The Tale of Oriel (39 page)

LORD HALDERN AND ORIEL RODE
out into the lands of the Earls Sutherland, as the days moved into summer. Oriel came to know the slow rising slopes, and the sweet taste of the waters in the lazy streams. His heart rose to that land, as they rode over a hill and he saw the plain spread out before him, farmsteads and villages and sometimes in the distance the lazy curl of river. His heart rose when his horse stepped into an ancient forest, and the thick-trunked trees whispered overhead. His heart rose every time he dismounted and felt the land under his feet.

And when he thought of the lady of these lands, he almost couldn't breathe, so high did his heart rise, like wings to carry him terrifyingly high into the air. He was impatient to be introduced to her but impatience did him no service, so he mastered it. The present gladnesses were enough.

As he played against other contenders for the lady's lands and hand, winning and losing in rehearsals of strength and quickness and words and courtesies, he found some good companions. Lilos, the King's younger son, was one of these, and also Wardel from Hildebrand's house, Lilos for his willingness to see the good in others and Wardel for his refusal to let any other take advantage of him. Both of these men were young. Garder, who was Lord Tseler's second son, was a cautious man, too cautious for wiving so that although he had almost thirty summers on his back he was still unwed. Tintage, the fourth of Lord Yaegar's sons, refused to take anything seriously, not winning or losing, not another man's pride or dignity or privacy. Tintage was a mocker of things; yet he had eyes as dark and secretive and soft as the skin of a mole, seeking blindly for the safety of his den under the earth. Verilan, as quick as a springing birch, was Oriel's favored opponent at swords, for his quick feet and clever hands, for the inventiveness of his fighting. A man who could keep Verilan at bay could hold his own against any swordsman.

These six, with Griff and Lord Haldern, often gathered of an evening in Lord Haldern's wide gardens, or they went together to an Inn. When they were together they spoke of sword skills, they spoke of points of law, they spoke of the history of the Kingdom and the breeding of horses. They spoke of the hunt, and bed pleasures, gaming, and the truth of men and the truth of women. They spoke of all subjects but two. They did not give voice to their common ambition. And they did not speak of the lady Merlis except—sometimes, late in the evening, when the sky was black overhead, someone would propose that they all drink together, to the lady.

All would draw a breath solemn with hope, raise goblets to the stars, and drink.

Then Tintage would break the mood, turning it once again away from serious thoughts—for the prize was great and they all desired it with full seriousness. Each intended with full seriousness to win it away from the others. Thus, Tintage's mockeries were welcome to them. “I know how my father would speak to this occasion,” Tintage might say.

They had all heard much about Yaegar, a thickheaded heavy-fisted man, who communicated with his sons in clouts and curses. “What's that?” someone would ask.

“He'd tell me to use poisons,” Tintage would laugh. “Poison their cups,” Tintage would roar, mocking his father. “Nobody'll be the wiser, and dead men can't complain, so you'll have the place.” Or Tintage might slide down into his seat as if he were afloat on a sea of wine, his eyelids falling down over his eyes, to remark in a roaring voice, “I'll drink to any woman as long as she's female.”

Lord Haldern privately admitted, “I never could like Yaegar. He's too lazy to keep his word, and he's a bully when he can be,” Lord Haldern said. In the morning he would seek Oriel out, to say, “I speak out of turn, in the company, in the drink.”

Oriel kept his own counsel. It seemed to him that Haldern would not speak falsely, drunk or sober, just as it seemed to him that Tintage—who made lighthearted any room he entered, any occasion he took part in—would never speak entirely true, sober or drunk. That is, unless the truth served his own purpose.

Only Tintage spoke of Lady Merlis by name, and then only to mock her tallness, or her prides, or her attempts to act Lady Earl. Lilos would turn pink-cheeked to say, “How should a woman be more, when her grandmother had the raising of her, and her grandmother—well, everyone knows what was said of that lady. I am sure the Earl's daughter is as good as she is pure.”

Tintage would wink at the others, who joined in his mockery of Lilos's chivalry, and Lilos's pink cheeks.

Verilan would ask, “Do you impugn the lady's honor?”

“Do you hear him?” Tintage would say, dancing away from danger. “Impugn,” he repeated, echoing the dignity of Verilan's voice. “Impugn. Impugn.” Each repetition of the word he accompanied by a different noble pose, and a different noble face, until even Verilan joined in the laughter.

“I keep you safe from pomposity,” Tintage told them. “For which reason, I am the most important person here. I keep us from killing one another. For that's what we all were willing to do, isn't it? And still would, if we must.”

Tintage's nonsense had enough of truth in it to scrape the skin of every man's conscience, and reduce all to uneasy silence.

Oriel spoke out, with a smile to add to his boldness—bold as a smiling sun, he thought to himself—“Not I, I have no wish to kill anyone. Not even you, Tintage. I desire only to beat the hearts out of every one of you, and leave you licking at the dust, and after that to collect taxes from those of you who pay your taxes to the house of the Earl Sutherland. But as to killing—Who then would I drink with? who fight with? Don't sulk, Tintage,” Oriel said, paying special attention to the mole-eyed young man. “I think they are laughing at me, not you. I don't know a one of us who would dare to laugh at you.” Tintage flushed with pleasure. “You're too sharp for the rest of us.”

“Not for you,” Tintage answered, with a little mocking bow.

“That's what Griff and I hope,” Oriel said. “Isn't it, Griff?”

ORIEL INTENDED TO MAKE HIS
farewells to Beryl before Lord Haldern, with a few of the contenders and a troop of soldiers, rode into the south to gather taxes. Oriel wanted to tell her that he must be away but that Griff remained in the King's city, if she needed a friend. Now that he remembered Beryl, he remembered he hadn't seen her since that first day before the King. He only guessed that Griff knew where she was, however, since when he was with Griff it was either with a group of people and the subject of Beryl didn't arise, or they were alone and the subject didn't arise because they were discussing points of law, or plans for how to repair damage the Lady Earl's long regency had done in the Earldom.

Oriel intended to seek Beryl out. He told himself that if she had needed anything from him, any help, or desired his company, she would have known where to find him. Since she hadn't, he assumed she had chosen not to. But he didn't like to leave on such a long journey without telling her that he was going, and doing her the courtesy of bidding her farewell. He knew how much in Beryl's debt he was.

Oriel intended, but day followed busy day and somehow, as he drifted into sleep, he hadn't remembered to ask Griff where she was lodging. He had forgotten, and he reminded himself to remember, and in the morning he forgot again. So that when Beryl was brought by a servant into the room where he sat alone, breaking the night's fast with a meal of bread, cheese, beer, and new onions, he rose to his feet at the unexpected pleasure. A full summer morning's light poured into the room and bathed her in its glow. She was dressed plainly, as a woman of the people, but her dark blue eyes were eager to see him, and her hands—as she accepted his offer of a seat, and food, and drink—moved in the familiar gestures, taking a knife to cut a mouthful of cheese, tearing off bites of bread, holding a goblet. It was good to see her face.

“How is it with you, Beryl?” It was good to speak her name. Those nights were done, but he remembered her hair unbound, and the gladness of her naked soft flesh. “You'll like the yellower cheese, I think. It's sharper.”

Her mouth answered his smile but her eyes didn't. Obedient to his wish, she tried some of the yellow cheese, and Oriel asked, “Are you well? Have you been keeping well? How came you to arrive this morning, at the very time when I've been thinking of you?”

She looked him full in the eyes, but didn't speak.

“We're riding into the south, to collect the taxes due to Sutherland, and I wished to take my leave of you. And to ask if there is any message you would like delivered to your uncle, if I can find him. And to ask,” Oriel now realized, “where I might find him, if there were any message you wanted to send.”

“No message,” Beryl said, and slid more cheese from the knife into her mouth.

“I wish you could see me now,” Oriel told her. “I'm almost indistinguishable from a lord.”

“I know,” she said. “I often hear about you.”

“From Griff?”

“Him. And others, too, the people of the city. Do you want to know what they're saying about you?”

“No.” Oriel shook his head. Then he admitted, smiling, “Yes, I do. Since I know you'll report truly.”

“At first, they doubted you. They thought you had some hold over the King, to be marked by so many favors.” She gestured with the knife to silence his protests, cut off a chunk of bread, and went on. “Then, they liked to hear of how you learned to fight so well, with swords, and to ride. For you weren't born a lord, so what you can learn any man might hope for. That's what they now think.”

“And you, what do you think?”

“You already know. But if you would hear it again,” Beryl said, her eyes like seawater dancing under a bright sun, “I think that everyone who looks on you sees a man who will make a true Earl. More and more, the people of the city say the same. They give you honors you haven't even tried for. Many ladies' hearts they give you, and victory in argument with the wisest of the priests, and an eye to see when ministers waste the King's wealth in their own rivalries. Not to mention your great prowess at the hunt.”

“There is no great prowess,” Oriel protested.

She emptied her glass and said, “But I do believe the story they tell of a man who stood unmounted to fight off a boar, when another had fallen from his horse into the boar's path. A man who beat the beast senseless and then slit its throat, and then gave the prize to the fallen man, who is his rival for a great prize.”

“That was Tintage,” Oriel said. “He'd flushed the boar, and then had the bad luck to be knocked off his mount. It was his kill, by rights.”

Beryl grinned at him, then made her face solemn, then grinned again. “It was his kill, by rights,” she mimicked him in his own voice. Oriel heard how happy and careless that voice was. “Aye, Oriel, you have so much awaiting you, as you deserve, that you can give honors away like baubles. Aye, and it is good to be in your company again, Oriel,” Beryl said. Then she rose from her seat and folded her hands in front of her, and said, “I must be going now. But I came to say to you, I am with child.”

“You don't look it,” Oriel said. He rose also, wondering if this was good news for her, or bad.

“Not yet,” she said. Beryl seemed to be just herself, her ordinary self. She seemed content.

“What will you do?” he asked her.

“Do?” and she looked at him again. They stood face to face now. “I'll leave the city, perhaps before I start to show, but I thought—there should be someone else who knows about the child.”

She didn't need to remind Oriel that her mother had died giving birth. He felt a sense of his own strength when he made her the promise: “Yes, I will see to the child, should there be need.”

Then Beryl was gone and a servant had come to take away the plates and it was time to strap on his sword and join Haldern. There was no time to ask Beryl the questions he only thought of after she had left him: When will it be born? Can a woman keep a farm while she has an infant child? Have you need of coins? It is my child you are carrying, isn't it?

When he saw Griff that evening, he planned to ask those things of Griff, but there was time only to say, “Did you know Beryl is with child?” before Griff had to rush away. By the time they met again, a couple of nights later, Oriel had other news on his mind. “We ride out the next day but one to go into the south.”