Two to Conquer (49 page)

“Certainly I will go,” Melora said, turning her steps toward the other part of the hall, and after a moment’s thought, Bard followed. Carlina, here—and as a priestess of Avarra! When, if he had been crowned king of this land, she should be queen…

He found her bending over a woman with a bandaged arm and leg, her eye and skull bandaged. She

saw Melora first and said curtly, “Are you a healer, and do you know anything of midwifery? One of the women has borne children before, I can safely leave her to the maids, but this woman is going to die, and there is a woman in labor who is past thirty, and bearing her first child, and another young girl with her first…”

“I am not a midwife, but I am a woman and I have been taught something of healing,” Melora said, and Carlina looked her full in the face by the shaded lamp.

“Melisendra—” she said, and then stopped and blinked. “No, you are not even much like her, are you?

You must be her sister, the
leronis
—there is no time to ask now how you came here, but in the name of Avarra I bless you! Will you come, then, and help me with the wounded?”

“Gladly,” Melora said. “Where are the women in labor?”

“We carried them into that room there, it was the old king’s study once… I will be with you in a moment,” Carlina said. She bent again to the dying woman, put a hand to her forehead, shook her head.

“She will not wake again,” she said, and went toward the room where she had sent Melora; but Bard laid a light hand on her sleeve.

“Carlie,” he said.

She started away in shock; then, perhaps sensing in his voice that he was no threat to her, she let her breath go and said, “Bard. I did not expect to see you here—”

He saw the darkening bruise on her cheekbone.
Merciful Avarra, I did that to her
… but he had no time even for shame or self-pity. Even abasing himself to Carlina could wait. His land was under attack by Aldaran, and in the hands of an usurper.

“What’s this nonsense about my being crowned tonight, and married to someone else?”

“Crowned, Married? I don’t know, Bard, I have been here all day since the other wing of the castle collapsed, tending the sick and hurt. I’ve had no time for anything else—I have had time for nothing, only to swallow a little bread and cheese…”

“Is there no one else to do this, Carlie? You look so weary—”

“Oh, I am used to it, this is the work of a priestess—” she said with a faint smile. “And, although you may not believe it, Bard, that is what I am. Although perhaps I have been sheltered too long, perhaps we need the priestesses more in the world than on the Holy Isle.”

“Melisendra—is she—”

“She was with me at the time of the attack; she was unhurt. And your son, he is well, I heard. He was with Master Gareth all day,” she said. “But Bard, I have no time for you now, these women are dying.

And the men, too… do you know there were over a hundred men hurt, and twelve of them have already died, so tomorrow we will have to have a whole regiment of soldiers to dig graves somewhere, and someone to send word to their families… Bard, can you send someone to the Holy Isle, to beg

priestesses to come and help me with the hurt and dying? If you send express riders, they can be there by daylight—”

“Certainly I can do that,” said Bard, sobered, “but will they listen to any man, will they come?”

“Not for the King of Asturias, perhaps. But perhaps for me, if they know it is I who ask it, Sister Liriel

—”

“But there is no man can win through even to the shores of the Lake of Silence, Carlie, without

incurring their evil sorceries—” he stopped. No, the sorceries were not evil; they were only protecting themselves. He said humbly, “No man can win through the protections they have laid about themselves without dying of terror.”

“But a woman may do so,” said Carlina. “Bard, with your army, have you any of the sworn Sisterhood of the Sword? They too ride under the protection of Avarra.”

“I think they have all left me, Carlina. But I will go and ask my sergeants; some of them will surely know.”

“Then send one of the Sisterhood, Bard. Beg her to ride there and bear the message from me, that they will come—”

Bard started to say that he did not
beg
anyone in his army to do what he—or she—was bidden to do by a lawful commander, then stopped himself. If Carlina could beg, he could too. He said, “I will send express riders at once, lady,” and went away, leaving Carlina staring after him, knowing that something very strange had happened, not only in the kingdom of Asturias, but within Bard too.

Bard went away toward the stables, thinking, with relief, that at least Carlina had not taken that moment to rail and upbraid him. She had a right to make a scene if she wanted to. He had done her wrong enough. But the greater tragedy had wiped out any personal consideration, as it had in himself.

One of his sergeants told him that when the prisoners and the mercenaries in his army had ridden away together, one of the women had been too sick to ride, and another of the sworn Sisters had remained to nurse her and care for her. The two were living together in a little tent near where the army’s camp followers and wash women were housed, beyond the regular army barracks. Bard started to say, tell her to ride express at once and send someone to look after her friend, then he realized that he was asking an extraordinary service of someone whom he had denied proper protection. He had better go himself.

He lost himself in the army encampment two or three times, before he finally found the quarters of the army camp followers.

Even in the wake of the disaster, here where the army was quartered things were reasonably normal.

Men not badly hurt were being nursed by their comrades, and some of the women had been pressed to help. A few of the women who followed the army looked at Bard with a sidelong smile, and he knew he had not been recognized. It reminded him of his days as a mercenary soldier, and that in turn made him think of Lilla, and her son, who was probably his son as well. He had not harmed Lilla as he had harmed so many women; that was probably because she had neither expected nor needed anything

from him, except what little money he could spare from a soldier’s pay to care for her son. She had given him no power to hurt her, and so he could not harm her in any way.

Yes, I harmed many women. But perhaps the women were not all blameless either. They lived in such a
way that they could be destroyed by men
… in a sense he was no more to blame than any man in his world. Every man in his world. Was the whole world to blame, then?

“Well, Captain,” said one of the camp followers, “are you looking for some fun?”

He shook his head. Evidently she had not recognized his rank and thought him a common soldier,

captain
was flattery, no more. “Not tonight, my girl, I have more important things on my mind. Can you tell me where the sworn Sisters, the Renunciates, are lodged?”

“You won’t get any pleasure from
that
pair, sir, they’ve got daggers for kisses, and the general said he’d have something worse for anyone who meddles with them,” the pleasure woman said.

Bard grinned companionably and said, “Believe it or not, pretty one, a man does have other things on his mind now and then, hard as it is to imagine it.” There was no harm in the girl. “I’ve a message for one of them from the—” he hesitated, “the
leronis
working in the field hospital. And if you can get your mind to it, there’s work there for anyone.”

She said, staring at the pebbles under her feet, “What would the likes of me do, helping a
leronis
, sir?”

“Well, you could carry water and roll bandages and feed the folks who can’t sit up to feed themselves,”

Bard said. “Why not go and try it?”

“You’re right, captain, this is no time to be lying about with people hurt,” said the woman. “I suppose plenty of us could be used in the nursing. I’ll go and see. And if you’re wanting the Sisterhood, sir, there’s two of ’em in that tent there, but—” she glared at him, “don’t be getting any dirty ideas. One of them’s so badly hurt she can’t sit up, and her friend’s just nursing her. The men got at her before the general gave his orders, and it’s not with them like it is with— with women like me, sir, she wasn’t accustomed—and they hurt her pretty bad.” Her scowl was fierce. “Men like that ought to be treated worse than whipping, sir.”

Avarra’s mercy
! All the old scalding shame and guilt washed heavily over Bard again. He said, to the woman’s surprise, “You’re absolutely right,” and went toward the indicated tent. He did not dare to approach it. The women there would probably, after all they had been through, strike first at any man who came near, and ask questions afterward. He called softly from outside “
Mestra
—”

A woman appeared in the door of the tent, crawled out and rose to her feet. She wore the red tunic of the Sisterhood, red leather, knee-length and split in front for riding, and her hair, clipped short, was tousled all over her head. She said fiercely, “Keep your voice down! My sister is very bad!” She was tall and thin, and wore a knife in her belt. A golden circlet gleamed in her ear.

“I’m sorry for her hurts,” Bard said, “but I have a message from the
leronis
at the hospital. I need someone to ride express at once for Marenji and the Lake of Silence.” He explained, and the woman looked at him, troubled. Bard moved into the circle of light from a lantern hung on a pole over the camp street, and she recognized him.

“Lord General! Well, sir, I’d go and welcome, but—but my sister needs me badly, sir. You heard what happened—”

“Yes, I know,” Bard said, “but can’t you take her to the field hospital? If she’s as badly off as that, she needs more care than you can give her, and surely the priestess of Avarra will help her.”

The Renunciate scowled at him, but there were tears in her eyes. She said, “The priestesses—they’re holy virgins, sir, and they wouldn’t want to be involved with the Sisterhood. They think, no doubt, that we’re not proper women. And what would they know of a woman who’s been raped again and again,

and—and she’s
infected
, sir—”

“I think you’ll find she’s more sympathetic than you know,” Bard said. “The priestesses of Avarra are sworn to help
all
women.” That much he had seen from Carlina’s mind. “But you must ride at once. I’ll arrange for a stretcher to have her carried up to the hospital.” He strode back toward the barracks, shouting for a stretcher. In a few minutes the hurt woman was being lifted out, carefully, and her sister/friend bending over her.

“Tresa,
breda
, these people will take you to a
leronis
who can help you better than I can—”

She turned to Bard and said, her voice shaking, “I hate to leave her with strangers—”

He said “I’ll see her into the hands of the
leronis
myself,
mestra
, but yours is a task only a woman can do; no man may approach the Lake of Silence.” Carlina would care for her; and if for some reason or another Carlina could not, he was sure Melora would know what to do for her.

Carlina was still distractedly going between the injured women in one room, and the midwifery in the other, when he had the woman carried in. Melora was wrapping up a newborn child.

“I have another for you to help,” Bard said, and explained what had happened.

“Yes, certainly, I’ll look after her,” Carlina promised, and he fancied that the look she gave him was puzzled,
since when do you trouble yourself about such things
?

He said, angry, defensive, “She is a soldier and a prisoner; and it was my men who hurt her, damn it!

Are you too virtuous to tend her?”

“Of course not, Bard,” she said. “I told you we would look after her. You women—” she gestured to the women who had insisted on carrying the litter, taking over from the soldiers, “I can use every pair of hands! Even those of you who don’t know the first thing of nursing, you can feed people and carry trays and boil water and make porridge!”

Bard glanced at the sky, lightening outside the castle. It was near dawn. “I’ll send the army cooks to make the porridge,” he promised. Any soldier on duty could be dispatched with that message, and it took him only a moment to have it handled, and to put a sergeant at the immediate disposal of Master Gareth and Varzil. The sergeant was a veteran who had known Bard on many campaigns and never

thought to question Bard’s identity. As he saluted and said, “As the Lord General wishes,” Bard

reflected that his father had brought Paul to this world so that, in effect, Bard could be in two places at once. Well, that was happening; the Lord General, newly crowned king, was in his royal suite with his newly made queen, and the Lord General was down here giving orders in the field hospital.

My father cared for me only as a tool for his ambition!

He had believed that all his life. But now he knew it was not true. For long before Dom Rafael di Asturien could have known whether his son would be a soldier, or a statesman, or a
laranzu
or a feeble-minded ne’er do well, his father had had him taken from his mother, had him reared in his own house, schooled and taught in all the manly arts, fostered by his lady, given horses and hounds and hawks, reared as a nobleman’s son, deprived himself, even, of what company his son could have given him in order to have him fostered at court with princes and noblemen for foster brothers. Yes, his father had loved him unselfishly, not only for his own good. And even the mother who had given him up—Bard

knew, staring at the red dawn and the great red sun rising over the jagged teeth of the Kilghard Hills, that his mother must have loved him, too; loved him enough to give up her child so that he might be reared as a nobleman’s son and not scratch his living on a bare hill farm. He wondered, literally for the first time in his life, if that unknown mother was still living. He could never, now, ask his father. But Lady Jerana might know, and she had been kind to him, in her own way; would have been kinder, if he had allowed it. He would, if he must, humble himself to Lady Jerana and beg from her the name of his mother, and where in the hills she dwelled, so that he could kneel before her and do her honor for loving him enough to give him up to his father’s love.