Tale of Elske (20 page)

“I am ready to believe whatever you might tell me, Var Jerrol,” Beriel continued.

“I tell you only the tale I heard,” Var Jerrol concluded.

“What happiness for the young husband, this child. But I am still curious. Is it a girl child, or a boy child?” Beriel asked offhandedly, as she lifted her goblet to her lips.

So this was Beriel's purpose for Var Jerrol. Elske's heart grew chilly, to know why she had been kept ignorant.

“The child is a girl, as I hear, with a strong pair of lungs and a healthy appetite. The Varinne is already famous for her motherly devotion.” Var Jerrol continued to eat, too clever to let Beriel see that he knew he had given her what she wanted from him, too clever to ask immediately for a favor in return.

“I wish her many children,” Beriel said, with another glance at Elske. “And much joy of them all. But now I wonder, have they given their daughter a name?”

“I've heard that they call her Elskele, as if to honor Elske for her rescue of the Varinne, with that gratitude always fresh in their minds.”

“As it should be,” Beriel announced happily. “As my own gratitude would be kept fresh, should Elske have so well served me.”

This wasn't gratitude, Elske knew, even though she knew also that she had served Beriel so well, and better. She stood with her back to the table, listening, carving the fowl. She offered the platter to Var Jerrol, first, then to Beriel. The silver platter was icy cold in her hands, from having been set out in the snow, lest the fowl grow warm in the heat of the dining chamber. If this fowl were to grow warm, Elske thought, it would be from the fury that burned in her, and from the hot grief for her sworn word, now a dead thing.

Why should Beriel take from her the worth of her own word, which was all that she owned? And which Beriel herself had given to Elske, by showing her that she did own it. Although Beriel had given it to her, she now seized it back, imperiously.

The two were talking now of trade, and how it served the well-being of Trastad, or any other land. Var Jerrol asked Beriel what metal ores were to be found in the Kingdom, and what crops grew there, and if they had coins and how they were minted, how sold, what cloths, blades, books and ales. He argued that understanding of letters was best distributed freely among all who wished to learn it, although Beriel feared that knowledge would lead to discontent. They spoke of law, and Beriel wondered how the Council could govern without written laws. But he assured her, “We have custom and tradition, to be considered during any judgement. We are well-governed.”

“Yet the cells are full, as I hear it, and overfull.”

“We build new cells as we need them,” Var Jerrol said. “They are not overfull.”

As they spoke, Elske stood in the silence of her anger; for Beriel had taken Elske's word and made it valueless. Elske felt as if Beriel had walked with her out to the hillside; and she had gone with her mistress, all trusting; and Beriel had left her there for the wolves.

Elske did not know which cut more deeply, her defenselessness or her solitude.

“I'd have thought you would be using Elske to translate for you,” Var Jerrol said, and Beriel answered him that she had improved her knowledge of his language, under Elske's tutelage.

Var Jerrol asked, “Do you ever think to open the door to your land?”

“I think of it,” Beriel said. “I think of sending out emissaries, and merchants, and even of sending my unruly cousins to the Courting Winter. I think of giving my Kingdom a place in the greater world.”

“Why should your Lords and Princes not wed outside of your Kingdom?” Var Jerrol asked. “If you were to have a brother, for example, and I a daughter both richly dowered and gently reared, might not all profit from a union between them?”

Beriel agreed. “I have brothers, that much is true, and one a worthy Prince. I will think of what you have said, you who are the eyes and ears of the Council, and a man of wisdom.”

Var Jerrol bowed his head, receiving the compliment.

Beriel told him, “Mine is a land of stories, not like Trastad which is a merchant city. I think often of Jackaroo, who with his sword and his great heart brought justice to a people oppressed by poverty and misgoverned by Overlords. Jackaroo rides out only when the land has need of him, then rests in sleep under the mountains until he is needed again, to save his people.” Var Jerrol smiled tolerantly and Beriel reflected the expression back at him. “I always believe, however, that if my land needs saving, I must save it myself.”

“Trastad makes a generous ally,” Var Jerrol told her. “But is your Kingdom in danger?”

At that question, Beriel stood. Restless, she moved to the window, to look out at the ice-clogged river. She became again a young woman, sent into courtship against her will. “I do not know,” she said. “I have no reason to think so, but my father was not in health when I left and—I have been too long away.”

Var Jerrol watched her the way a snake might watch a mouse. “It is a moon yet before you will set out on your return.”

Beriel turned around to face him, and she was a Queen again. “It may be,” she said, “that it is time for we of the Kingdom to travel outwards from our own borders, and beyond the protection of the forests that surround us, and of the mountains that ring us. If it is that time, be sure I will remember you, and I will think of the skills of Trastad.”

“You mean in trade.”

“And carpentry, shipbuilding, too, in your paintings and goldsmiths, your spacious houses and the tile stoves with which you heat your chambers. There is much I value in Trastad,” Beriel said, holding out her white hand, “as you know well.”

Var Jerrol became gallant. “When you leave us, there will be a diminishment in that sum. And more, if you think to take Elske with you.”

“What happens to my maidservant does not concern you,” Beriel announced, to which Var Jerrol made no quarrel. “Escort my guest to the door,” Beriel commanded. “See Var Jerrol safely away, Elske.”

When Elske returned, she found Beriel in the dining chamber, at the window, and looking out to where a sky of deep blue shone over the moving water, which carried its cargo of ice down to the sea. A field of ice-crusted snow sparkled white down to the water's edge and across the river more white fields held the dark forests back from little houses. Smoke rose from distant chimneys into the bright blue sky.

Beriel turned to greet Elske and her eyes shone like the sky, and her whole face was alight with her victory. “Now I, too, know where my child, my daughter, lives, and what child it is I had. Did you think you could keep a secret from me?”

Elske gathered up plates and goblets. She was expected to make her own dinner from whatever was left on the platters, but she had no appetite for this meal.

“Have you no answer?” Beriel demanded.

“None.”

Elske attended to her task.

Beriel watched her, then said, “How could Var Jerrol know something so close to me and I not seek to find it out, since you must have told him.”

“No.” Elske denied what Beriel already knew was a false accusation.

“You need not fear my anger,” Beriel promised.

Elske forced herself to respond. “I am not afraid.”

“Then you're jealous. You thought that you alone could hold Var Jerrol's eyes and attentions. You thought that only your smiling ways could win him. I will not have a jealous servant, Elske.”

“Nor jealous,” Elske said.

Then Beriel did look long and hard at her, and Elske met the glance like a swordsman meeting a blow.

“No, you are not jealous,” Beriel admitted. “But you would have kept me in ignorance about my own child.”

Elske spoke her thought, “I gave my word.”

“So you did, and you kept it.”

“My word was made worthless.”

“But you gave it to
me
,” Beriel protested. “Can I not say when you must change your word, if you gave it to
me
?”

“I thought, it was
my
word. I thought, it was
my
promise.”

“Not jealous, but proud,” Beriel said then.

“Why should I be proud?”

Beriel answered impatiently. “I do not know, unless it is for your charms and high-heartedness, which draw people to you. But what are those more than charms and high-heartedness? What cause for pride in these? Still, I am myself proud enough to recognize pride's face when I see it in a beryl glass. So. So.” She stood taller even than before, her eyes still alight, and asked, “Are you grown too proud to be my maidservant?”

“No, my Lady,” Elske said, for that was true.

“Give me your word for that,” Beriel commanded.

“I have no word to give,” Elske answered. “You've taken it from me, this day.”

“Then I give it back, as a Queen can. Elske, you have never given birth, and neither had I when I asked for your promise. When I know that my child is cared for, named—a daughter—now I can truly leave her behind me. How could I have known my true will before she was born?”

“You could not have, my Lady,” Elske said; and that, too, was true.

Elske thought, How could Beriel, who would be Queen, be asked also to know herself? Willful, imperious, unyielding—how could Beriel accept not knowing of her child, when with wit and charm she could win that knowledge? Even at the cost of Elske's word, Beriel would have her own way. Elske could not remain angry at Beriel, for how could Beriel have known how bitterly Elske would see her own little word gathered up into all the rest that a Queen possessed? As servant, Elske might have nothing but her own word and her own choices; but perhaps a Queen had no more—had less, even, if her royal word was not good, or her choices suspect. Elske would not wish to blame Beriel—but neither did she intend to give her word, her choices, into Beriel's keeping.

“And if I were to ask, would you come with me to the Kingdom? There will be others to offer you a more certain future here in Trastad,” Beriel said. “If I am displaced, I cannot promise you anything but death, but still, I ask you to come with me.”

“I need no promise of rewards,” Elske said, making her own choice.

B
ERIEL RECOUNTED THE OBSTACLES: A
ship must be found and passage negotiated. It must be decided how they would leave Var Vladislav's villa undetected—not that she thought the Council wished to detain her, just that they would require her to travel at the time of their choice, not hers. There was the question of what essentials to bring, for if she was to travel unescorted, she must travel light.

But the greatest difficulty they faced was gold. If she wished to return to the Kingdom at her own will, Beriel needed gold to purchase berths on a ship, and then more gold to bribe the captain to set them ashore on the harborless coast close to Pericol. There, they would need yet more gold to purchase horses, food and safe passage from the cutthroat who ruled that city. And even when they had arrived in the Kingdom, who knew what preparations it would be necessary for Beriel to purchase. For Beriel couldn't know how her land would greet her.

“I know how my brother would like to welcome me. Guerric,” Beriel spoke his name as if she had her foot on his neck. “He is no question. But the others? The soldiers, Priests and Lords—they will be divided, I'd guess, they'll be uneasy, fearful to choose the losing side and thus forfeit their high positions. Some are loyal, I think, Northgate and his heir, Arborford probably. I can't know if my father still lives or what my mother might do after his death, except that she will not hope to have her daughter share the name of Queen. She is proud, and jealous. Oh yes,” Beriel answered, although Elske had not spoken. “I am her true daughter.”

“You have my purse,” Elske offered.

“For which I thank you, and promise to repay you manifold,” Beriel said. “If I live. The people will welcome me, I believe. My people, I think, know me. I trust my people,” Beriel said, her chin high and her eyes shining blue.

They were in among the books and maps of the High Councillor's library, and in fact stood with a map open before them. Beriel's fingers traced the coastline between Trastad and Celindon. Elske could not find Pericol named on the map.

“All the baubles they've sent to me, these Adels, these boys, and for which I have been so grateful and smiling, a goldsmith will buy them—at his own price, but between his price and nothing my choice is easy,” Beriel told Elske. “You must find the man, to conceal my interest. Wear those trousers you put on when you took my daughter—”

“You saw?”

“It was clever. In trousers, cloaked, your hair tied back like a man's, no one would take you for a girl, and unprotected. So you can move as freely as a man through Trastad, and carry these jewels safely. Take my dagger, against thieves—for danger stalks anyone seen leaving bankers or smiths alone, even a man.” Beriel put her finger down on the map, on the coast north of Celindon, where a river entered the sea. “Pericol,” she said. “They put me in the midst of a troop of horsemen to go through Pericol, have I told you?” And Beriel laughed at the memory. “With Guerric's hand-chosen captains in charge, and they did deliver me safely, so I have something to thank them for. I do not know if I can deliver us safely through that place,” Beriel said. “But I think I might,” she said.

“I can take us that far,” Beriel said, and then added, without prologue or preamble, “If I have not already lost my Kingdom forever, and my people lost their chance of me, I must marry. For the heir,” Beriel answered the question Elske had not asked. “Be it boy or girl, my first child will be named heir to the throne of the Kingdom.”

“I will set about finding a goldsmith,” Elske said.

“And a ship, too. But none must suspect us. You have a wide and loyal acquaintance in Trastad, Elske; what help can you offer me in the matter of ships?” Beriel asked.