“Temperance and a slow pace are always best in all things, my liege,” Saddar was saying. “And even more so in this matter of the Prince of Aberwyn. We must keep Eldidd in constant wonderment for as long as possible.”
“Just so,” Glyn said. “And most well put.”
With a little smile Saddar sat down again.
“Now, honored sirs,” the king went on. “I plan to give Lord Gwetmar of the Wolf leave from the war next summer so that he may rebuild his dun and find farmers to tend his lands. Do you think this plan wise?”
Bowing, Yvyr rose to speak.
“Most wise, my liege. I doubt me if even a single one of your vassals will grumble. Everyone knows that the Wolf lands form an important salient.”
“Good.” Glyn turned to Gweniver. “Well, there you are, Your Holiness. The matter is settled as you wished it.”
“My most humble thanks. My liege is most generous, and his councillors most wise.”
With a nod all round Glyn rose and ended the council. As Gweniver left, she realized that Dannyn was following her, but from a distance. She hurried down the corridor and the staircase to the great hall, but he caught up with her before she could reach the dais. The barely suppressed rage in his eyes was terrifying.
“I want a word with you,” he said. “Outside.”
“There’s naught that you have to say to me that you can’t say here.”
“Indeed? I think otherwise, my lady.”
Suddenly she felt the cold warning, telling her that she’d best let him have his talk before he made some kind of scene right there in the hall. Reluctantly she followed him out to the imperfect shelter of the overhanging roof of a storage shed.
“I’ve been thinking of what to say for three days,” he snarled. “I can’t wait any longer. I hear you’ve sworn a blood oath with Ricyn.”
“I have, at that. What’s it to you? We’ve sworn to share a grave, not a bed.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’d best, because it’s true.”
For a moment he hesitated on the edge of believing her; then he smiled in a twisted sort of way. For the first time she realized that in his own harsh way he honestly cared for her, not merely lusted after her.
“Danno, look,” she said, softening her voice. “If ever I broke any vow I swore to the Goddess, I’d die the day after. I’m sure of it. She’d find a way to strike me down.”
“Indeed? What are you, then, a ghost from the Otherlands?”
“I have not broken my vow. And if you’re so sure I have, why aren’t you publicly proclaiming my sacrilege?”
“That should be cursed obvious.”
The soft way he smiled made her step back, yet he made no move toward her.
“It gripes my very soul to say this,” he went on, “but I love you.”
“Then my heart aches for you, because that’s a burden you’ll have to bear alone.”
“Let me tell you somewhat. I’ve never turned down a challenge when one was thrown my way.”
“It’s not a challenge, but the simple truth.”
“Indeed? We’ll just see about that.”
Over the next few days Gweniver felt as if she were doing a deadly dance to stay away from Dannyn. Whenever she came into the great hall, he would come over and sit with her as if he had every right to be there. Whenever she went out to the stables, he followed. Whenever she was on her way to her chambers, she met him in the corridor. He was setting himself to be charming, and it was painful to watch such a proud man trying to be courtly and seductive. During the day Gweniver took to spending as much time as possible with Ricyn. At night she would visit Nevyn in his chamber or shut herself up in hers with her maidservant for company.
On an evening when the wind moaned in the stone corridors, Gweniver went to Nevyn’s chamber to find that he’d acquired a couple of chairs. On his table he’d spread a cloth and put out a flagon of mead and three goblets.
“Good eve, my lady,” he said. “I’d like to invite you to stay, but I’ve got a couple of guests coming. I’ve been minding my courtesies and making friends out of Saddar and Yvyr.”
“That’s doubtless wise. No doubt they’ll resent your influence with the king if you don’t.”
“I had thoughts that way myself, truly.”
Gweniver had taken only about five steps down the corridor when she saw Dannyn, leaning against the wall and waiting for her. With a sigh she strolled over.
“Leave me alone, will you?” she said. “It’s miserably tedious to have you following me everywhere.”
“Ah, Gwen, please. I’m heartsick for the love of you.”
“Then go ask Nevyn for some physic.”
When she walked on by, he caught her shoulder.
“Get your hands off me! Leave me alone!”
Her voice was too loud, ringing in the empty corridor. His face scarlet with rage, Dannyn started to speak, but someone was coming toward them. Gweniver knocked his hand away and ran, brushing against Saddar with a curt apology. She hurried down the stairs and burst into the great hall, where she could sit with her warband and be safe. That evening she toyed with the thought of laying a charge against him, but he was simply too important to the welfare of the kingdom. She took comfort in knowing that her Goddess would protect her.
All the next day Dannyn seemed to be going out of his way to avoid her. She was as puzzled as she was relieved until Nevyn mentioned that he’d had a word with the captain and warned him to leave her alone. Yet eventually the warning seemed forgotten. One rainy morning, as she was coming back from the stable, he caught her out back behind the broch with no one else in sight.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Just a few honest words with you.”
“Then here they are: you’ll never share my bed.”
“So it’s different with your common-born farmer lad, is it?”
“I’ve told you the truth about that. And it’s not for the likes of you, anyway, to question a priestess about her vows.”
She stepped round him and strode back to the broch.
Gweniver’s maidservant, a pale, plain lass named Ocladda, loved working at court mostly because the work was so much easier than slaving on her father’s farm. She took an odd pride in her lady being so eccentric and kept Gweniver’s sparsely furnished chambers scrupulously clean. Since Gweniver had no long hair for her to comb and arrange or fancy clothes to tend, Ocladda made the best of her situation by endlessly polishing her lady’s weapons and saddle-soaping her horse gear. While she worked, she would chatter gossip from the servants’ quarters and queen’s chamber alike, never mindful of how little her lady listened. One cold afternoon, then, it was a bad omen when Ocladda worked silently, laying a fire with never one word.
“Now, here,” Gweniver said at last. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, my lady, I just pray you believe me. When a servant says one thing and a lord another, no one calls the lord a liar. I just know he’d deny every word of it.”
Gweniver’s first thought was that someone had gotten the lass pregnant.
“Now, now,” she said soothingly. “Tell me who.”
“Lord Dannyn, my lady. He met me out in the corridor this morning, and he offered me a bribe. He said he’d give me a silver coin if I left you alone in your chamber tonight. And I said that I’d never do such a thing, so he slapped me.”
“Oh, did he, now? Don’t fret—I believe you. Go back to your work while I think about this.”
At the evening meal Gweniver was constantly aware of Dannyn watching her with a smug smile. She ate fast and left her table before he could finish and join her, but she was afraid to go back to her chamber. If he followed and made some unpleasantness in front of Ocladda, soon every servant in the dun would hear about it. Obviously he considered the lass too far beneath him to consider that grim possibility. Finally she went down to the floor of the great hall and sought out Nevyn, who was talking with Ysgerryn over a ta
nkard of ale.
“Good evening, good sirs. I was wondering if you’d care to join me in my chamber for a bit of mead?”
Nevyn’s bushy eyebrows shot up. Ysgerryn beamed, all smiles at the thought of being invited to drink with the noble-born.
“I’d be most honored, Your Holiness,” said the Master of Weaponry. “I just have to have a word with the chamberlain, and then I’ll be free to join you.”
“So shall I,” Nevyn said. “My thanks.”
Leaving the two of them to follow, Gweniver hurried back to her chamber and sent Ocladda off to the kitchen to fetch mead and something to drink it in. She lit two candle lanterns with a splint of burning kindling from the hearth and was just putting them down when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in, good sirs,” she called out.
Dannyn stepped in and shut the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just coming to see you. Gwen, please, your heart can’t be as cold to me as you pretend.”
“My heart has naught to do with what’s on your mind. Now, listen, get out of here! I have two—”
“Don’t you give me an order.”
“It’s not an order but a warning. I’ve got guests—”
Before she could finish, he caught her by the shoulders and kissed her. She twisted out of his hands and slapped him across the face. At the blow all his careful pretense of courtesy shattered.
“Gwen, curse you! I’m sick of all this fencing.”
He moved so fast that she couldn’t dodge. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against the wall. Although she struggled and kicked and punched, his weight was too much for her to shove away as he pressed against her by brute force. Swearing, he held on, his hands bruising her shoulders, then tried to kiss her again.
“Let me go! You bastard, let me go!”
He slammed her so hard against the wall that she could barely breathe. Suddenly she heard a scream, slicing through the chamber. Dannyn let her go and spun round just as Nevyn and Ysgerryn ran in. In the doorway Ocladda stood screaming, over and over again.
“Sacrilege!” Ysgerryn was whispering in horror. “Oh, dear Goddess, forgive us!”
“You fool, Danno!” Nevyn said. “You utter dolt.”
Out of breath, shaken, Gweniver felt her back and shoulders aching like fire, but the pain was nothing compared to the sick coldness in her stomach. She’d nearly been polluted by brute force. Ysgerryn turned to Ocladda.
“Stop that screaming, lass! Run, get a page. Send for the guards. Hurry!”
When, still sobbing, the lass ran, Dannyn spun toward the door. Nevyn calmly stepped in front of him.
“Are you going to cut down two old men to get out of this chamber?” he said quietly. “I think you have more honor than that.”
In silence Dannyn started shaking, trembling like a poplar in the wind. Gweniver wanted to scream. She clasped her hands over her mouth and watched him tremble. All her glory, her power on the battlefield and her pride in her sword, had been stripped away from her. Dannyn’s brute strength had turned her into an ordinary frightened woman, and for that she hated him most of all. Ysgerryn laid a paternal hand on her arm.
“My lady, how do you fare? Did he hurt you?”
“Not badly,” she choked out.
Out in the corridor men shouted. Four of the king’s guards burst into the chamber with drawn swords and stopped, staring at their leader as if they thought themselves in a nightmare. Dannyn tried to speak, then went on shaking. After an eternity of painful minutes, Glyn himself hurried in with Saddar trailing after. At the sight of his brother, Dannyn broke, falling to his knees and weeping like a child. Saddar drew back with a dramatic gasp.
“Sacrilege!” the councillor cried out. “And here I’ve been fearing it for ever so long. Lady Gweniver, oh, what an abominable thing!”
“Now, wait a moment,” Glyn said. “Danno, what is all this?”
His face running tears, Dannyn drew his sword and handed it to the king hilt first, yet still he could not speak.
“My liege, Nevyn and I saw it,” Ysgerryn said. “He was trying to force the lady.”
“Oh, ye gods,” Saddar said. “What terrible curse will the Goddess visit upon us now?”
With a violent shudder the guards drew back from the man who would have profaned a priestess.
“Danno,” the king said. “It can’t be true.”
“It is.” At last he forced out words. “Just kill me, will you?”
Dannyn tipped his head back to expose his throat. With an oath Glyn threw the sword across the chamber.
“I’ll judge this matter in the morning. Guards, take him to his chamber and keep him there. Take that dagger away from him, too.” He glanced at the white-faced witnesses. “I wish to consult with her holiness. Alone.”
While the guards were marching Dannyn away, Glyn stared fixedly at the wall. One at a time, the others hurried out, Saddar trailing at the last. The king slammed the door behind him, then flung himself into a chair and stared at the leaping fire in the hearth.
“In this, Your Holiness,” he said, “you’re the monarch and I the subject. I’ll submit Lord Dannyn to any punishment that the Goddess demands, but as a man, I’ll beg you for my brother’s life.” He paused, swallowing heavily. “The law says I should flog a man for meddling with a priestess. Publicly flog him, then hang him.”
Gweniver sat down and pressed her shaking hands together. She was going to enjoy every stripe the executioner gave him; she would enjoy watching him hang, too. Suddenly she felt the Goddess gathering behind her, a cold, dark presence like a winter wind through a window. She realized that if she used the holy laws for personal vengeance, she would be committing an impiety just as much as if she ignored them for the king’s sake. She lifted up her hands and prayed silently to the Goddess while Glyn stared into the fire and went on waiting.
Every man in the great hall knew that something foul had happened when a frightened page raced onto the dais and grabbed the king’s arm. After Glyn left, riders and noble-born alike speculated in a whispering flood of gossip. What could possibly be so wrong for the lad to have forgotten his courtesies that way? Ricyn considered the matter no affair of his and went on drinking. Soon enough, he figured, everyone would know all about it. Things were just settling down when Lord Oldac made his way through the tables and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Come with me, Captain. Councillor Saddar wants to speak to you.”
At the foot of the staircase stood Saddar, rubbing his hands together repeatedly.
“A terrible thing’s happened, Captain,” the councillor said. “Lord Dannyn has tried to rape the Lady Gweniver.”
Ricyn felt like a dead leaf, trapped in ice when a stream freezes.
“I thought you should know,” the old man went on. “I’m frankly terrified that our liege will pardon him contrary to all justice. If he should, please beg your lady to spare the city from the curse of the Goddess.”
“Listen, old man,” Ricyn snarled. “If our liege tries to weasel out of this, I’ll kill the bastard myself.”
Oldac and Saddar exchanged the briefest of smiles. Ricyn ran up the staircase, raced down the corridor, and came face-to-face with two guards outside Gweniver’s door.
“You can’t pass by. The king is in there.”
Ricyn grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him against the wall.
“I don’t care if the Lord of Hell is in there. I’ve got to see my lady.”
Just as the other guard made a grab at him, the door was flung open: Gweniver, pale, shaken, but unharmed.
“I thought I heard your voice,” she said. “Come in.”
When Ricyn stepped inside, he saw the king, rising from a chair. Never before had he been so close to the man he worshiped second only to her. He dropped to his knees.
“What’s this?” Glyn said. “How did you hear about it?”
“Councillor Saddar told me about i
t, my liege. You can flog me if you want to for intruding, but I had to see my lady safe with my own eyes.”
“No doubt.” He glanced at Gweniver. “Councillor Saddar, was it?”
“And Lord Oldac,” Ricyn added.
Gweniver was looking at the floor, thinking hard. He knew that the Goddess was upon her by the ramrod-straight way she stood and the cold power in her eyes.
“Tell me somewhat, Captain,” the king said. “How are the men going to take this news?”
“Well, my liege, I can’t speak for Lord Dannyn’s men, but my men and me would fight the Lord of Hell himself to defend our lady’s honor. We can’t just take this calm, like.”
“Especially not with the councillor stirring everyone up, my liege,” Gweniver said. “You know, somewhat’s coming clear to me about Councillor Saddar—not that we’d ever be able to prove a thing.”
“Indeed?” Glyn glanced Ricyn’s way. “Leave us.”
Ricyn rose, bowed, and backed out of the chamber. He spent a long, anxious night lying on his bunk and wondering what his lady and his king were deciding between them.
In the morning Gweniver came to the barracks to fetch him. By her special request Ricyn was allowed to witness the judgment in the audience chamber. Up on the dais Glyn sat in his ceremonial clothes with a golden sword in his hand. Four councillors, including Saddar, stood behind him, and two priests of Bel stood to his right. The witnesses stood at the foot of the dais, Gweniver among them. At the sound of a silver horn, four guards marched Dannyn in. From the dark circles under his eyes, Ricyn judged that he hadn’t slept all night. Good, he thought. Let the bastard taste every bitter drop of this.
“We have before us a charge of sacrilege,” Glyn announced. “Lord Dannyn is accused of attempting to profane the person of Gweniver, lady and priestess. Let the evidence proceed.”
“My liege,” Dannyn called out, “let me spare you that. I confess. Just take me out and kill me. If ever I’ve done you any service, do it now and swiftly.”