Enchanter (Book 7) (35 page)

That’s not a little thing.  I’d witnessed how other noblewomen interacted with their subjects, and there was usually an unbreakable screen of formality that kept solid relationships from developing.  But Alya had learned a different way.  She first established her nobility with an expression of formality, then continued with the expected polite inquiry regarding children’s names and ages. But then she added a question or a comment, usually of delight or admiration, that a typical Riverlord would have found scandalously informal.

It cast the spell.  Her willingness to look at her subjects and see beyond their status and potential revenue and see them as people, with lives and loves and hopes and dreams, gave her a connection to her subjects that inspired loyalty most Riverlord noblewomen could not match.  It had been easiest with the Bovali immigrants to Sevendor, of course – they were her people.  But she had applied the same approach to the Westwoodmen and the other Sevendori, and then had perfected it the few times she had visited our new domains. 

At Amel Wood, I got to see it up close, and it impressed me all the more.  She took her time and chatted with the toothless village women about the things that they cared about, asking dozens of questions and being generous with the praise and the compliments.  Within a half-hour she was chatting with the village women like they were old friends at market, not liege lord and subjects.  Within two hours everyone there was proud to call themselves Sevendori, to follow such a magnificent lady.

As for my part, I met with the village headman and his counselors – the four old farts who actually ran things.  I produced a bottle of decent wine from a magical pocket and poured them each a glass – a cheap local vintage, but more than they’d tasted on festival days.  It was a gesture of respect Cei had coached me on, and it invited them to be candid with me.

Once I got past the obsequiousness most peasants display around their lords, I was able to find out some basic useful information about my holding, things not in the parchmentwork I had on the place.  It was comprised of seventy-odd acres spread out over two large hills and two small ones.  North of the property the land evened out into the fertile rolling hills of the Sasthali Vales, and south the country got progressively hilly and rocky as you got closer to the central Uwarri Range.

The manor was arranged at the vale between the largest hilltop and the next-largest, on the southern slope.  There was a smaller settlement to the south, a mere undefended hamlet that supported the forestry operations in the area, and a scattering of freeholding families who had tiny hill farms on the estate.  Most of their trade was done either with the nuns of the abbey or with the other mountain estates in the area.  Sometimes they could supply good building timber to Sashtalia in the north, but there were plenty of wooded tracts in that country, so there was only rarely a call for it.

Sevendor, however, needed the wood.  Seventy acres of forest, if properly conserved, could provide a steady stream of timber and fuel to my domain.  The Westwoodmen were already jealously guarding their forest, and while I was taking much of my tribute from my vassals in the form of lumber for construction, there was always a shortage.  Seventy acres wasn’t an inexhaustible supply, but it would certainly add to my resources.

Master Tobal, the headman, looked pleased but wary when I proposed increasing timbering operations – that would mean more money – but started to look troubled when I discussed other plans for the domain.  Like rebuilding the tower into a respectable residence, properly fortifying it, and inspecting the meager armory. 

It didn’t take long.  Four spears and two short swords, all rusty; a single damaged suit of ringmail and a rusted pot helmet.  Tobal shook his head at my interest.

“Begging your pardon, Magelord,” he mumbled, “but my folk aren’t warriors.  We’re hunters.”

“Do you hunt with pillows?  You can use bows, can you not?”

He sighed.  “Aye, that we can.  At need I can put twenty good archers in the field.  I was hoping that would not be our fate, though.”  The other men nodded, guiltily. 

“War will come to Sasthalia this spring,” I warned.  “Sevendor will not be participating by design, but that does not mean that war will not come to us.  I merely wish to provide your folk with a secure defense, not send them into battle.  Raids, mistakes, moments of anger that can lead to disaster, all of these could lead to the need for a strong refuge and that,” I said, glancing at the rickety old tower, “isn’t it.  I’ll rebuild it, and then provide you weapons and training to defend yourselves.  Proper bows – Wilderlands bows,” I promised, “and some spears and such for basic defense.  But I’m not marching anyone away from home.”

That relieved Toban considerably, and the other elders.  In truth, I didn’t want to use the Ameli as troops – I needed them as woodmen.  The works at the castle, in town and around the ridges might be made of stone, but they required wooden scaffolding and fixtures – a lot of them.  I needed good timbermen, not poor soldiers.  But I also needed a reliable stronghold in this region, if I was going to take control of the six domains between here and Sevendor, and keep them.  Not for troops, but for magic. 

As there was no sitting tenant lord to entertain us, we ate with the common folk in the gloomy old manor house.  The fare was simple but well-prepared, and included some meat in our honor.  The stew was good and hardy and thick with dried vegetables, the bread was edible, and the beans were quite tasty.  It was a common meal of the common folk, and we enjoyed it.

But what we discovered the Ameli did have a wealth of was musical talent, particularly stringed instruments.  Between the six or seven families in the village there were several adept fiddlers and harpers who kept us entertained with their amazing skill all evening.

Instead of retiring to the decrepit old tower, I instead summoned Pathfinder and then used it to summon my campaign tent from the Kasari March.  It proved more snug and comfortable than the tower, and far more free of vermin.  With magic to keep us warm and keep us from being overheard, Alya and I enjoyed a comfortably lust night together.

I could tell she enjoyed being free of her responsibilities and I was happy to have her to myself, without further distractions around.  It reminded me of our honeymoon, what I remember of it.  We were able to close the tent, set the spells to keep us warm, and enjoy a time of insured privacy to indulge ourselves again.

I’ve come to know Riverlords who view their marriages as contractual agreements, business arrangements, political alliances or exercises in legacy building. Sex was an afterthought, a means to an end . . . and the women they wedded understood that.  Lady Estret, for example, understood her marriagability as a young propertied widow was a valued resource to her noble house, and her willingness to submit to the whims of Ifnia and Huin and place her virtue in the balance demonstrated this understanding.  It was part of their duty to their class, for which they enjoyed privilege and wealth and security.

It was also understood that where native affection was scant, after duty had been discharged to both parties’ satisfaction, where a lady sought distraction, or a gentleman relief from his cares, was considered a private matter as long as it was discreet.  Lord and Lady exercised their marital prerogatives as needed— enough to satisfy Trygg’s holy ordinances – and then sated their human desires discreetly elsewhere.

In a way, I pitied them.  Alya and I were both from common stock, and our experience with marriage was far more personal.  While castles saw young sons and daughters as assets to be exploited in sustaining and furthering their dynastic aims, the free peasants and the artisan classes were just as pragmatic in approach to their marital institutions as the gentry.  We matched ourselves together in Trygg’s sight with a view toward a happy and complementary marriage, ending in a serene dotage surrounded by our prosperous heirs.

To that end we tended to select our husbands and wives based first on our desires, before vetting our loves for suitability to our profession.  Dad says he married my mother as much for her long, nimble fingers – an asset to kneading dough – as her eyes.  It is only fair to mention that Mama disagrees strongly with this assessment.  I’d tell you what she says hooked him, but filial discretion and abject embarrassment prohibit it.  There are some things you just don’t want to know about your parents.

For those curious how marriage works among the villeins, mostly it doesn’t.  Infidelity is rampant, and marriage is usually the result either of pregnancy or a desperate attempt to escape a poor situation.  Serfs could be directed who to marry by their lords, in some circumstances, and it was a common – and permanent – penalty for civil or criminal infractions. 

On ecclesiastic estates it could be mandated by the dictates of the clergy.  Being suddenly assigned responsibility for some woman’s livelihood and debts and property had forced many a poor serf into accepting his lot in life in return for the scant comfort of a shrewish wife.  On the other hand, it had also encouraged more than one lad to take to the frontiers, change his name and seek his fortunes elsewhere. 

With my marriage to Alya, it had been her character and intelligence as well as her beauty that had attracted me to her.  I have had many a pretty maid, for money or sport, but the sincerity and intensity with which she had loved me, those first few times, outshown the glamour or youthful beauty of the other girls.  Her wit and reason, as well as her warmth and character, had convinced me that we were, at the very least, kindred souls.  Continuing the relationship during the Siege of Boval Castle had been convenient and pleasant, but it had been her character that had convinced me that she could become a good wife.

I’ve been told, as callously as it sounds, that I have hampered my ambitions dramatically by wedding a poor ignorant Wilderlands girl from the farthest reaches of the Mindens, instead of waiting after my ennoblement to secure a fortunate alliance with a great house of one sort or another – Planus had certainly been in favor of me marrying Pentandra, I’d learned, for instance, as a means of securing power among the Magi of Castal and Remere. 

To be fair, that was before he knew Alya, whom he now adores, but his perspective is shared by many colleagues and fellow nobles.

But I’m glad I stuck with my freeholder girl, in retrospect.  While I could have reasonably abandoned her with the other Bovali refugees and gone on to fame and fortune without her, I know for a fact that my current position was owed to her, directly and indirectly, and I was a better man for it. 

While a good Riverlord wife would no doubt have helped me navigate the complex aristocratic social rules far better than Alya could, she would have been leading me.  With Alya we were making mistakes together, breaking social rules together, learning how to be a Magelord and lady together. 

That was important.  I didn’t feel judged by her for what I had done as baron, I felt admired.  She didn’t have unrealistic expectations of me – mostly – when it came to our social roles, and even Sire Cei had been forced to don the uncomfortable-looking neck ruff his lady wife had procured at great expense from Castabriel.  It was the latest style, so naturally the Dragonlord had to adopt it first in the Riverlands.

Alya let me wear what I damned well pleased, more or less, and didn’t see our social life as a constant game she had to win.  She deferred to me and supported me as the first Magelord, and repeatedly reminded me that I set the style for our class, I was not bound by it.  Just like a good freeholder wife would do for her husband.

The reason I bring all of this up – and I’ll admit, most of it came from Pentandra’s explanation of marriage and sex to me, when I made the mistake of asking a simple question to an expert -  was because the revelation that Alya had been attracted to me first to mitigate a potential professional fee was bothering me. 

I know it shouldn’t have, in the wake of horrible choices I’d made, but it niggled at me even while we were making love tenderly and passionately in my magical pavilion, on my heavily enchanted bed.

“What attracted you to me, first?” I asked as we both lay in repose after the first frantic bout.

She looked up from my chest and blinked.  “Your eyes,” she said, instantly.  “You have the most beautiful eyes . . .”

“Yet that didn’t convince you to tumble me, that first time,” I pointed out. 

She giggled. “No!  But they certainly captured my attention.”

“So what did convince you?  That first time?” I asked, innocently.

She thought a moment, then got a wicked look in her eye.  “Honestly?  I was hoping that if I humped you there in the meadow, you’d perhaps overlook any fees for healing up Sagal that he couldn’t afford,” she admitted.  “I felt terribly mercenary about it at the time, but I was also quivering from all of the excitement, so it was easier to convince myself that what I was doing was noble and selfless, not born out of need.”

“You humped me . . . to get out of a fee . . . because that was more noble and selfless than admitting my eyes captivated you?” I asked in disbelief.

She glanced away and considered the matter.  “Essentially,” she agreed.  “Look, you were young and handsome, much more appealing than old Garkesku.  I’d already met you when you visited Hawk’s Reach, that time, and I knew your reputation was solid.”

“I’d only been there six months,” I reminded.  “I hadn’t really gotten started, yet.”

“No doubt.  But you have to appreciate the position of a young widow, back in Boval Vale.  I had my . . . suitors, but mostly they weren’t looking for a trip to the temple.  It’s often assumed that a widow is . . . available, and after my husband died I had plenty of casual offers to take solace in any number of arms.  Any sign of promiscuity could have tarnished my reputation and turned the trickle of bold offers into a flood.  The other women warned me about it, after the funeral.  It had happened to others, through no fault of their own.  Any pleasures I took, I was advised, would have to be with the utmost discretion.”