. “Manly ruler. Rust savors entering you even more than he did me.”

Thunderstruck, I leaped to my feet. Something hot stung my lap as the bowl overturned. I clawed for the dagger at my side.

“No, Roddy.” Rustin’s strong arms pinned me from behind. “Leave it. No!” He lifted me, turned me about despite my struggles.

“She said-”

“I know. Go to our tent. Now, Roddy!”

I broke loose, but he hounded me, keeping always between me and Chela, his face set. “Into the tent. Change your breeches; they’re stained with stew. Fostrow, be a good fellow and get him another plate.”

Weeping with rage and frustration, I stumbled into the tent, tugged shut the flap so savagely I heard cloth rend. I didn’t care. I fell upon the bed, clung to my pillow. I knew not how I might emerge to show my face in camp. Better abstinence-better emasculation-than the scorn of servants. How could I have let one such as Rust touch me?

Outside, sharp voices; Chela’s, Rustin’s, others. I could make out few of Rust’s words, but his tone had a harsh bite. From time to time he lowered his voice, but always it crept again into audibility.

Fostrow knocked at the brace pole, came in with a steaming bowl of stew, while I pretended I slept.

After a while, Rust pushed aside the flap, came to sit by my side. “I’m sorry. She won’t do it again.” His fingers soothed the small of my back.

With a curse I threw them off. “Is she dead?”

“No.”

“A pity.”

Rustin gathered me into his arms and after a vain effort to fight him, I clung to him as once I had to Mother, or my nurse.

When I felt myself recovered, I wiped my eyes. “See what I’ve made of myself? I’m undone, Rust. I might as well turn to the sea, take ship to some far place. You’ve made of me a figure of joke.”

“You need have no shame.”

“Speak of yourself!” My voice was savage. “I’ll lie with one of the camp women, tonight. The True be damned; I’ll relinquish the Power.”

“You can’t mean-”

I cried, “I won’t be known as your concubine!” I’d spoken too loud; had they heard me through the canvas? I rushed outside, looked about. Chela sat weeping in the cart, but no others were close.

I stalked back to the tent. “Rustin, we have to end it. I can’t stand the abasement.”

“Do you feel abased, when I … touch you?”

“Yes. Well, not really. But imagine how others see it!”

“Chela is the only one who cares, and that because I abandoned her for you.”

“Send her away.”

He said simply, “I have. She leaves at dawn.” I said cautiously, “You won’t miss her?”

“Her spirit is too bitter. And besides …” Idly, he examined the center pole. “I found better.”