Fortress in the Eye of Time

  After that, thank the gods, the musicians struck up a merry country dance, and the crowd made for the tables where wine and bread and cheese were set, with mugs of ale and the little 588

  pies, a tower of which the guests rapidly demolished.

  “You seem truly happy, my lady,” Tasien came to say, taking Ninévrisë’s hand, while Cefwyn was busy with a well-wisher from the town. “Are you? Dare you say?”

  “I think I may well be,” she said, and Cefwyn, overhearing, drew in a breath of very heady nature. “I do think I could become so. Only take care. Do take care at Emwy.” She let him kiss her hands, then, and Tasien passed on to him.

  “I am greatly taken with her, Your Grace,” Cefwyn said quietly to Tasien. “I shall send troops to reinforce you. But I made help to you no part of our agreement. The early betrothal— she asked the haste, so that you might be here, to stand as her father would have.”

  “Your Majesty,” Tasien said, only that, and bowed, clearly not taking it for the truth, and managed to preserve a stiff and misgiving demeanor. So he knew he had not won Tasien, nor, he thought, the rest of the Elwynim.

  But eat and drink they would, and so with the common men with them, who had put on their best, and whom Ninévrisë had wished admitted to the hall and seated in honorable places, because, she had said before they came in, she had given every one of them a modest if currently landless title and promised them rewards from the Crown when they reached Ilefínian in Elwynor, they, or, if they fell, their next of kin.

  So he congratulated each of them as they came to pay their lady their good wishes, and, a trick he had learned from Emuin, knew their names and their new titles, which won astonished looks and no small good will for himself, he hoped. So it was at least one half-score of Elwynim who were happily celebrating tonight, and, perhaps their natural wary bent, or perhaps some sense of new responsibility, they were more modest in their attack on the wine-bowl than some ladies of Amefel, to look on the scene—and not participant in the handing-out of the diverse cups, none of a set, which he had declared the guests might take away with them.

  That Amefin betrothal tradition had proved imprudent. There was no little wine spilled in the encounter at the tables.

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  “We should send a score of them up to the riverside,” he muttered to Ninévrisë. “Gods, such graces!”

  Orien had somehow not come up to felicitate the marriage, but other Amefin lords and ladies were beaming. Tristen came up the step, and said in his own way, to Ninévrisë, “Cefwyn will do what he says. He is honest,” and to him, “She thinks everything is beautiful and the people are kind and she likes you more than she trusts you.”

  Ninévrisë was appalled and distressed. He was appalled and amused. But Tristen went away then, as if, though able to know what he knew, he entirely failed to know the dismay he left in his wake.

  “Do you?” he said.

  “Which?” she asked. But an elderly Amefin lady was attempting to hand Ninévrisë a charm done up in ribbons. “Children and grandchildren,” the lady said. “Hang it over your bed, Your Grace. It worked for me.”

  He saw that Tristen had gotten himself some cheese and bread from the table below the dais. It was all Tristen seemed likely to secure for himself without warfare in the crowd pressing close, but Uwen was there, and, old warrior that he was, even while he watched, snatched a pair of plain, less contested cups of wine.

  Dancing began, a handful of couples and a number of young gentlemen who, in the refilling of cups, felt immediately inspired—and though he had left the cursed stick propped in a side hall and had steeled himself to walk and climb steps without it, he certainly was not fit for this part of the festivities. The bride had now stayed longer than a Guelen bride would stay—though the continued line of well-wishers was adequate excuse, and would afford no gossip.

  But the line had run almost to its end now, and he was thinking of passing her the hint of leaving when Efanor came up finally under the cover of the music and the noise of voices to pay a word or two.

  “Your Grace,” Efanor said. “A gift, if you will.” He offered her a little book with the Quinalt sigil in gold on 590

  the cover. “For your meditations. My priest gave it to me when I was first sworn, and I would be delighted if you would accept it.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Ninévrisë accepted it, and held Efanor’s hands afterward, at which he saw Efanor go white and then blush and look quite strange—as if, he thought, he had expected Ninévrisë to go up in smoke at the taking of the holy book. “How kind. Thank you very much. I shall treasure it.”

  She let him go. Efanor went back to his priest, and excused himself along the wall and into the crowd, doubtless for fresh air. Dancers came between.

  “That was very nice of him,” Ninévrisë said. “Is it a magical book?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Tuck it away.—Not there. Somewhere reverent. I’ll explain later.”

  “Is it malicious?”

  “Oh, no. I think actually very well-meant. Even a sacrifice. But you have to understand Efanor.”

  “I don’t see him.”

  “He’s rather shy. We’ll see him in the morning. I fear he’s had a cup or two. He’s given away something dear to him.”

  “Then I should give it back!”

  “No, no, keep it. He’ll never retreat from his generosity. And now that he’s been generous he’ll not know how to change the rules. Be generous to him. Trust me in this. It will do him ever so much good.”

  An Elwynim lord was talking with Pelumer, gods bless the old man. An Elwynim this very evening made gentry, Palisan, an excruciatingly handsome lad, was the quarry of Lord Durell’s plump daughter, and Lady Orien was nowhere in sight. Probably she had resented acutely the matter of the cups. But it seemed to him it was fair enough, the forgiving of a few taxes.

  Probably she had resented most of all his inviting her—for which he was actually sorry, because he had not meant ill. But he plucked Ninévrisë’s sleeve and said to her very quietly, 591

  “Dear lady, the King, who is very tired, is about to with draw upstairs. By proprieties the bride-to-be should precede him, since I’m told the party will grow so rowdy that only the Guard is safe. Will you do me the grace?”

  She laid her hand on his and said, only for his ears, “Thank you, my lord.” And squeezed his hand with a little glistening in the eyes. “Thank you.”

  He thought her very brave, seeing how things had been thrown together, and she had none of her friends, only Margolis and a couple of the Amefin ladies to attend her: very brave and very gracious, under the press of circumstances and ladies with fertility charms and his brother’s prayer-book. He gave the word to Idrys, who sent to the musicians and the trumpeters, and the music stopped and the trumpets blared out. He let Ninévrisë

  leave the dais first, with Margolis and with her own guard, and watched Ninévrisë accept words from Tasien and Haurydd and Ysdan, words and an avuncular embrace of each, since she would not see them before their departure for the border—in Haurydd’s case, tonight.

  Haurydd would go with Sovrag’s men, and cross the river into Elwynor, to some landing they swore was safe. Haurydd would try, so the plan was, to reach loyal lords who would attack Aséyneddin by whatever means they could.

  It was a mission he did not at all envy Lord Haurydd.

  Cefwyn and Ninévrisë were leaving. Tristen watched from over the heads of the crowd, evaded a young lady evading a young gentleman, and decided the wall was a far safer place. But a plump and rather pretty lady was talking to Uwen, who was looking at her with close attention.

  He thought tonight he understood. He had touched the gray place or Ninévrisë had, he was unsure who had done it first; Emuin had stopped it quickly, but not before he had felt ever so strange a shiver go through him, and ever so good a feeling that he had never felt, so much excitement and a little edge of fear and heat and cold and a great deal

 
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  of desire for what he could not put a Name to. He found himself disturbed, now, by the sight of Uwen and the plump lady dancing together, and by the sights and sounds of so many, many couples doing the same. It seemed that all the world was paired, male and female, and the whole room was full of warmth pressing in on him, a Word trying so hard to be heard—

  Someone plucked his sleeve, and he looked down at Lady Orien. “Please,” she said. “Come.”

  He no longer knew where right and wrong was with Orien Aswydd. She was Lord Heryn’s sister, and once upon a time Cefwyn had said not to speak with her—but she went immediately out the door and into the outer hall, where there were many other people.

  It seemed foolish to be afraid of such an invitation, and perhaps there was indeed something he should hear. He walked along the wall, weaving his way among those watching the dancing, and went out among three or four others, into the well-lighted hall.

  Orien was waiting along the wall outside.

  “Lord Tristen.” At once her lips were a thin line and her chin showed an imminence of tears. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “What do you wish, lady?” He was distressed by her distress.

  “What troubles you?”

  “I must speak to you. I must. I can’t speak here. I daren’t.

  That man is watching. I have so few chances to see anyone. And I am not a traitor. I am not! I have proof. I know things—I know things I would say if only the King would hear me. But I cannot speak to him. You must do it for me!”

  “I would carry a message to him, most gladly, lady. Tell it to me.”

  “Even my friends are afraid to speak to me. I have no allies left. They have all, all deserted me, and Cefwyn has sent my cousins and even my sister away out of Amefel to exile. I miss her so.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

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  “No one—only a handful of my women—can pass my guards; and they can do nothing. Please come. I have proof I was innocent. I want you to see what I found in my brother’s records.

  Please. I know that you will be fair.”

  “What do you wish to tell Cefwyn? I shall have no hesitation to tell him.”

  “No! I will not beg him, sir, I shall not beg him. I only ask you come and see and listen to me and see a letter I have. Will you listen? I am desperate. I think he means to kill me as he killed Heryn, and I am not guilty! I am so afraid, sir. You can pass my guards. The King’s friend can walk through any door.

  And I trust you, but none of them. Please!”

  He thought it was possible for Cefwyn to have made a mistake.

  The lady had smiled at him, from his earliest days in the Zeide.

  She had baffled him and puzzled him—though Emuin had said she was among the principal ones he should not speak to, in those days they had wished him not to speak to anyone. But he did not know that it was true now.

  “Please,” she whispered urgently, and gave a glance sidelong and back. “They are with me. My guards are always with me, do you see them?”

  He did. They were standing where Orien glanced.

  “Come with me. Come with me now. I’m afraid to go back to my rooms alone with them. They frighten me. They threaten me. Please come with me.”

  “I should tell Uwen.”

  “No!” she said fiercely, and pulled on his hand. “None of Cefwyn’s men. I will not talk with Cefwyn’s men. Only with you—please.”

  He gave a step and two, and he saw the guards move, too, following them: they were Cefwyn’s guards, so there was very little trouble he could get into, and he followed the lady as she led him by the hand down the hall and up the stairs of the east wing, then down the corridor to a door where more of Cefwyn’s guards waited.

  By then she was not leading him by the hand: she walked 594

  with her arm linked in his, as men and women walked together.

  It was pleasant to walk with a lady in that way—it made him like other men. It seemed right enough, and the guards without a word opened the door and let them in.

  And when they were inside, in the foyer room where there was no one waiting, no light but a single candle, and very heavy perfume wafting from the inner rooms, Orien embraced him.

  He was surprised, but he thought she was afraid, and embraced her gently in turn. But she put her arms about his neck and pulled his head down so their lips met. Then he realized what she intended, and they kissed, but not the way Cefwyn and Ninévrisë had kissed, on the cheek. Lips met, and mouths met, at her instigation, which was a very strange and dizzying sensation. She was trying to undo his clothing, he realized, and Words came to him which had hovered about his awareness, disturbing Words, which had all to do with men and women.

  But it seemed to him—it seemed to him that he was being rushed headlong toward a familiarity he did not feel with Lady Orien, and he had been $$$, and she had spoken of proofs and messages none of $$$ he saw in this darkened foyer.

  He attempted to step back and remove her hands gently. She would not, and he caught her elusive hands and brought them down perforce.

  “Are you my enemy?” she asked, with the tears welling up again. “Are you my enemy, too?”

  “Where is this proof you wished to show me?” he asked.

  “In there,” she said. He had her hands prisoned. She nodded her head toward the inner rooms. “I will show you.”

  He was surer and surer that this was not as she had presented things to him in the hall. And he had no wish to go further than he had already gone, with feelings running through him that confused him. “I think,” he said, “that you have lied to me, Lady Orien.”

  “I have not lied!” she said. “How can you treat me this way?

  How can you be so cruel?”

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  “Lady.” He found his breath short. “Show me your proof.

  Now.”

  Immediately she began unlacing her bodice, which showed him a softness and whiteness he found quite disturbing and quite fascinating—he wished and did not wish to see more, which provoked the same feelings her hands had provoked, and he thought that it was the same attempt to confuse him. So he said, however difficult words were, “No, Your Grace,” and laid his hand on the latch and opened the outer door to leave.

  “Damn you!” she cried, and other things besides, which he had only heard among the Guard.

  The guards outside gave him a questioning look and, feeling somehow ashamed, he put his clothing to rights. “Her Grace said she had a message. But I don’t think it was true.”

  “Lord Warden,” one guard said, “we heard the message story before. We sent a man for the Lord Commander, begging your pardon, on account of we couldn’t stop you.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “It was very kind of you. It was what you should have done.”

  He walked down the hall, embarrassed and angry at himself.

  He met Idrys and Uwen both on the stairs coming up, and said to Idrys, glad at least that Idrys had not had to come in to rescue him:

  “I excused myself, sir. I believe she was lying about a message.”

  “I believe that she was, yes, Your Lordship.” Idrys was perfectly composed, perfectly sober. “Good evening, and good rest.”

  Idrys continued up the stairs. Uwen turned and went back down with him, saying not a word. Tristen still felt foolish, and deeply embarrassed, and could feel the touch of the woman’s hands.

  “You know,” Uwen said, “that widow, the nice-looking one?

  She dances nice, but I do think she’s in a mind to marry, and I damn well ain’t, m’lord. So I ’scaped, meself.”

  “I shouldn’t have believed her. I knew better, Uwen. I did 596

  know better, and I’d sworn I wouldn’t go off like that, and there I did. I’m very sorry.”

  “Oh,” Uwen said, “well, m’lord, I was worried, but ye had the rare good sense to come back. Remember me coming down the hill, a couple of nights back? I swear I was that glad to see ye comi
ng down them stairs. I was sure me and the captain would have to go battering at the door, and gods know what all, and there ye was, bright as brass and onto her tricks.” Uwen put an arm about his shoulders, however briefly, before they entered the trafficked area where the musicians were still playing and the crowd was busy and thick. “There’s many a man wouldn’t have had the good sense, lad.”

  He thought he should be pleased he had understood, but he felt disturbed all over, and wished in some sense that he had stayed and found out those mysteries, and was glad he had not, because he did not think he would have liked to have had such an experience with Orien.

  “I think I shall go home, though,” he said.

  “Seems a fine idea,” Uwen said. “I got me a flask of summat nice and warming, and we can sit by the fire, you and me, like the wise fellows we are, and have a drink and go to bed.”

  So the two of them sat by a very comfortable fire in his apartment and had the drink, and Uwen told him about courting girls and his village and where he met his wife.

  It was a very enlightening story. He became sure there were nicer ladies than Orien, but it made him feel a little lonely.

  “I think your wife was a very fine lady,” he said, and Uwen grinned and said,

  “A fine lady she weren’t, oh, but a damn fine woman and a brave one, a brave, brave woman.”

  “I would wish to have met her,” he said, and Uwen wiped his eyes and coughed and said he was for bed, now.