Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (14 page)

Karon’s face again. Clearly, that was not to be. His face was Prince D’Natheil’s. Though aged by more

than fifteen years in our few months together the previous summer, sculpted by his struggle to fuse body

and soul, his appearance had changed no further since he had vanished through the Gate-fire with

Dassine four months before.

Yet how could I be disappointed? Dassine had said I was not yet a part of his memory, and such was

clearly not the case. He understood my fear of the dark and knew what would ease my sadness. As we

walked through the arbor, his manner had been so like Karon’s that I could never have guessed he was

not the man I married. He
would
remember me.

On the previous night I had told Nellia that I was not feeling well, and under no circumstances was I

to be disturbed until noon at the earliest, but my subterfuge now seemed a bit foolish. As I locked the

garden and walked through the herb and vegetable beds toward the kitchen door, it was not even

mid-morning.

I pushed open the door to the kitchen and stepped into bedlam. Nellia was directing two white-faced

serving girls to carry jugs of hot water upstairs as soon as they were ready, and another girl to take a

stack of clean towels to the mistress’ room. When the housekeeper caught sight of me, she hurried

toward me. “Oh, my lady, I’ve just sent Nancy to wake you. Though you said not to disturb, I knew

you’d want to be told. It’s the duchess. Lady Verally has sent word.”

Philomena’s child. Weeks too early. “Has Ren Wesley been sent for?” I climbed the servants’

staircase alongside Nellia.

“I dispatched Francis right away, but—”

“... but it will be an entire day before he can be here. Has anyone on the staff had experience as a

midwife?”

“Only Mad Lucy, the young duke’s old nurse.”

“She still lives here at the castle? Somehow I’d thought . . .”

“Aye, Duke Tomas let her stay as she’d nowhere else to go. But her mind’s long gone. She’s done

naught but sit and rock in her chair for nigh on five years now.”

“Perhaps if we talked to her, even if she’s feeble in the mind, she might be able to help. Even when

they can’t remember whether they’ve eaten dinner, old people can often remember what’s important to

them—how to make bread or play a game or deliver a child.”

“No use. She’s a mute, you know. Even if she’d a thought to share, she couldn’t do it.”

“Then we must send to Graysteve for a midwife.”

Nellia puffed with effort as we passed through a door to the first floor passage. “But the duchess will

have naught to do with anyone from the village. She says they’re common and ignorant. That’s why she

hired Ren Wesley to come and stay for her last weeks, though, alas, it don’t appear the time was set right

for him to come.”

“If the child is really on its way, I don’t think she’ll care. Send for the midwife.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Nellia turned back, while I continued on to Philomena’s bedchamber, only to find the door barred by

an iron-faced Lady Verally. “You’ll not come in. The duchess is in her last travail. We must have a

physician or a priest, not a witch. You may have weaseled your way into this house through my niece’s

kindness, but I’ve a clear eye yet, and I can see what you’re up to. I won’t have you anywhere near

her.”

“Ren Wesley has been sent for and also a midwife from the village, but it will take time.”

“I’ve already done all that can be done. Her fate is in the hands of the Holy Twins.”

Poor Philomena. I never imagined I could feel sorry for her. To face the loss of another child born

early with only the grim Lady Verally to comfort her would be a dismal ordeal indeed. And neither the

High God Arot, retired to his celestial palace in mythical Cadore, nor the Twins— male warriors as they

were—were going to be much help with a woman’s labor.

“Will you tell me her condition then, so I can inform the young duke? He’ll likely be quite distressed

by rumors. Tomorrow is Covenant Day, and we must be prepared for all eventualities.”

“I’ll tell you nothing, witch. I’ve advised the young duke to stay away from you until we have you

removed from this house. Your deceptions will be uncovered, and you will burn as you should have long

ago.” She slammed the door in my face.

Beastly woman. I hurried downstairs and sent a message to Gerick, telling him that it was possible

that his mother would deliver her child early and reminding him that, no matter what happened, he would

be expected in the great hall at first light on the next day to receive his tenants. Difficult though it might be,

nothing must interfere with it.

For the rest of the day everyone in the house walked softly, as if an untoward disturbance of the air

might precipitate disaster. The mourning banners that still drooped heavily on the castle doors took on an

ominous new significance.

I occupied myself with preparations for receiving the tenants, trying to concentrate on the lists of

names and families that Giorge had prepared, but I chafed sorely at being barred from Philomena’s

room. Though I had no idea what I might be able to do to help, I believed I should be there. Nellia

brought me periodic reports, gleaned from the chambermaids. Philomena’s labor had stopped after only

a short while, but could resume at any time.

The midwife from Graysteve arrived, but Lady Verally insisted we dismiss her straightaway. I spoke

to the woman, a neat, trim person of about my own age, and asked if she would be willing to stay

through the afternoon and evening, in case the duchess were to overrule her aunt’s decision. The midwife

said she would wait as long as necessary. Infants should not be held responsible for the concerns of their

relations, she said, putting a polite face on our foolishness. I asked Nellia to see to the woman’s comfort.

I received no response from Gerick. Giorge had told me that the boy had sat with Tomas every

Covenant Day since he could walk and had behaved himself admirably. I had to trust that he would do

so again.

It was dark and cold when I rose on the next morning, and I dressed quickly. The custom was for the

family members to dress in their best, but I had nothing fine. As I pulled on the better of my two dresses,

I told myself that my dignity would have to be my adornment for the day. Even as I said it, I had to laugh.

I sounded just like my mother.

I hurried down to the kitchen and pounced on Nellia as she came out of the larder. “Any word of the

duchess?”

“The girls say the night was quiet,” she said, as she set a wedge of cheese on a plate in the middle of a

tray filled with plates, bowls, and pots. “Lissa! Take this on up.” When the girl in the white cap hoisted

the heavy tray, I was sure one moment more would see us all splattered with fruit porridge, boiled fish,

sausage, scalding cider, and seedcakes. But the maid steadied her load and scurried away. “Lady Verally

slept in the mistress’ room,” Nellia continued. “She’s pushed a chair up to block the door and will only

let her own girls in. I had the midwife stay the night with me. I thought to ask you should we just send her

home. Don’t seem needful to keep her from her own children when she’s not wanted here.”

“No, the duchess needs her. I’ve had an idea. . . .”

Though I bore no love for Philomena, I would not see her life stolen if I could prevent it, so I gathered

Nellia, Giorge, the midwife, the captain of the household guard, and two of the footmen whom Nellia

recommended as highly loyal to Tomas, and I directed them to stand ready. As soon as we had a report

that the duchess was in true labor, the midwife was to be taken to her. If Lady Verally refused to admit

the woman, then the footmen were to remove Lady Verally from the room and confine her to her

apartments until such time as Her Grace’s child was born or the aunt was sent for. I invoked my authority

in the absence of the duchess for the purpose of preserving Her Grace’s life and that of her child. All

agreed. I left them waiting for Nellia’s word to implement the plan. My own duties were in the great hall.

Comigor’s great hall was a long, narrow room, its floor area modest only in proportion to its immense

height. Its arched ceiling was so tall that as a child I had marveled at the clouds that drifted there, and

believed that if I were ever allowed to be in the chamber when it was dark, I might see a whole new

universe of stars. Of course the clouds had been only the lingering smoke from the ancient hearths that

gaped taller than a man, and the hundreds of lamps and candles required to light the place.

On this morning the banqueting tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the room. My

footsteps echoed as I hurried across the wood floor to the far end of the hall. Giorge and his assistants

had everything arranged: the small table with the flask of wine and two glasses, the two cushioned chairs

for Gerick and me, and the plainer ones for the tenant and for Giorge and his assistant who would sit

behind me and record the payments in their ledgers. Everything was the way the tenants would expect it

to be. There is great comfort in five-hundred-year expectations fulfilled.

“Is the young master on his way?” Giorge joined me, his hands smoothing his gray velvet doublet.

Rustling and murmuring could be heard through the front doors that had been flung open, and beyond the

narrow windows of the hall, gray shapes moved about the courtyard, stamping their feet in the cold.

“I’m sure he’ll be here.” Of course, I was not sure at all, and I breathed at least as great a sigh of

relief as Giorge when Gerick hurried into the hall. My nephew was outfitted in close-fitting breeches of

black satin, white hose, a wide-collared shirt of patterned green silk, and a tight-fitting doublet of yellow

satin, heavily embroidered in gold. His red-brown hair was shining, and his eyes could have frozen a

volcano.

“You look quite handsome this morning, Your Grace,” I said.

Without deigning an answer, he sat down next to me, his back straight and stiff. He seemed a great

deal older than ten.

“Have you spoken with your mother or Lady Verally this morning?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Then perhaps you’ll want to know. ... I understand that all is well with your mother as of yet.” I didn’t

expect him to dance with joy, but was astounded when he shot me a look of such unmitigated hatred that

my skin burned with it.

I had no time to consider the cause of his current displeasure, for the first rays of the sun angled

through the windows. The clatter and scrape of a hundred nailed boots echoed at the far end of the hall

as a long line of sturdy, plainly dressed men surged toward us through the door. I rose from my chair and

motioned to Gerick to do the same.

Giorge leaned forward from behind me and whispered, “This man is—”

“Goodman Castor,” I said, nodding to the squat, toothless man who stood proudly at the front of the

line.

I had asked Giorge to prompt me discreetly if I hesitated on a name, as there was no way to learn all

the new faces in a short few months or to be sure that I could remember the old. But this man had

worked the Comigor land since my father was a boy.

I gestured toward the chair. “In the name of His Grace, the young duke, I welcome you to Comigor.

Please rest yourself.”

“An honor, ma’am,” the roughly dressed man said loudly, his eyes narrowed as he touched his

forehead and settled himself carefully into the wooden chair.

“Would you have a glass?” I asked.

“Thank’ee, ma’am, but not this morning. I’ve work as must be done.”

“Tell me, Goodman, how is it with your Kate? And Bon and Ceille must be quite grown up since I

was here last. Do they still switch dresses to fool everyone into thinking one is the other?”

The man’s face lost its wary sobriety. “It
is
you, then!” He swallowed hard, and blinked. “No ... no,

ma’am. Ceille has done gone and got herself with child four times, but Bon’s not chosen a man, so they

turn out quite different now. And my Kate fares well. Still has all her teeth.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“How is it with the young duke and his family?” The man dipped his head to Gerick, who nodded

silently. A gracious and proper response.

“We are quite robust,” I said, “and give thanks to all who honor us with their service.”

We talked briefly of crops and the weather, and I had Giorge write a note that Goodman Castor

could use an extra half-bag of seed, for he was farming the portion of his son-in-law who was gone to the

war in Iskeran. The young soldier had no one else to work his plot, for his own father was dead and his

eldest son only six years old. When all was duly noted, I stood up to conclude the interview. “We wish

you a healthy winter and a good season, Goodman Castor.”

The man rose and touched his forehead again. “And for the lord and his family, my lady.” Then he

reached into his pocket, pulled out a grimy handkerchief, and carefully unwrapped it to reveal eight small

silver coins. Reverently, he placed them in my hand.

“Thank you, Goodman Castor,” said Gerick, with a polite bow of respect for the senior tenant,

surprising me almost as much as he surprised the farmer. Then the man was gone, and another stood in

his place, eyeing me anxiously.

Many of the tenants I knew, heads of the families that had worked the Comigor land for generations,