Hawkmistress! (10 page)

Through the glass connecting doors to Mallina’s room she saw her sister exploring her Midsummer-baskets; like Romilly herself, she had three, which made Romilly turn back to her father’s generous basket, with more fruits and sweets than flowers - The MacAran had quite a realistic view of little girls’ appetites, which were just as greedy as those of young boys - and the smaller basket she thought was from Darren. Now, examining it closely, she realized that it was filled with garden and hothouse flowers, exquisitely arranged, and with one or two exotic fruits which he must have gotten in Nevarsin, since they did not grow near Falconsward. Then she saw the card, and read in surprise; I have neither sister or mother to receive

Midsummer-Gifts; accept these with my homage, Alderic, student.

Mallina burst into her room.

“Romy, aren’t you dressed yet? We mustn’t be late for Festival breakfast! Are you going to wear your holiday gown? Calinda is with Mother, will you button the back of my dress for me? What beautiful flowers, Romy! Mine are all garden flowers, though there is a beautiful bunch of ice-grapes, as sweet as honey - you know, they leave them on the trees in Nevarsin till they freeze, like redfruit, and then they lose their sourness and grow sweet… Romy, who do you think he is? He looks so romantic - do you think Dom Alderic is trying to court one of us? I would be happy indeed to be betrothed to him, he is so handsome and gallant, like the hero of some fairy-tale-“

“What a silly chatterbox you are, Mally,” said Romilly, but she smiled, “I think he is a thoughtful guest, no more; no doubt he has sent to mother a basket as fine as this.”

“Domna Luciella will not appreciate it,” Mallina said, “Still she thinks Festival Night is a heathen observance not worthy of a good cristoforo; she scolded Calinda because she had Rael making Festival baskets, but Father said everyone deserved a holiday and one excuse was as good as another for giving the farm workers a day of leisure and some well-deserved bonus gifts, and he should let Rael enjoy the Festival while he was still a child - he would be as good a cristoforo as he need, if he was a good boy and minded the Book of Burdens.”

Romilly smiled. “Father has said much the same every Festival since I can remember,” she said, “And I doubt not he likes spicebread and sweetbaked saffron cakes and fruits as well as anyone else. He quoted from the Book of Burdens that the beast should not be grudged his gram, nor the worker his wage, nor his holiday, and Father may be a harsh man, but he is always just to his workmen.” She did up the last button on the gown and spun her sister around. “How fine you are, Mally! But it is fortunate you do not wear this dress on a work day - it needs a maid to do it up for you! That is why I had my festival gown made with laces, so I could do it up for myself.” She finished fastening the embroidered cuffs of her under-tunic, slipped the long loose surplice, rust-red and embroidered with butterflies, over her head, and turned for Mallina to tie up her braid at her neck with the butterfly-clasp that modestly hid the neck of her frock.

Mallina turned to choose a flower for her hair from the baskets. “Does this rose-plant suit me? It is pink like my dress … oh, Romy, look!” she said, with a scandalized half-breath, “Saw you not, he has put golden-flower, dorilys, into your basket!”

“And so what, silly?” asked Romy, choosing the blue kireseth blossom for her knotted braid, but Mallina caught her hand.

“No, indeed, you must not, Romilly - what, don’t you know the flower-language? The gift of golden-flower is - well, the flower is an aphrodisiac, you know as well as I do what it means, when a man offers a maiden dorilys….”

Romilly blushed, again feeling the lustful eyes on her. She swallowed hard - Alderic, was he too looking at her with this kind of greed? Then common sense came back. She said crisply, “Nonsense; he is a stranger to these hills, that is all. But if that kind of talk is commonplace among silly girls, I will not wear the flower - shame to them, for it is the prettiest of all the flowers, but do you choose me a flower, then, for my braids.”

The sisters went down in their finery to the family feast, bearing with them, as custom dictated, the fruits from their festival baskets to be shared with father and brothers. The family was gathered in the great dining-hall rather than the small room used for family meals, and Domna Luciella was there, welcoming her guests. Rael was there in his best suit, and Calinda in a new gown too, dark and decent as suited her station, but well-made and new, not a shabby or outworn family castoff; Luciella was a kind woman, Romilly thought, even to poor relations. Darren wore his best clothing too, and Alderic, though his best was sombre as befitted a student at Nevarsin, and bore no trace of family colors or badges. She wondered who he was, and kept to herself the thought that had come to her, that he might well be one of the king’s men, exiled, or even the young prince… no, she would say nothing; but she wished that Darren had trusted her with his secret.

The middle-aged Gareth of Scathfell, as the man of highest rank in the assembly, had been given the high seat usually assigned to The MacAran at his own table; her father had taken a lower place. The young couples and single men and women were at a separate table; Romilly saw Darissa seated beside Cathal and would have joined her friend, but her stepmother gestured to an empty seat left beside Dom Garris; Romilly blushed, but would not incite a confrontation here; she took her seat, biting her lip and hoping that in the very presence of her parents he would say nothing to her.

“Now, clothed as befits your beauty, you are even more lovely, damisela,” he said, and that was all; the words were perfectly polite, but she looked at his pale slab of face with

dislike and did not answer. But after all, he had done nothing, the words had been polite enough, what could she say, there was no way she could complain of him.

There were delicacies of every kind, for this was breakfast and mid-day meal in one; the feasting went on for some time, and before the dishes were cleared, the musicians had come in and begun to play. The curtains had been drawn back to their furthest to let in the midsummer sun, and the doors flung open; the furniture in the lower hall had been moved away to clear it for dancing. As Darren led his sister out for the first dance, as custom demanded, she heard them discussing, at the high table, the men that had been sent out to seek the exiled Carolin.

“It’s nothing to me,” The MacAran said, “I care not who sits on the throne; but I’ll not have my men bribed to be thief-takers, either. There was a time when MacArans ruled this as a kingdom; but then, we had little to do but keep it by force of arms, and I’ve no wish to make my lands an armed camp, and the Hasturs are welcome to rule as they will; but I curse their brotherslaying wars!”

“I had heard word that Carolin and his older son had crossed the Kadarin,” Lord Scathfell said, “No doubt to seek refuge with my cousin of Aldaran - there is old hatred between the Hastur-kin and the Aldarans.”

Her father drew up his mouth in a one-sided grin. “None so keen at the hunting of wolves as the dog with wolf blood,” he said, “Were not the Aldarans, long ago, come from that same Hastur-blood?”

“So they say,” Lord Scathfell said with a grim nod, “I put no stock in all those tales of the children of Gods … though, the Gods know, there is laran in the Aldaran line, even among my own sons and daughters, as among yours; have you not one son in a Tower, Dom Mikhail?”

Her father’s brow clouded. “Not by my will or wish, nor by my leave,” he spat out, “I give no name of son to him who dwells among the Hairimyn. On his lips the harmless word was an obscenity; he calmed himself with an effort and added, “But this is no talk for a festal board. Will it please you to dance, my Lord?”

“I will leave that for younger folk,” said Lord Scathfell, “But lead your lady out to dance if you will,” he added, and The MacAran turned dutifully to Lady Luciella and led her on to the dance floor.

After the first ceremonious dance, the younger folk gathered for a ring-dance, all the young men in the outer ring, and the girls and women in the inner one; the dancing grew riotous after a bit, and Romilly saw Darissa drop out of the dancers, her hand pressed to her side; she went to fetch her friend a drink, and sat beside her, chatting. Darissa wore the loose ungirdled gown of a pregnant woman, but even so she loosed the clasps on her tunic, and fanned herself - she was red and panting.

“I shall dance no more till this one is born,” she said, pressing her long fingers against her swollen body, “He holds his own dance, I think, and will dance from now till harvest-time, mostly when I am trying to sleep!” Cathal came and bent solicitously over his wife, but she gestured him back to the dancing. “Go and dance with the men, my husband, I will sit here for a little and talk with my old playmate - what have you been doing with yourself, Romilly? Are you not betrothed yet? You are fifteen now, are you not?”

Romilly nodded. She was shocked at her friend, who had been so pretty and graceful but three years ago; now she had grown heavy-footed, her small breasts swollen and thick beneath the laces of her gown, her waist clumsy. In three years, Darissa had had two children and now she was bearing another already! As if reading her thoughts, Darissa said with a bitter twist of her lips, “Oh, I know well, I am not so pretty as I was when I was a maiden - enjoy your last year of dancing, Romilly, ‘tis likely that next year you too will be on the sidelines, swelling with your first; my husband’s father spoke of wedding you to Cinhil, or perhaps Mallina; he thinks her more docile and lady-like.”

Romilly said in shock, “But need you have another so soon? I should think two in three years was enough.”

Darissa shrugged and smiled. “Oh, well, it is the way of things - this one I think I will feed at my own breast and not put out to nurse, and perhaps I will not get with child again this year. I love my little ones, but I think three is enough for a time.”

“It would be more than enough for me for a lifetime,” said Romilly vigorously, and Darissa laughed. “So say we all when we are young girls. Lord Scathfell is pleased with me because I have already given them two sons, and I hope this one is a daughter; I would like a little girl - later I will take you to see my babies; they are pretty children, little Gareth has red hair; maybe he will have laran, a magician for the Towers.”

“Would you want him to-” Romilly murmured, and Darissa laughed. “Oh, yes, Tramontana Tower would be ready to take him, the Aldarans are Hastur-kin from away back before the Hundred Kingdoms, and they have old ties with Tramontana.” She lowered her voice. “Have you truly no news of Ruyven? Did your father really disown him?”

Romilly nodded, and Darissa’s eyes widened; she and Ruyven had played together as children, too.

“I remember, one year at Midsummer, he sent me a Festival-basket,” she said, “and I wore the sprig of golden-flower he sent me; but at the end of that Festival, Father betrothed me to Cathal, and we have been happy enough, and now there are our children - but I think kindly of Ruyven, and I would gladly have been your sister, Romilly. Do you think The MacAran will give you to Cinhil if he should ask? Then should we be sisters indeed.”

“I do not dislike Cinhil,” Romilly said, but inwardly she shrank away; three years from now, then, would she be like Darissa, grown fat and short of breath, her skin blotched and her body misshapen from breeding? “The one good thing about such a marriage would be, it would bring me close to you,” she said truthfully, “but I see no haste to marry; and Luciella says, fifteen is too young to settle down; she would as soon not have us betrothed till we are seventeen or more. One does not breed a good bitch in her first heat.”

“Oh, Romilly,” Darissa said, blushing, and they giggled together like children.

“Well, enjoy the dancing while you can, for your dancing days will be over soon,” Darissa said. “Look, there is Darren’s friend from the monastery - he looks like a monk in his dark suit; is he one of the brethren, then?”

Romilly shook her head. “I know not who he is, only that he is a friend of Darren’s and of the Castamir clan,” she said, and kept her suspicions to herself. Darissa said, “Castamir is a Hastur clan! I wonder he will come here freely - they held by the old king, I heard. Does your father hold to Carolin, or support the new king?”

“I do not think Father knows or cares, one king or another,” said Romilly, but before she could say more, Alderic stood beside them.

“Mistress Romilly? It is a set dance - will you partner me?”

“Do you mind being left alone, Darissa?”

“No, there is Cathal; I will ask him to fetch me a glass of wine,” Darissa said, and Romilly let Alderic draw her into the forming set, six couples - although one of them was Rael and Jessamy Storn who was eleven, and half a head taller than her partner. They faced one another, and Darren and Jeralda Storn, at the head of the line, led off, taking hands, circling each couple in the complex figures of the dance. When it came Alderic’s turn she reached confidently for his hands; they were square, hard and warm, not the soft hands of a scholar at all, but calloused and strong like a swordsman’s. An unlikely monk, indeed, she thought, and put her mind to the intricacies of the dance, which at the end of the figure put her opposite Darren, and then opposite her brother Rael. When the set brought her briefly into partnership, crossing hands and circling with Cinhil, he squeezed her hand and smiled, but she cast her eyes down and did not return the smile. So Lord Scathfell thought to marry her to Cinhil this year, so she could be fat and swollen with baby after baby like Darissa? Not likely! Some day, she supposed, she would have to be married, but not to this raw boy, if she could help it! Her father was not so much in awe of the Aldaran Lords as that, and besides, it was only Aldaran of Scathfell, not Aldaran of Castle Aldaran. Scathfell was the richest and most influential of their neighbors, but The MacAran had been an independent landholder since, she had heard, before the raising of Caer Donn city!