Fortress in the Eye of Time (66 page)

Somehow, another miracle of the gods, or the Amefin ladies, the tailor personally turned up with the King's sleeves, beautiful work, Cefwyn had to admit, of Marhanen red, with the Dragon arms in stitchery at least on the right sleeve, and the King would accordingly set a fashion tomorrow, of a cloak skewed and draped down the left arm.

It was all too much. But there was arranged a set of trumpeters—gods hope they managed, for the honor of Ylesuin, to start together: Annas had his doubts. There was arranged—not such a banquet as Guelemara would put on, but at least a selection of meats and pies and breads, which, the King was given by the cook to understand, were being done in ovens all among the Amefin nobles about the hill and in two bakeries,
if
the captain at the gate would let the food be brought in from the town. Cook had arranged it, the plans were about to fall apart an hour before the event, and the King had to intervene with a written order on behalf of a cart full of cheeses, let alone the meat pies—“Good gods,” he said, “if they're to poison us, they'll poison the whole court. Just bring mine and the bride's from this kitchen, and the hell with it!”

There were barrels of ale brought up to the courtyard, and tables set up for the commons in the lower town. That, the household managed on prior experience. There were musicians. There were entertainers for the courtyard. There was a man who offered to bring a trained bear, but in the crowded condition of the hall, Annas and Idrys alike thought this folly and the King agreed.

The King, nerving himself and trying to numb the leg with a prior cup of strong willow-tea chased with a cup of wine, was in the main trying to decide whether he should use the stick getting down the stairs or, if he must use it, exactly where he could abandon it, and how long he might have to stand during the ceremony.

Past the initial rounds of drink, and the bride-to-be's maidenly withdrawal from the hall, he supposed, the King could find similar excuse and go. He was advised that Amefin betrothals were rowdy and licentious, and rowdy and licentious seemed to mean even the King could be jostled, which he did not want to be, nor wish to have the King's presence in the hall if any fool did bring in a weapon—he gave Idrys stern orders that the guard was to be vastly lenient, that they should try to protect the Elwynim from drunken folly, and that the interpretation of death for weapons drawn under the
King's roof should find as wide a latitude as they could contrive, including bashing an inebriate offender over the head and depositing him outside the gatehouse. He had, he told Idrys severely, no wish to have the evening marred by a death sentence. He wished to celebrate, that was all, and to have no cases before him tomorrow when he waked with whatever of a hangover he could achieve. He wished to be happy. Devil take those who disagreed.

And with that, he did use the stick getting down the stairs, and took the back approach to the great hall, and all the lords there present, including Efanor and his bosom friend Sulriggan. Elwynim were there as well as Ylesuin, the greater and the lesser lords, thanes, ealdormen, whatever: Elwynor's titles were like Amefel's. Tristen had come, with Emuin. The ladies of the Amefin lords and of the Guelen captains and lieutenants were there, dressed for festive doings. Orien had arrived reasonably on the stated hour, decked in the green velvet of her house and outfitted with a waspish temper, which she used only against the servants, thus far.

The trumpets had managed tolerably well on the King's entry. Annas had sent upstairs for Ninévrisë the moment he was downstairs, and while the musicians played and the guests came wishing the King well, the King fidgeted and watched the faces of the guests, who were already at the wine and the ale.

A blast of trumpets—only slightly out of agreement, and Ninévrisë swept in from the front entry, in all the glory of the new-made gown, deep blue velvet with sleeves stitched with jewels of every color, with a cream silk pulled through and puffed, and a deep blue cloak with a rose silk lining. A black ribbon was wound around the glittering gold of the Regent's crown—that was the concession to mourning. There were ohs and ahs from the crowd as she passed, delight in the eyes of no few ladies, if only that she was beautiful, and there was a spontaneous applause as she reached the dais and reached for his hand.

He kissed her hand. He held it joined with his for all the
company to see, and said, in a loud voice the exact words they had hammered out to bridge the gulf of religion: “My lords and ladies, I declare before you one and all I shall hold myself faithful and true and marry this woman in the sight of gods and men, in the first month of winter!”

Ninévrisë said, “My lords and ladies, I vow before gods and men I shall hold myself faithful and true and marry this man in the first month of winter!”

The musicians struck up. There was more applause. He was watching Orien's face no less than Efanor's, and found it stark, pale, and in that flare of nostril—absolutely furious.

“Her Most Honorable Grace the lady Regent of Elwynor has agreed,” he said, gathering up all he had to say to them, “that the Elwynim conflict has already cost lives precious to her. It has cost my father's life, the lives of men with him; attacks on my person; the burning and slaughter of Emwy village…and loyal men have died in defense of Ylesuin. It has cost the life of the lord Regent of Elwynor, who had come to treat peacefully with us; and those that killed him did so on our land. In defense of our right and our land over which the gods have granted us rule; and by the gods' great might and by their will we shall come to the aid of the Regency of Elwynor, which has in past been a neighbor not utterly agreed with us, but which has never invaded our territory.

“I do not aspire to rule Elwynor—as I believe Your Graces of Elwynim came here with no desire to rule Ylesuin. Let us declare, all, that we have no designs on each other's land or lives, and that our greatest resources are not gold; they are good will on the borders and farmers reaping harvests untroubled by brigandage or war.

“I will not have for a neighbor the man I believe conspired in my father's death and in my bride's father's death. By the gods and my oath I shall maintain the rights of Ninévrisë Syrillas as lawful Regent of Elwynor and agree that the realm of Elwynor does not come to me by marriage nor by any other oath. Her Most Honorable Grace will remain Regent of Elwynor in her own name and right, as I shall remain King of
Ylesuin, granting neither land nor honors save the estate of wife, and she shall bear her own titles and honors, granting none to me save the estate of husband. We shall both with the help of our loyal subjects assure a peaceful border open to trade and safe for those villages neighboring the roads.”

The hall had grown very quiet. Men who had not expected an oath to follow at that point had fallen into a dead hush, realizing, suddenly, that their own lives and lands and those of their children were being accounted for then and there.

“My lady? What say you?”

“I wish that my lord father might have seen his daughter a bride. I wish that more of my lords were present and not in danger of their lives in Elwynor. But by your help, my loyal and honorable lords of Elwynor, and you gracious lords and ladies of Ylesuin, and by the gods who bless peace, I swear I will take back my land and become the just Regent of Elwynor, the friend of all peaceful and honest people of this land and a faithful wife to my husband. I swear I shall give justice and secure the rights and honors of my own faithful lords. That is what I most wish. That is what my father came to Ylesuin to urge. I ask you all, eat and drink together in peace and please may the good holy men here present pray safety for all men's houses, great and small.”

That was a thorny question: which gods and which priests. A small, seemly applause attended, wildly enthusiastic from certain of the Amefin—but not from all: decidedly not from the Quinaltines and not from Orien Aswydd.

But Emuin leapt bravely into the gap, launched forth in a loud voice with the good Teranthine brothers on either hand and intoned a blessing on all present, mercifully brief, at which the crowd cheered; and, with the value of a small shrine in perpetuity in his purse, the local head of the Quinalt, not Efanor's priest, forestalled briefly by Emuin's quick action, began a state prayer clearly designed to have been first—he might, however, have elaborated it on the fly, seeing himself potentially outdone by the Teranthines; Cefwyn guessed so, at least, for it went on into blessings on the town
and blessings on the company present, blessings on the peace and blessings on the King and blessings on the lords and ladies, on their houses and their hearths, their sons and their daughters, their cattle and their horses. He had paid, and by the gods, he was going to have his prayer at rivalrous and inspired length.

He stole a glance at Efanor's priest, who looked to have swallowed sour milk; and in the close of it, gods save them, not to be outdone, the Bryalt cleric stood forth in a long appeal for religious harmony. Then, with the Bryalt's signal disregard of cultic divisions, the good man threw in Quinalt blessings and Teranthine and several others the provenance of which Cefwyn was truly glad he did not know; but the Amefin minor nobility made assenting nods of their heads, called out approbations, and a few mopped at their eyes.

Then, then they were done and the crowd applauded. He was permitted to give the bride a kiss on the cheek and he made an exchange of rings—he had had Annas buy his from an Amefin goldsmith, a simple band, and she had brought hers among her jewels, her mother's troth ring.

He found himself missing her finger with it, or at least feeling weak in the knees, as it suddenly struck him that he was not making a political speech, he was well and truly sworn to a treaty with Elwynor and committing himself to a household and offspring and all of it. Somehow he managed to put the damned thing on the lovely finger, gave a second kiss on the other cheek, received one, and in a moment of dizziness, all was done. The trumpets blared out wildly, not at all together, and this time there were loud cheers: the Amefin town dignitaries and their ladies who were crowding the back of the hall for the festivities clearly loved kisses far better than they understood the treaties the lords were still thinking through with suspicion, and they saw that the speeches were over and that the wine was about to flow in earnest.

After that, thank the gods, the musicians struck up a merry country dance, and the crowd made for the tables where wine and bread and cheese were set, with mugs of ale and the little
pies, a tower of which the guests rapidly demolished.

“You seem truly happy, my lady,” Tasien came to say, taking Ninévrisë's hand, while Cefwyn was busy with a well-wisher from the town. “Are you? Dare you say?”

“I think I may well be,” she said, and Cefwyn, overhearing, drew in a breath of very heady nature. “I do think I could become so. Only take care. Do take care at Emwy.” She let him kiss her hands, then, and Tasien passed on to him.

“I am greatly taken with her, Your Grace,” Cefwyn said quietly to Tasien. “I shall send troops to reinforce you. But I made help to you no part of our agreement. The early betrothal—
she
asked the haste, so that you might be here, to stand as her father would have.”

“Your Majesty,” Tasien said, only that, and bowed, clearly not taking it for the truth, and managed to preserve a stiff and misgiving demeanor. So he knew he had not won Tasien, nor, he thought, the rest of the Elwynim.

But eat and drink they would, and so with the common men with them, who had put on their best, and whom Ninévrisë had wished admitted to the hall and seated in honorable places, because, she had said before they came in, she had given every one of them a modest if currently landless title and promised them rewards from the Crown when they reached Ilefínian in Elwynor, they, or, if they fell, their next of kin.

So he congratulated each of them as they came to pay their lady their good wishes, and, a trick he had learned from Emuin, knew their names and their new titles, which won astonished looks and no small good will for himself, he hoped. So it was at least one half-score of Elwynim who were happily celebrating tonight, and, perhaps their natural wary bent, or perhaps some sense of new responsibility, they were more modest in their attack on the wine-bowl than some ladies of Amefel, to look on the scene—and not participant in the handing-out of the diverse cups, none of a set, which he had declared the guests might take away with them.

That Amefin betrothal tradition had proved imprudent. There was no little wine spilled in the encounter at the tables.

“We should send a score of
them
up to the riverside,” he muttered to Ninévrisë. “Gods, such graces!”

Orien had somehow
not
come up to felicitate the marriage, but other Amefin lords and ladies were beaming. Tristen came up the step, and said in his own way, to Ninévrisë, “Cefwyn will do what he says. He is honest,” and to him, “She thinks everything is beautiful and the people are kind and she likes you more than she trusts you.”

Ninévrisë was appalled and distressed. He was appalled and amused. But Tristen went away then, as if, though able to know what he knew, he entirely failed to know the dismay he left in his wake.

“Do you?” he said.

“Which?” she asked. But an elderly Amefin lady was attempting to hand Ninévrisë a charm done up in ribbons. “Children and grandchildren,” the lady said. “Hang it over your bed, Your Grace. It worked for me.”

He saw that Tristen had gotten himself some cheese and bread from the table below the dais. It was all Tristen seemed likely to secure for himself without warfare in the crowd pressing close, but Uwen was there, and, old warrior that he was, even while he watched, snatched a pair of plain, less contested cups of wine.

Dancing began, a handful of couples and a number of young gentlemen who, in the refilling of cups, felt immediately inspired—and though he had left the cursed stick propped in a side hall and had steeled himself to walk and climb steps without it, he certainly was not fit for this part of the festivities. The bride had now stayed longer than a Guelen bride would stay—though the continued line of well-wishers was adequate excuse, and would afford no gossip.