The Legacy of Gird (97 page)

If she had thought about it beforehand—and she hadn't—she might have thought that girls who had no interest in boys would be like that, but the difference between those who loved women and those who loved men ran across the difference between those who liked to hurt and those who did not. She herself had been angry, after Parin's death, after the loss of her child; she had been so angry she dreamed night after night of striking at others the blows that had struck her. She had expected to exult in mageborn blood, when her chance came . . . but in fact the first time she had hit an enemy she had almost dropped her weapon and apologized. The memory of that first battle in the forest, the feel of striking another human being, still came back to her on bad nights. She did not tell the young ones that—she had, after all, become good at soldiering, or she would not have survived—but she did not understand those who wanted to hurt others.

"Marshal?" A girl's voice brought her out of her musing. Raheli looked at her, noticing how the face had lengthened in the past year, how she had grown so much taller. This was not one of her problems, but a delight: a girl she would have been glad to have as a little sister.

"Yes, Piri?"

"The lads say you'll be looking among the junior yeoman for a yeoman-marshal—"

"Yes, from the eldest group. Whoever it is will be sent to another grange to work with that Marshal for a few years. Why?"

"Sent away—?"

"Yes. It would be hard on a lad to have his friends beneath him, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Marshal." Piri had the dark hair and gray eyes common to this cluster of villages; now she flushed and looked down. "I just wondered, Marshal, if you ever thought of a girl."

"A girl? You?" Raheli was startled. Piri came to drill faithfully, but seemed perfectly suited to follow her two sisters into marriage. Had she quarreled with the boy she seemed most likely to marry?

"No—but there's Erial." As if anticipating her Marshal's reaction, Piri rushed on. "She's better at drill than most of the boys, she never gets tired, and she doesn't flirt."

"With boys," said Raheli drily. "She flirted with you last year, until you made it clear you preferred young Sim."

"Well . . . yes . . . but that won't cause any trouble because most junior yeomen are boys."

"And she asked you to ask me?" Raheli said.

"No . . . she didn't. I just thought . . ." Piri looked down. Raheli sighed. The two had been best friends as small children, then that simple relationship had been complicated for them by whatever god governed the loves of adults. Piri had a soft heart; she would not want to hurt her friend, but she felt uncomfortable with her.

"Piri, you're right that Erial is good in drill; she might make a good yeoman-marshal. But one thing any yeoman-marshal needs is a desire to take on that job. Yes, it would be easier on you if she moved away, or was busy with something like this . . . but none of us can live Erial's life for her. She understands that you love Sim; you must understand that she may not want to go away."

"If she asked would you consider her?"

"Piri, is she bothering you?"

"Not really—I mean she's not
doing
anything, but I know what she's thinking about."

Raheli snorted. "I doubt it, child. Most of us think we can read thoughts like scrolls, and yet we have no idea what's behind someone's eyes." She looked at Piri's red face thoughtfully. "Is it Sim? Is he upset about Erial?"

Piri turned even redder. "He did say—that when I wasn't looking he saw her watching me."

"Watching you. And Sim thinks no one has a right to look at you but him, is that it? Boys! At that age, Piri, they're like young bulls, jealous of everything. If he knew a sheep looked at you he'd probably drive it away. No, lass: from what I've seen, Erial understands very well that you prefer Sim; she may not like it, but she's no worse than you are and unless you have something more than 'Sim says she looks at me' you have no real complaint. What did your mother say?"

"That Sim's a young cockerel crowing over his first pullet." Raheli grinned; Piri's mother had come closer than she had. Sim was much more gamecock than bull. "She said Erial'd been my friend all my life and it was silly to fuss now. But I thought maybe—"

"You thought maybe there was an easy way out that would please Erial and Sim both, didn't you?" Piri nodded. "Piri, the easy ways we see out of things are usually full of traps: think how we tempt an animal into a pen. We make the gate look like the easy way out of trouble. Learn to look on both sides of the gate before you walk through it. Now. About Erial. If
she
wants to be a yeoman-marshal, and she asks me, I'll consider it. Not for you, but for her and the yeomen she will serve later. But she has to ask, and I don't want you hinting to her in the meantime. Does Sim know you came about this?"

"No, Marshal. It was my idea."

"Good. Then you don't tell Sim, because the way he is, he would go straight to Erial and tell her."

Piri nodded, somewhat shamefaced, and turned to leave. Raheli called her back.

"It wasn't a bad idea, lass, and I'm not angry. You're one that doesn't like angry words or bickering: that's good. But sometimes there are things worth angry words; you must have the courage to endure the anger when it's needed. I know you have that courage, but you may not have recognized it yet."

Raheli was not surprised when Erial showed up later that day. Piri and Erial had been friends too long for communication to fail, no matter that certain words could not be said. Erial's approach, like Piri's, began obliquely.

"Marshal, do you think married women can become Marshals?"

"Become, or stay? A few wives commanded cohorts in the war, but those whose families lived preferred to return to them afterwards. I think it would be hard to do a Marshal's work and a wife's work as well. Even more, a mother's work. It would be like trying to be the wife of two families. Marshals are, in a way, the grange's wife and mother."

Erial grinned at her. "You are, Marshal, the way you visit everyone and help those in trouble."

"Good commanders were the same way: a cohort's not that different from a family. It needs food, healing, comforting, and someone to resolve disputes." Raheli wondered why Erial had started from that direction, but never missed a chance to teach. "Why did you ask—are you planning to combine the two?"

"No. You know better." Erial scowled and looked away.

"Some like you do, to have children. Half the time I see you, you've got all your cousins trailing behind; for all I knew you wanted some of your own."

"It's because my aunt's been sick; you know that. And they like to play marching games, but none of them remember the commands." Nonetheless, Erial had a sheepish look; Raheli suspected she enjoyed watching her cousins more than she would admit. She had lived with her aunt since her own mother died. "No—" Erial went on, sobering, "—it's about a friend, that I think would make a good Marshal, only she'd have to be a yeoman-marshal first, and she thinks she can't do that and be married."

"Piri," Raheli said, seeing no purpose in dragging this out.

"Yes, Pir. She used to talk about it a lot, learning to do what you do, protecting the vill—all until she got silly over Sim."

Raheli had no trouble with this one. "She's not 'silly over Sim'—she wants to marry him, and he wants to marry her. And I can't agree with you: Piri would not make a good Marshal except in wartime, if then—she had a youngster's taste for adventure, that's all, and now she's grown out of it." Erial opened her mouth, shut it, and scowled fiercely as a young wildcat.

"But I know someone else who would make a fine Marshal," Raheli went on. She hadn't meant to, but in thinking over the prospects earlier she'd realized just how outstanding Erial was. "If someone else wanted it, that is. Even though it would mean moving to another grange for part of her training, and who-knows-where after that." Erial turned red, then pale, and her eyes shone.

"Me?" she squeaked. It was a safe guess; there were only seven girls in the older group of junior yeomen, and Erial had to know she and Piri were by far the best.

"You." Raheli ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "You know the drill; you learn fast; you can teach—your cousins prove that. You have no betrothed to go into a decline when you leave. You don't stir up trouble with lads or lasses—"

"Sim's mad at me," Erial muttered.

"Sim's a young lad crazy about Piri, and jealous as . . . as a cockerel. That's not your fault. I'm not blind and deaf; I know how you've acted, and you haven't put pressure on Piri. Sim has. And you're the one who had that notion of being Marshal in the first place; Piri was following you, the way she always did until she veered off to follow Sim."

"You're saying I haven't grown out of it?" Erial asked in a shaky voice.

Raheli chuckled. "
And
you've got the resilience, the toughness, to survive some hard years with another Marshal, among strangers. And even more important to me, while you like the work and the weaponlore, you don't like to hurt people. Alyanya forbid, but if you ever had to fight in battle, you might like it more than I did—but you wouldn't turn cruel. I can trust you for that. So—do you want to be a yeoman-marshal?"

"Yes!" Erial said. Then her face fell. "No . . . no, I can't. There's my cousins; if my aunt dies—"

"We'll let Piri lead your cousins around for awhile: you'd trust her, wouldn't you? And if your aunt dies, the grange will help; you know you can trust me. Take your chance, Erial, when it comes. Unless you don't want it."

"I do." She glowed with delight; Raheli grinned at her.

"Now mind, you'll have some problems with the lads when they hear about it, and I don't want any nonsense. You're not a yeoman-marshal yet; I'll send you to—" And who would she send Erial to, who could be trusted? "—someone I trust," she said finally. She would have to look up the rolls; they really needed a better way of training youngsters who might become Marshals. Cob would be best, but did he have an opening? "Go on," she said. "I'll be along after awhile to talk to your aunt and uncle about you."

She sat at her desk, for once well content with her role as Marshal and a woman other women could come to. It wouldn't always work out so neatly, any more than every loaf came from the oven with a perfect crust and crumb, but when it happened she could take pleasure in it. The next time she went to Fin Panir, she thought, she would bring up this matter of Marshals' training with the Council.

Luap and the others had been back in Fin Panir only a few days when Raheli arrived. She wanted, she said, to see what progress Luap was making on the
Life of Gird
. He showed her the racked scrolls of notes, explained about the interviews.

"Did you get the ones I sent?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. You are the only source I have for his early life, you know. Can you tell me anything more about his childhood? Anything that would fit well?"

"Fit well?"

"You know—something that would show the reader that he was going to be what he became. That story about his brother dying of an attack by wolves—where was Gird then? What did he do?"

Rahi stared at him. "Arin went out with the hunters; he was the elder. Gird stayed—you know my grandparents were still alive then, don't you?"

"I'm not sure." Luap pulled out the scroll she had sent and looked. "No—all you said here was that Arin died, and Gird succeeded to the tenancy."

Rahi frowned. "It's more complicated than that. It was before I was born; Arin and his wife Issa and their children, and Gird and my mother Mali, lived with their parents. Gird's and Arin's. The eldest son in each cottage could be called out for a hunt; I don't know if Arin had to go, or if he chose to, but he went with other men out to a distant sheepfold. When wolves came, he ran out after them; they tore him but were beaten off by others. Gird said when they brought him home, the steward came, and granted a sheep's carcass to the family. Even remitted the death-duty. But within a year, his father died, and the cottage and all the family came to him. Issa and her children, his mother, his own children—for I was born later that year."

"But Gird didn't go out to hunt the wolf that killed his brother?"

"No—the other men had killed most of them. And he had to do the work Arin had done, as well as his own."

"It would have made a better story," Luap said.

Rahi gave him a strange look. "It's not a singer's tale," she said. "It's what really happened."

"Another thing I don't understand," Luap said, avoiding that implied criticism, "is when he actually began working against the magelords. From what you've written, and from what I heard others say, his own liege was harsher than most, deliberately cruel."

"Indeed he was!" Rahi's face stiffened; her scar stood out white as bone.

"Then Gird must have resented it all along; he was no man to put up with cruelty lightly. Why didn't he join the Stone Circle earlier?"

"Do you think he never asked himself that?" She sounded angry; Luap could not understand why. "Do you think no one else ever asked? Why did he have to wait until the count's meanness killed his mother and his wife, until starvation and disease picked off children and friends, until his best friend died beneath the very hooves of the lords' guard, until I—" She drew a long, shuddering breath, and flushed and paled again. "Until they killed my husband and nearly killed me, and I lost his first grandchild. Why did he wait and wait? I don't know." She shook her head slowly; her accent thickened. "I would not call it cowardice, nor stupidity. He knew it was wrong; he knew it was worse; he thought—as much as I can know what he thought—that the Stone Circle way would be no better. It was throwing lives away, not saving them. He did give grain, and pull his own belt tighter, that I know, once his friend was killed. But he had sworn to follow Alyanya's peace, and seek no mastery of steel."

"But
why?
" asked Luap. He had never heard Rahi speak even this much of her father; he was fascinated.

She sat for some time in silence, her face grave. She, like Gird, had gained weight with peace and prosperity; she had grown almost massive, like a matron with many children. "You know he was once in the count's guard," she said finally.