The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (25 page)

The
next thing he noticed was that he still wore his traveling clothes, had
transferred dust to his bedding, and stunk. He padded barefoot out of the
bedroom, only to find the Faughns waiting for him. Elian did a respectful
curtsey, and Brak bowed with a board up his ass.

Oh,
Christ! Am I now supposed to be royalty or something?

“Master
Kolsko, we’ve heard the news. Congratulations and God’s blessing on your coming
marriage,” said Elian, curtseying again, and Brak bowed once more, after an
elbow in the ribs from his wife.

Yozef
was irritated. “Thank you for the good wishes, but unless I suddenly got
transformed into someone else by the Tooth Fairy or Gandalf the White, I’m the
same person who left several sixdays ago.”

Blank
looks conveyed that the references weren’t connecting.

“Don’t
treat me any different than before, which means none of this bowing nonsense,”
he said.

Brak
grunted, gave his wife an “I told you so look,” and left the room.

Yozef
chuckled to himself.
That man can communicate more by nuances of grunt that
many can with whole speeches
.

Elian
wasn’t reassured. “Will this mean you wish us to stay in your service?”

Yozef
stared. It hadn’t occurred to him they might assume the hetman’s daughter would
bring her own staff or would want to choose a new one
.

Well,
for all I know she might . . . but the Faughns are staying
, he told himself
firmly.

The
reaction of the Faughns clued him in to what followed. In various forms, he
went through the same rigmarole six times the first day back. In fairness, he
tried to understand that many believed a change in his status had occurred.
Instead of the strange, friendly, smart, and well-paying “Yozef,” he was now
“Yozef the Important,” a member of the hetman’s family, holding some as yet
unknown influence on their lives, and the husband of the infamous Maera Keelan.
He suspected the latter was the most impressive, at least to those who knew
Maera.

The
day ended by the process being repeated at the Snarling Graeko with Carnigan.
The big man laughed at Yozef’s discomfiture when they walked in. All noise
died, half of the crowd rose from their chairs, and a few hesitant bows made
Yozef groan aloud. It took two rounds for the house and two stories before the
noise level returned to his pre-entrance state, but he couldn’t fail to notice
there wasn’t quite the level of camaraderie toward him that had developed over
the previous months.

It’ll
just take a little time until everyone realizes nothing has changed
, he told himself
.
It would be many months before he realized the feeling of belonging to the
community would never again be exactly the same. Not necessarily worse, only different.

Fortunately
for Yozef’s state of mind, the next sixday was filled with reviewing all of his
enterprises, providing suggestions, settling arguments, making decisions, and
meeting with Filtin’s father. Since the elder Fuller had directed building
Yozef’s getaway cottage west of Abersford and organized guano gathering at
Birdshit Bay, Yozef never wondered whom to go to for expanding the house.
Dyfeld
Fuller assured Yozef that several of the envisioned new rooms could be added by
the time of the wedding: a larger kitchen area, a new master bedroom, a
workroom for Maera, and an extra room in case a child came along. The barn was
also too small, and Dyfeld said it was easier to build a new one than expand
the existing one.

It took Dyfeld two days to show Yozef written plans for the
constructions. Yozef was about to approve them when Filtin asked the critical
question.

“Are
you sure you want to make changes before your new wife arrives?  I don’t know
about hetmen’s daughters, but for most women I’d bet anything you do to the
house won’t be quite the way she would have done it. Unless you want to be
reminded of this forever, I’d be inclined to wait until she’s here. Even if
she’s not the nagging type, it’d please her having her opinions taken into
account.”

Yozef
considered Filtin’s advice. He didn’t see Maera as the nagging type, but she’d
definitely give her opinions. He decided there was no rush, then alerted Dyfeld
Filtin to be ready to build once Maera arrived. Since he had told Maera he
would look into expanding the house, he wrote her that he had decided to wait
for her input. He didn’t mention Filtin’s warning.

No
sooner had the house decision been postponed than a new issue arose. To Yozef’s
dismay, formal intentions to celebrate the marriage and Maera’s return to
Abersford proliferated beyond his tolerance. Despite his objection, he seemed
to have no say in an elaborate reception and festival the Abersford mayor was
planning. Then there was the special Godsday service at the abbey. The final
straw was word that the district boyerman,
Longnor Vorwich, would come to
Abersford as a “social” call on the newlyweds and for the locals to arrange
various dinners and receptions.

 
Damn! What else? Marching bands, dancing bears, fireworks?
Every time I
turn around, there’s more plans coming out of the woodwork!

Yozef
wrote to all parties that he and his new wife, Maera Kolsko-Keelan, would be
unavailable for two sixdays following their arrival from Caernford, due to
following a custom of Yozef’s people called a “honeymoon.” No one knew what the
English words
honey
and
moon
meant, but the word pronounced
“huh-nee-moon” was a period of seclusion for a newly married couple to allow them
time together to start their marriage. Yozef found that his attempt to
forestall the planned events only postponed them with a reprieve until after
the honeymoon.

The
honeymoon custom seemed strange to all, though was readily accepted, because it
came from Yozef, who redefined
strange
. Upstanding and friendly, yes.
Still, strange.

Although
he had put his foot down in Abersford, two issues remained. Since Maera was
unaware of the honeymoon plans, he procrastinated about informing her. As for
where to go, the only viable option was his retreat cottage down the coast. However,
his
going to the cottage for a few days was a different proposition than
taking Maera there for two sixdays. Naturally, Elian was aghast at the idea,
Cadwulf thought him crazy, Carnigan shrugged as if to say, “What do you expect
from Yozef?” and Sistian was dubious at best. In a distinct minority was Diera,
who volunteered herself, Cadwulf, and the Faughns to reassure Yozef they would
take care of everything and the cottage would be ready. It was a testament to
Yozef’s faith in Diera, or his distracted state of mind, that he took her word
and promptly put the entire issue in the “over and done” category.

In
a sixday, Yozef caught up with his workers and left in capable hands plans to
receive the newly married couple. Yozef and Carnigan returned to Caernford.

The
last sixday before the marriage Yozef spent as a gofer. Go to a Caernford shop
to deliver an order. Go back to Caernford to pick up the order. Go with Maera
to visit aunts and uncles. Go with Culich to a meeting with several boyermen.
Go back to Caernford to pick up what had been forgotten on the last trip. Go, go,
go. As little as he physically did, every evening he fell into bed exhausted
and marveled at Maera and Breda, who both seemed indefatigable.

What
frustrated Yozef was spending so little time alone with Maera. Not that she
avoided him, only that she was constantly busy. Seldom in the sixday were they
alone long enough for a serious talk. They found seconds for a furtive kiss or
deeper, lingering ones when briefly alone. On too few occasions, there were
minutes with embraces and, for Yozef, opportunities for tentative wandering
hands. Maera caught her breath and stiffened the first time a hand moved from
her back to below her waist. By the third occasion, she tightened her embrace,
and he imagined a sigh. That was as far as she allowed his hands. Wandering to
her breasts brought entreaties for patience until they wed.

Four
days before the wedding, he also experienced a facet of Maera he’d heard of but
never witnessed—anger. He sat on the manor’s front veranda, waiting for his
next assignment, when an angry woman’s voice was audible coming from inside the
manor, despite its thick walls. The voice got louder, overlaid with a placating
second one, when Yozef recognized Maera and Breda.

Suddenly,
the manor’s double front doors flung open, and Maera flew out and stood at the
top of the steps, her arms stiff at her sides, one hand holding a piece of
paper. “Damn Brym Moreland to eternal flames! That piece of shit defiles the
very ground he walks on! Forgive me, God, but please let him choke to death on the
next bite he takes!”

She
turned and stomped to the other end of the veranda, spewing a stream of
invectives. Yozef had heard versions of most. It was impressive, especially
when he no longer understood Caedelli words and assumed she’d switched to other
languages. At the corner, she stopped walking and yelling, staring upward.
Yozef shifted in his seat, tempted to go to her, but not certain he wanted to
get in the path of whatever had riled his prospective bride. Finally, she
turned back, walking normally, arms crossed in front, the paper crumpled in one
hand. She was halfway back to the manor door when she saw him watching. She
froze and clamped one hand over her mouth and pressed the one with the paper
against her throat.

Maera
walked toward him as he rose, then halted just out of arm’s reach. “Oh, Yozef.
You shouldn’t have seen me in this state, though I suppose it’s only fair you
realize I have a temper. It’s just—”

She
choked on the next words, and Yozef went to her and pulled her into an embrace.

“What
is it, Maera?”

“It’s
Ana. My best friend. Her father’s refused permission for her to come to our
wedding! She was packed and ready to leave when that sh—” She choked again,
trying to regain control.

She
slowly relaxed in his arms. “I’m sorry, Maera, I know how much Ana means to
you. Isn’t there anything we can do? What about your father making a hetman-to-hetman
request to Hetman Moreland? Ana’s father is a cousin or something, and maybe
he’d relent if their hetman got involved.”

Maera
pulled back to look up at Yozef, sad-faced with moist eyes. “Father’d be
mortified to ask anything of Gynfor Moreland, although he’d do it if I asked.
But it’s too late. If Father made the request, it’d have to be a formal letter
and not a semaphore message. Father would have to write, get it to Gynfor
Moreland, who might not agree, and even if he did, the Moreland hetman would
have to order Brym to let Ana come. By now, there’s no time for all this and
her to get here in time.”

Maera
sat in a veranda chair, hands clasped in her lap, and shook her head. “It never
occurred me to that Ana wouldn’t be here. We’ve always talked about being at
each other’s weddings, and now ...”

Yozef
knelt by the chair and put a hand on Maera’s hands. “I wish there was something
I could do.”

Maera’s
anger had subsided, replaced by resignation. “There’s nothing you
can
do. I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I don’t usually lose control.”

“Nonsense.
Everyone gets mad occasionally. We wouldn’t be human otherwise. And in this
case, I certainly understand.” Yozef paused as an idea occurred. “What about
this? If Ana can’t come to the wedding, what if we plan to visit her in
Moreland? It may not be for a few months, but then there’s time to arrange the
trip and figure out how to get around Ana’s father, even if we have to get the
hetmen involved.”

Maera
perked up, her eyes flashing, and she grabbed his forearm with both hands. “Oh,
Yozef. Yes, let’s do that. Or better yet, work to arrange her coming here for
an extended visit. As much as he’d hate to ask it, I’m sure Father would help.”

It
was the longest exchange Yozef and Maera had had in several days or from then
until the wedding. The last three days Yozef didn’t see Maera at all, according
to Caedellium ancient custom, until the moment of the ceremony.

Maera
was ravishing in a shimmering gown of multiple shades of green, the traditional
bride color to signify fertility, with her long brown hair gathered within a
fine netting embellished with pearls. A garland of white flowers encircled her
head. She looked pale and flushed at the same time or perhaps at alternate
moments.

Yozef
wore a plain jacket and pants of dark olive green, the jacket buttoned to his
neck. He obsessively trimmed his beard until Carnigan took away the scissors,
made a final snip of his hair, and then refused to give back the scissors. “For
God’s sake, Yozef, you look fine! I swear, you’re more nervous than a bride.”

The
service began at noon, with the sun straight up in the blue Anyar sky, a deeper
robin’s egg blue than on Earth. The formal vows took place in a grove of trees
on the hetman’s manor grounds. Sistian and Diera had traveled from St.
Sidryn’s, and he presided at the traditional ceremony.

Culich
presented the bride and Carnigan the groom, both of them asserting to the good
character of whom they represented. When the moment came for Sistian to ask if
anyone objected to the marriage, the only sounds were leaves rustling in the
trees and a distant dog bark, as if anyone dared object after the clan hetman
and a scowling mountain had vouched for the couple.

The
ceremony itself lasted only fifteen minutes, more than compensated for by the
following festivities, which included the reception for hundreds of guests from
throughout the province. Then, a procession of family and guests moved to
tables set up under more trees, followed by endless food and drink, musicians,
and speeches.

God,
do Caedelli love to give speeches.

Yozef
remembered reading how, before mass media, American political rallies could
last hours per speaker. Here, individual presentations were shorter, but all of
them combined seemed to go on forever: Culich Keelan welcomed guests, Breda
Keelan welcomed guests and enjoined them to drink responsibly, and the mayor of
Caernford, the abbot of St. Tomo’s abbey, and men and women of whose identity
Yozef had no idea gave speeches. Abbot Sistian gave a sanitized version of how
Yozef came to Caedellium. Anid Keelan extolled her older sister’s virtues and
shared a humorous anecdote about her. Maera summarized her life and meeting
Yozef. Then finally . . .
thank God, he thought . . .
it was his turn.

He
had a sheet of paper with notes on both sides. Culich, Breda, Sistian, and,
most important, Cadwulf and Maera, all had emphasized to him what the guests
expected him to say—something about his life and where he had originated. The
“History of Yozef” notes were copied from the script he kept for any occasion
to maintain a consistent story.

Yozef
and Maera sat on a raised platform, flanked by her parents and an obviously
uncomfortable Carnigan, who relaxed only after his fifth or sixth stein of
beer. Yozef ate sparingly of each course, while Maera ate next to nothing.
Yozef downed one stein of beer rapidly, and, when offered a second, Maera
declined for him, to the merriment of nearby guests.

“Surrender
now, Yozef. Your days of making decisions are over.”

“That’s
Maera. Being sure Yozef can do his duty.”

“Not
too much and falling asleep, Yozef. Maera has something for you to do later
tonight.”

At
last, two hours past sundown, the mistress of ceremonies, an elderly sister of
Culich, announced the time for the newly wedded couple to withdraw to
consummate their marriage. By now, Yozef thought he was accustomed to the
ribald nature of many Caedelli but was still taken aback. The aunt was
reasonably decorous, but as the couple walked out, side by side, relatives
voiced advice. Maera’s fourteen-year-old sister, Anid, hugged her, and Yozef
heard her say, “Everyone says,
Oh, Maera won’t let out a peep the first time
,
so I’ve gotten good odds and have bet you will. Be a good sister and don’t let
me down.” To which Maera blushed and shook her head at the young sister, who
gave Maera another hug and kiss on the cheek. Then a female cousin called out,
“Remember, lie on your back and spread your legs.” To which Maera responded,
“Oh, thank you, Ioneid, I appreciate advice from someone who’s had so much
practice.” Maera’s riposte garnered loud laughs from all within hearing range,
including Ioneid.

Not
that Yozef went unscathed. One of the male cousins called out to him as they
passed, “You remember, too, Yozef. In, out, repeat if necessary.” Another
unnamed voice, “Let us know if you have trouble catching her!” To which another
followed up, “If you do catch her and need directions, I’ve sure Maera will
give you detailed instructions.”

They
finally made it to a two-story cottage decorated with flowers and colorful
banners, the structure located behind the main house. He held Maera’s hand as
they crossed over the threshold, and Maera whispered, “Wave, Yozef.” He
followed her lead, they turned together, waved at the hundred or more who had
followed them from the main festive area, then went into the room lit by
candles, and Yozef shut the door. They could still hear the people outside
offering suggestions, talking to one another, and keeping up a continuous
patter. Maera climbed the narrow stairs, and he followed to a second-floor
bedroom with a balcony. A score of freshly lit candles gave a yellowish cast to
the room. The clamor outside picked up with banging pots and several drums.

“How
long are they going to keep this up?”

Maera
smiled wanly. “Some will go back to the festivities. Most of the younger ones
will stay to wait for proof.”

“Proof?
What kind of proof?”

Even
in the candlelight, he could tell her face reddened. She continued looking
around the room . . . not looking at Yozef.

“Proof
that we have consummated the marriage,” she said in a small voice—one Yozef
hadn’t heard before from Maera.

“I
have a feeling I’ll regret asking, but what exactly’s the proof they’re waiting
for?”

Maera
didn’t respond for a few moments, which made Yozef more nervous. Then, “First
would be to hear me scream. The first time is known to be painful for the
woman. As her husband penetrates her, a scream is expected to show she’s a
virgin.”

Yozef
swallowed. “And this is customarily expected from the bride?”

Maera
nodded, finally looking at Yozef. He had wondered. As strong-willed as Maera
was and from a different lifestyle and responsibilities than most Caedellium
women, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had had affairs in the past,
certainly discreetly. Evidently not . . . she was a virgin.

“It
doesn’t necessarily have to hurt that much. We can take our time, and I’ll be
careful as I can be.” He wanted to reach out to hold her, though now he was
also nervous.

“We
can’t take too much time. Those outside will wait for their proof, and I’ve
seen them get pretty aggressive if it doesn’t come fairly soon.”

“What
if the bride doesn’t scream? And are all Caedellium brides virgins?”

Maera
laughed ruefully. “Hardly, but the custom is what it is. Even if there is no
pain, the bride will pretend there is and yell out to satisfy those waiting to
hear. They’ll then cheer and wait again for the last proof.”

“Now
I
know
I don’t want to ask . . . what’s the last proof?”

Maera
motioned with her right hand to the bed festooned in colorful ribbons on the
four posts at the bed corners and the simple white cloth covering the bed.
“Blood of the bride will show she was virgin. If she wasn’t, they’ll draw
enough blood to put on the cloth, which is hung from a window or a balcony as
soon as consummation is complete.”

Yozef
was silent. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. “I see . . . ,” was all
he could manage. Finally, “And this is the custom for all Caedellium
marriages?”

“With
some variation in different clans and position in society, yes. It’s not always
followed with the lower classes.” Her tone changed from expositing on something
embarrassing to a firmer one implying duty. “
I’m
the daughter of the Keelan
hetman. The custom is more important here, since I’m part of the primary family
of Keelan. Father and Mother have no sons, so a son of their daughters will be
the next hetman. Since I’m the oldest, and, let’s be honest, because of my
reputation in the Keelan Clan, most people expect me to produce strong sons
worthy of being a hetman. All the Keelan daughters are expected to be untouched
at marriage to ensure claims to succession and prevent conspiracies when Father
dies.”