The Still (71 page)

“My lady!” My cheeks were hot.

“Why can’t we discuss it? You told the court he was your ... companion. Think you it troubles me?”

My voice was strangled. “How could it not?”

“You must take solace, Roddy. That’s no shame.”

I realized I was kneading my jerkin, and made my hands be still. “My lady, I know you mean well, but ...” I fought for calm. “Truly I must go.”

As if I hadn’t spoken she asked, “Are you jealous?”

“How dare you!” Almost I struck her.

She bit her lip, turned aside. “Grandfather adores Imbar, surely you know. It’s not that Imbar has a hold over him, rather that to please him ...”

I didn’t want to hear.

“On your first visit, when you and Grandfather quarreled, the valet went to Rustin—explained he could sway Grandfather in your favor, that without him you had no hope—and told him the price.” Her voice was pained. “Imbar loves Grandfather, truly he does, but he roves. There’ve been stableboys, and cooks ... Grandfather shouldn’t have ...”

“Be silent, or say it all!”

“Twice Imbar took Rustin to his room.” For a moment she seemed flustered. “Perhaps I should have told you before, but I thought you and Lord Rustin would speak ... When first Imbar left, Rustin vomited on the stairs. The second time, a houseman saw his face. It was white as ...” She said no more.

I whispered, “How could he?” My eyes sought hers. “I’m demeaned. He whored for my crown.”

She dropped to her knees, took my face, raised it to meet her eyes. “Think you even now of yourself?”

“What say you?”

“What of him? What of your friend? He loved you so that even his manhood was not too great a gift.”

The world wrenched into place, and I spun away, that she might not see me weep.

She gathered me to her breast. After a time my struggles weakened.

“I’m so sorry.” Did I speak to her, or Rust?

Her soft fingers stroked the small of my back.

A long while passed. I kissed her gently on the nape.

She sighed. “I caused you such pain ... my words were clumsy.”

“No matter now.” I kissed her again, and she raised her head. Our lips neared. Tremulously, I met them.

The candles flickered in the soft night breeze. After a time I undid my cloak. Tresa essayed a smile. We reclined on the bolster, half sitting. “Oh, Roddy. Never I thought I’d love you.”

An electric thrill jolted my very senses. Could I have heard aright? I pulled back my head, looked into her eyes. They held no reproach. Her hand stroked my flank. Mine fumbled at her breast.

We lay entangled. For an instant my thoughts turned to Rustin. His touch, gentle as it was, held no compare. Joyfully, I sank into the bliss of love’s embrace. Her curves were so soft, so appealing. We squirmed together, ever more urgently.

Suddenly her face twisted. “Don’t!”

“Tresa ...” I kissed her anew.

Her nails bit into my shoulder, “Roddy, the Still!
Your Power!”

I thrust against her, eager fingers stroking her stiff nipples, my other hand sunk behind her. Her words reached me. Had I—did I—no, I still throbbed with desire.

Lord of Nature! I leaped from the couch, twisted my breeks in shame at the bulge beneath. “Imps and—Oh, what did—” I fumbled under my clothes at my tangled loincloth. Roddy, the Virgin King, exposed in the full drollery of his plight. I would be ever a boy. My face flamed beet red.

“Roddy, I’m sor—”

I bolted to the door, fled to the stairs.

An Eiberian envoy delivered the invitation, in the most flowery language of state. Ingeniously, Tantroth managed to avoid the matter of my station, addressing me most courteously, but only by name. A tourney of swordplay among his men. Dinner to follow. Safe-conduct and assurances identical to those we’d given.

Elryc, Lady Soushire, and Groenfil strenuously urged me not to go. Uncle Raeth was divided, and argued both sides. Anavar was silent and brooding. Rust was nowhere to be found.

As I saw it, I had no choice but to accept. Common folk noted the habits of their betters, and openly discussed their problems, honor, or cowardice. If I cringed in our keep after the example Tantroth set, who would follow me to war? And were the Norduke to betray his word, he’d be universally named villain.

I argued as much, but my councilors were adamant in their misgivings. I reminded them that theirs was to advise, mine to decide. For a moment I held my breath, but grudgingly, they accepted my judgment.

I yearned for Rustin, but hesitated to command his presence. To summon him against his will would only aggravate him further.

Yet I wanted not only his counsel, but his pardon. I might seek him out, demeaning as that was, but first I’d let his temper cool.

“Who will escort you, Roddy?” Uncle Raeth sounded impatient, and I forced my thoughts to the business at hand.

“Does it matter?”

“You need a train. Normally he’d expect me to do the honors, but my joints will swell tonight, and I’ll have to send regrets. A pity, but together we’d be too great a temptation.” He frowned. “I could send Imbar ...”

“No.” My voice was cold. “See that Baron Imbar avoids my presence.”

In the end, we settled on Willem, Vessa, and a handful of servants, including Genard. Willem and Vessa were, to put it crudely, expendable; neither commanded a force at arms. On the other hand, they were at little risk, in that neither held an office of consequence.

Tantroth’s troops stood back to allow us exit. It was their force that besieged the gate; Uncle Mar’s troops were stationed somewhat south, near the turn of the wall.

We assembled near the stable. I wore my best cloak, and a ceremonial sword. As Rust had taught, I was fresh-bathed and scented with lavender water. My dented crown—reshaped by Uncle’s goldsmith—gleamed from my brow. Cumber and the others of my Privy Council waited to see me off. I scanned the onlookers; Tresa was nowhere in sight. Thank Lord of Nature.

Ebon snorted in the brisk day’s wind.

Vessa, on borrowed mount, did his best to look dignified. Chamberlain Willem seemed unhappy, but said little.

I was restless, eager to cast the die. “Are we ready?” I looked about. “Sound the trumpets. Open the gates.” I spurred to the wall.

“King Rodrigo, hold!”

I reined so abruptly Ebon reared in protest. “Rustin!” Why had he engendered a public confrontation?

His tone was stiff. “Don’t go.”

“We’ll speak privately, when I return.”

“I beg you, trust him not.”

I bit off a hasty reply; I would speak True. “Gladly would I have had your counsel, Rust. I even sought you. Now the time is past.”

“Roddy, please. Your crown’s at stake. Don’t put yourself in Tantroth’s hands.”

I wavered. But even Rust should know not to upbraid me before my court. I took refuge in the high speech. “Lord Rustin, if thou wouldst reconcile with us, take rest in our chambers ’til our return.” I turned to the guard. “Open the gate; we ride.” I left Rustin in our dust.

A pity we left in day. Torches would have gilded the finery of our cortege. As it was, guards on the battlements who should have attended the enemy avidly watched our passage.

Tantroth himself rode forth to meet us. “Welcome, Rodrigo.” All hint of his truculence the night before had vanished.

A proper bow from horseback is difficult. If your scabbard goads your mount as you bend, you may find yourself sitting in the dirt. We managed the amenities, and he escorted us to his tents.

He presented me to his retainers civilly enough, again avoiding my title. But I was truly taken aback when I found myself face-to-face with Lord Stire, Uncle Mar’s trusted baron. His smile was that of a wolf confronting a rabbit. “Good day, my lord Rodrigo.”

“And you.” When last I’d seen him, he’d brought a flowery invitation from Uncle Mar, but neither of us forgot that Rust and I had once knocked him senseless in Mother’s vault. I recalled his recurrent contempt, and turned to Tantroth. “Has this person been enjoined regarding our safe-conduct?”

As I’d hoped, Stire’s neck flushed.

They’d marked off an arena with ropes and bunting. Tantroth showed me to a cushioned bench. Willem, Vessa, and the servants were shown lesser places.

Tantroth waved languidly. The first contestants took their places, wielding blunted epees. A red-haired fellow took on a tall, thin man whose concentration was so great he scarce saw us when he bowed our direction.

I was relieved to find the match scored by points, rather than blood. It would have been like a barbarian of Eiber to treat me to a lopping of hands and piercing of gizzards before dinner.

The swordfest was mildly interesting, but my temper had an edge. I pondered Tantroth’s true motive in feting me. Was it to show the strength of his army? Each contestant was supposedly of a different corps, and adding them together, Tantroth’s force far exceeded Tursel’s appraisal. But pennants were cheap, and as he dressed his vassals all in black, one corps could resemble another.

The first match done, a second began. This time they used rapiers. At times the battle flowed close to our bench; I sat still and calm, though my heart raced.

The third match paired a mean-looking brute in stiff leather armor against an agile blond not more than Rustin’s age. They wielded broadswords.

Falla of Toth, our swordmaster, had made me practice with the broad blade, while I was so young I could barely lift it. I loathed the task. One day Mother had watched us, and afterward, I’d not been forced to use broadsword again. A dangerous weapon, that.

Parry met thrust, over and again. The contestants grunted their effort.

Working with broadsword, the main trick is in the parry. By adroit maneuver, the fighters managed to avoid serious injury, though blood dripped from cuts and gashes. I tried not to grimace.

The heavier man, facing us, pressed the younger ever back, until he was barely a pace before us. Suddenly the youngster slipped, twisting as he fell. His sword flew down. The edge struck earth a thumbspan from my boot.

I leaped back, far too late, and fell over my bench.

Tantroth roared to his man, “Clumsy oaf!” He surged to his feet, red with rage. “Stop the match!” He hauled the unfortunate to his feet, struck him hard with gloved fist. “You there, guard him well ’til morn!” To me, “Are you hurt, Roddy?”

“No.” How could my voice tremble with but one word?
I’ll be coward no more,
I’d once sworn. Now, make it so. “I’m unhurt. He meant no harm.” Perhaps. Perchance Tantroth meant it only as a warning. That it was an accident I didn’t for an instant entertain.

“We’ll see.”

“I beg you, sir, not to be harsh—”

“Don’t tell me how to run my camp!” Tantroth’s eyes were dangerous, but a sudden smile doused his ire. “Come, let’s to dinner. Enough games of war.”

We trudged toward the tables set under bright canopies. If Tantroth wanted me unsettled, he’d succeeded. Willem managed to get close enough to murmur, “Steady, my lord.” Genard babbled about amputations and injuries until I was at wits’ end. Finally we began our meal.

Immediately the Norduke poured a full glass of wine. “Drink, Rodrigo. It was a close call.”

I downed my glass, wished for another.

The dinner was adequate, and more. Cooked fruits, a delicate soup, game, a roast lamb. Taste the stewed beans, Rodrigo. Do you really think you can withhold a siege? How if I gave you free passage out of Caledon? Try the sprouts. Tantroth refilled my glass whenever I took a sip. I looked for water to dilute my drink, but found none.

All the while I searched for his purpose. Was it to fuddle my judgment, that I not understand him? To impress me with the bounty his army had bought, or looted from my people? To learn my abilities?

I untied the top laces of my jerkin. The candlelights were hot, and the tent took on a dreamlike glow.

An urgent hand, from behind. “Stop drinking, m’lord. You can’t afford to be sotted!”

“Who set you my keeper, stableboy?”

“Lord Elryc said to speak as he might.”

“Bah. Begone.” Still, I put down my glass, contented myself with grapes to quench my thirst.

Tantroth alternated genial jests with shrewd probes he barely gave me time to fend, as if careless of my answer. I yearned for the moment I could mount Ebon and be away.

At last the banquet was done. Dusk was fast approaching. Pointedly, I stretched. I gave thanks for Tantroth’s hospitality, urged him politely to return home before his cough was worse, or seek a healer’s care in our stronghold. We sparred a few moments longer, and at last they brought Ebon.

“Genard, ride to the gates, bid Captain Tursel be ready.”

“Aye, m’lord.” He raced ahead.

A strange rendezvous. A peculiar host, but still a fine meal, if poison wasn’t given. Yet Tantroth was careful to eat from every dish I’d taken. A common courtesy, that would be notable only by its absence.

Some paces from the camp, we said our words of parting.

I saw he’d withdrawn his troops a goodly distance from our walls. Not merely nearest the gates, I noticed, but for the length of the battlements. An extra courtesy, for which I was grateful.

As if fearing a well-placed arrow from our ramparts, Tantroth wheeled his horse and spurred back to his camp. I breathed deeply of the night. I was sluggish from overeating, and a glass too many of wine; I reined Ebon to a walk.

Ahead, Tursel appeared on the battlements, waving us on.

“So, Willem, what do you make of him?” A beautiful evening, save for distant thunder. Rain would refresh us, and keep full our cisterns.

“Tantroth’s a deadly foe, sire. Be not deceived.”

“Well, of course. But beyond that?”

The thunder grew louder. At the gate, Genard jumped up and down in his saddle, waving like a loon.

Willem said, “He’s bent on—what’s that noise?”

Genard bent over his mane and raced toward us.

“Is it hooves?” Alarmed, I glanced back, but in Tantroth’s camp all was still. I whirled. “Lord of nature—to the gates!”

From their far camp along the wall Margenthar’s cavalry roared past earthworks hastily abandoned by Tantroth for their benefit. My heels dug into Ebon’s sides. Vessa bent over his pommel, whipping his mare.