The Black Raven

  It was some while before Maddyn saw the princess again. A page told him that she’d left off working on her book, but the boy couldn’t tell him why or when she might take it up again. Every morning after breakfast, the usual time she would have summoned him, he lingered at the foot of the staircase in the great hall, just on the off chance that she’d send him word of some sort. It never came, and neither did she.

  Finally Maddyn cornered Elyssa when she appeared in the great hall to fetch bread. He knelt on one knee to block her path and caught the hem of her dress in his hands.

  “What’s all this?” Elyssa said, laughing. “I’ve no bounty to dispense, bard, or boons to grant.”

  “Oh, but you do,” Maddyn said. “News of Her Highness. Is she ill or suchlike?”

  “Not truly. A bit indisposed, I suppose one could call it.”

  “I’ve been worried.” Maddyn found himself speaking with no power to stop himself. “When last I saw her, she seemed so unhappy. I keep thinking there’s somewhat wrong.”

  “Oh.” Elyssa glanced around at the crowded hall, then lowered her voice. “You truly are devoted to her, aren’t you?”

  Maddyn looked away. “I suppose I am.”

  “Do get up, will you?”

  He stood, brushing the straw from the knees of his brigga, while she watched him with eyes that told him nothing of her thoughts.

  “Can you tell me what’s amiss?” he said at last.

  “Why not?” Elyssa smiled in a twisted sort of way. “She’s had two babies in four years, and both of them were big. And now, oh ye gods! she’s with child again, and little Prince Marro is what? Barely four turnings of the moon old. It sucks the life out of a woman. She’s not a mare or a prize cow, you know, no matter what our prince thinks.”

  Maddyn blushed and looked away.

  “A bard without words,” Elyssa said. “There’s a rarity. Or are you angry that I’ve spoken ill of the prince?”

  “Not in the least. I’d just not thought of things that way before.”

  “No doubt, since you’re a man like any other. Here—they always say bards can speak freely, even to a prince. When you’ve got a moment, perhaps you might speak and mention that if his wife keeps on conceiving this way, it could kill her.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll have a word with old Nevyn and let him do the speaking. Maryn won’t be listening to the likes of me.”

  “You have my thanks. It’s just a blessing that the prince has his little mistress. I hope to the gods he doesn’t get her with child, too, and have no one to—” She paused, her mouth twisted tight, considering Maddyn. “Oh never mind. Our princess has us—her women I mean—to see her through this, but Nevyn’s aid would be a boon.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Good. And I’ll tell our lady about your concern.”

  “If I can be of any further service, call upon me.” He bowed to her. “My thanks, my lady, for this plain speaking.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure, but don’t tell another soul but Nevyn. Our lady will be most distressed if you do.”

  “Then tell her to fear not. There won’t be one wrong word from me.”

  Maddyn glanced around the great hall and saw a cluster of pages over by the honor hearth. He made his way through the welter of tables and joined them, asking them impartially if they knew where Councillor Nevyn might be.

  “I do,” a lad piped up. “Up in his tower room. He asked us to find his apprentice for him and send her there.”

  “But we couldn’t,” a second lad said. “Find the lady Lillorigga, I mean. If you see her, bard, could you tell her that her master needs her?”

  “I will, at that. My thanks.”

  The inside of the side broch felt no warmer than the ice-kissed air outside. As he panted up the stairs Maddyn was shivering inside his winter cloak. Heat, however, filled Nevyn’s chamber like a memory of summer. Maddyn dumped his cloak on the floor and stood holding his hands out to the glowing brazier.

  “It’s splendidly warm in here, my lord,” Maddyn said. “I’m surprised that the charcoal does so well.”

  Nevyn raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “More fool me!” Maddyn said. “I should have known it was dweomer.”

  “After all these years, I should think so. What brings you to me, Maddo?”

  “A message from Princess Bellyra’s women. They need your help.”

  “Indeed?” Nevyn’s smile vanished. “What’s wrong?”

  “The princess is with child again.”

  Nevyn swore like a silver dagger.

  “It was inevitable, of course,” the old man said at last. “But it aches my heart that it comes so soon.”

  “The princess doesn’t want anyone else to know this but you.”

  “Very well, then. I suppose she’s had to tell the prince. Oh—by the gods! That’s why Lilli been so hard to find, then. I’ve been wondering, this past few days, but she can be cursed sly when she wants to!”

  For a moment Maddyn found it hard to speak. His rage broke over him and made him tremble.

  “What’s so wrong, Maddo?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. I—ye gods! It just gripes my soul, thinking of the prince with his mistress while—I mean, I know that’s stupid of me. Why shouldn’t he have as many women as he wants? He’s the prince.”

  “That’s the usual way of thinking about these things,” Nevyn said drily. “And there’s naught we can do about it. I’ll attend to the princess straightaway, though. Just let me fetch my cloak.”

  “It’s not the birth itself I’m afraid of,” Bellyra said. “It’s the after.”

  “I know that, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “Maybe things will be different this time.”

  “That’s what I thought last time. They weren’t.”

  “This time I’ll be here.”

  “You were there when Casy1 was born. It didn’t help. Oh, I’m sorry!” Bellyra looked on the edge of tears. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “The last thing you need to worry about now is my feelings.”

  Bellyra wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. In the women’s hall they were sitting in front of the fire, which provided the only light as well as heat. The maidservants had covered the windows with several layers of hides, that morning, and the leather would remain up until the first signs of spring.

  “I’m such a coward,” Bellyra said at last. “I’ve gone to earth like a badger in her set. I don’t want to see anyone but my women or leave this hall.”

  “You absolutely must! Do you want to let the black humor take you over now and ruin even more of your life?”

  “I don’t, truly. But—”

  “There’s no arguing with me, Your Highness. You need to get out into the open air.”

  “That’s the simple truth, isn’t it? You’ll not be argued with. I might as well give in, I suppose, and save us a squabble.”

  “How sensible you are.”

  Bellyra laughed.

  “There’s another thing, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “May I speak freely?”

  “Whenever couldn’t you?”

  “Well, it’s a delicate matter. About Lilli.”

  Bellyra jerked her head to one side and stared into the fire.

  “I’ve not seen your apprentice in some days.” Her voice sounded too high, too brisk. “She doesn’t come to the sewing in the afternoons.”

  “She doesn’t?” Nevyn said. “She told me—well, no matter.”

  “I think me we both know where she is at those times.”

  “Imph. I take it you don’t miss her.”

  “I don’t. But I feel like such a fool for being angry with her.”

  “If you are, you’d be a greater fool to deny it.”

  Bellyra shrugged. She had gone pale, he realized, and fine sweat beaded her upper lip. He waited, but she sat staring into the hearth in silence. The fire hissed as it covered a damp log with a curl of flame, and she tosse
d her head with a shudder.

  “Your Highness? Shall I leave you?”

  “It would be best. But I promise you I’ll take your advice.”

  As Nevyn left the women’s hall, he saw Lady Elyssa standing at the end of the corridor. She’d wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the chill.

  “Good morrow,” he called out. “Are you waiting for—”

  Elyssa held a warning finger to her lips. Nevyn said nothing more until he joined her on the landing.

  “A word with you?” Elyssa said. “Indeed, I was.” She paused to glance down the stairs, then spoke quietly. “No one’s about. Good. This guard our prince has given our lady, Maddyn his name is. You know him, don’t you?”

  “Quite well, actually,” Nevyn said. “Why?”

  “I was wondering what manner of man he was.”

  “A good one, I’d say. If it weren’t for these cursed wars, he might have been a first-rank bard.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Elyssa pursed her lips briefly. “His character. Is he reliable? Decent?”

  “Most assuredly. Here! You don’t suspect him of being slack in his duties or suchlike, do you?”

  “Not in the least.” Elyssa paused for a bland smile. “I merely want to ensure our lady’s safety.”

  “Well, naught’s going to happen to her here in her husband’s dun.”

  “My dear Nevyn, there are dangers that can come upon a woman no matter where she is.”

  “Well, that’s true. You can trust Maddyn to deal with them.”

  Elyssa dropped him a curtsy, then hurried back to the women’s hall. Now what was all that about, I wonder? Nevyn thought. No business of mine, most like.

  Lilli was in her chamber, reading over the dweomer passage Nevyn had set her to study, when Branoic called her name and knocked on the door. She went stone-still, wondering if she should pretend to be gone. The knock came again, and she rose.

  “Do come in, Branno!”

  He opened the door and stepped in, shut it again and leaned back against it, his hands behind him, as if he were pinning them against the wood to keep them under control. For a long moment he looked her over with eyes so cold that she began to tremble.

  “I just had a bit of a chat with the prince,” Branoic said at last. “He warned me off you.”

  “He did what?”

  “Told me to leave you alone. That’s not the bargain I thought we had, you and I.”

  “It’s not! He’s got his gall. Branno, you don’t think I agreed to that, do you?”

  All at once he smiled. He straightened up and walked into the chamber.

  “My apologies,” Branoic said. “The way he put it, I thought you knew, you see.”

  “Naught of the sort! He promised me we could marry, and I never thought he’d go back on his word.”

  “Oh, he talked about the marriage, all right. He’s found a grand demesne to settle upon us, says he. The one that guards the bolthole. He’ll rebuild the dun next summer, says he, in grand style, and we’ll have it for the winter.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you? I did. Until we marry he wants you to himself. After that—” Branoic paused, his mouth twisted, as if he’d bitten into spoiled food. “Well, we’ll be on our lands, and he’ll be here, but I’ll wager he visits now and again.”

  Lilli sat back down with a long sigh. Branoic stayed standing and shoved his hands into the pockets of his brigga.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said.

  “Naught, I should think. Whatever else, he’s still the prince. There’s many a great lord who wouldn’t be so generous to the man who stole his mistress’s heart.” Branoic was staring at the floor. “You’ve never weaselled around behind my back, Lilli. And when you come right down to it, the prince never has either.”

  “Well and good, then. But I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” He looked up. “So am I.”

  Branoic turned and strode out, slamming the heavy door hard behind him. Lilli rose, half-minded to run after him, but, she realized, he was right. There was naught more she could say or do to ease their situation or his feelings. Unless, of course, she gave Maryn up.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she said aloud. “You don’t need dweomer to know that he’ll not let you go until he doesn’t want you anymore.”

  She sat down and wondered why she felt so weary.

  So much of the troop had gone with Owaen to the Pyrdon border that the silver daggers’ barracks stood mostly empty. Those remaining, Maddyn and Branoic among them, had taken the bunks closest to the hearth at the far end of the long narrow room. When someone was missing, the rest were bound to notice, and conversely they noticed as well when Branoic returned to sleeping in the barracks.

  “And what’s so wrong?” Red—haired Trevyr said to him. “Your lady turn cold to you?”

  Branoic never moved, never spoke, merely looked at Trevyr in something of the way he might eye a joint of meat waiting to be carved. Maddyn stepped in front of him and turned to Trevyr.

  “Hold your tongue,” Maddyn snapped, “before Branno makes you bite it off with my blessing.”

  “Here! Just a bit of a jest! I—.” Trevyr caught himself. “My apologies, Branno. I can be a dolt at times.”

  “No offense taken.” Branoic turned away. “I could do with a tankard of dark about now. Think I’ll go to the great hall.”

  Branoic strode off. No one spoke until the door had slammed behind him. Trevyr sat down on the edge of his bunk and massaged his twisted hand with the good one. A smack with the flat of a sword had broken most of the bones in his shield hand, and not even Nevyn had been able to set it straight again.

  “My apologies to you, too, Maddo. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  “I don’t suppose you did, truly. But it’s a hard tune Branoic’s trying to whistle. He doesn’t need anyone else to make it harder.”

  “Poor bastard.”

  “Is he? There’s more than one husband of a royal mistress who’s been rewarded with land and favors.”

  “You’re right enough about that. But still: poor bastard!”

  “Well, so he is. Now let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”

  As they stepped outside cold wind slapped them, and the sky hung close and grey over the dun. In the ward dirty snow lay over the cobbles and the frozen mud. With their feet wrapped in rags servants hurried past them with armloads of firewood or buckets of water from the wells. Maddyn almost envied them—they at least had work to keep them busy, whereas he would spend another tedious day brooding about Bellyra from his distance. Yet, when they walked into the great hall, a page came running to meet him.

  “The princess sent me for you, bard. She wants you to guard her like you usually do.”

  “Well and good, then.” Maddyn steadied his voice to a fine indifference, but he felt like shouting in joy. “Will Her Highness mind if I just get a bit of bread or suchlike first?”

  “Of course not. She’ll be down in a bit, she said.”

  The page trotted off. Maddyn got himself a chunk of bread and a tankard of watered ale, then sat with Trevyr at a table near the foot of the massive stone staircase that spiralled up one side of the great hall. They ate fast, without ceremony or conversation, leaving Maddyn free to watch the stairs. He was just finishing when Bellyra appeared, bundled in a red cloak, walking down slowly with her pages behind her. He was surprised at how good it felt to see her and to know that for this small space of time her company would be his.

  “There’s our lady,” Maddyn said. “A silver dagger’s work is never done, eh?”

  “Better you than me,” Trevyr said, “tramping around in this cold.”

  “Lucky dog! Well, I’ll join you at the fire soon enough.”

  Maddyn grabbed his cloak and put it on, then hurried to the foot of the stairs. When Bellyra reached the great hall, he knelt, but she laughed and waved a hand at him.

  “Do get up, Maddo! That straw’s too muc
ky to kneel in.”

  Smiling, he rose and bowed to her. “Her Highness is too kind.”

  “Not truly.”

  Her voice held an odd note, a hesitance perhaps. When he looked at her he saw something new in her expression, an ill ease of a sort he couldn’t place. In all their other times together she had shown nothing but the graciousness of a great lady to a trusted servant. With the pages so close by, he could say nothing, but when they walked out into the ward the lads ran on ahead, as Bellyra generally allowed them to do.

  “Have I displeased Your Highness?” Maddyn said.

  “What? Not in the least!” Bellyra laughed a few brittle notes. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. Forgive me.”

  In silence they crossed the ward. The pages would dart ahead like dogs, then run back to circle the princess before they rushed off again. Bellyra hesitated, looking downhill through the jumble of buildings and walls, then pointed off to her right.

  “Let’s go through that gate,” she said. “Someone told me there’s a dedication stone from an old tower that’s been used in another wall. I think they meant down in there somewhere.”

  They went through the gate, hurried past pigsties shaped like beehives, followed a broken wall downhill, found another gate, and came out into a squarish little ward, defined by the stone walls of storage buildings. Bellyra stood looking around her. On the far side stood a long barn.

  “There!” Bellyra pointed up toward its eaves. “Just under the thatch. Look, you can see writing on that big stone.” She trotted over to the base of the wall and stood staring up, frowning a little. “It’s too high for me to read.” She turned to the waiting pages. “Do you either of you know letters?”

  “I don’t, my lady.”

  “Nor I either, my lady.”

  “What a nuisance! Here, I know! You two lads run back to the royal broch. I saw some empty ale barrels standing by the servants’ door. You roll one of them down here so I can stand on it.”