The Saga of the Renunciates (46 page)

Magda sat at supper in the dining hall of Thendara Guild House, looking back over her fourth full day as a Renunciate. The first day they had asked her to stay with Keitha, who was feverish and ill from the aftermath of the beating she had received; the next day she had been set to help Irmelin in the kitchen. She had been incredibly clumsy about sweeping, and peeling vegetables for supper, but Irmelin had merely made a few grumpy remarks about fine ladies who didn’t ever get their hands dirty. She had been gentle and good-natured about showing her how to wield the ungainly mops and brooms, and to slice vegetables without cutting herself. She found herself helplessly resenting the waiting on table, and dishwashing afterward; why had no one ever invented the simplest labor-saving devices to save women from these dehumanizing tasks?

Today had been worse; she had been sent to work in the stables. She did not mind feeding, watering or even exercising the horses, for in the big paddock the sun was bright overhead and the air fresh and clear, but the heavy barn-shovels were worse than kitchen mops, and the smell of manure was sickening. This, she told herself angrily, is why they had an Industrial Revolution on Terra; somebody got sick and tired of shoveling horse manure!

Her partner in this work was called Rafaella; she remembered that Rafaella was Jaelle’s partner in their travel-counseling business, and had hoped to find her friendly, but Rafaella had had little to say to her. At the end of the day Magda was exhausted; she had never done manual work before, and she was glad to wash off the dirt and grime; but even though she washed her hair, she fancied that the stable smell still clung to it. The smell of the soap was harsh after the perfumed cosmetics of the Terran Zone. She lingered in the hot pool, trying to soak away fatigue, until Doria and another group of very young girls came in, and there was a lot of noisy and cheerful horseplay, running around naked and climbing in and out of the tubs and playfully squabbling over the soap. The noise they made finally drove her out of the pool room entirely, and only later did she admit to herself that she was jealous of the fun they were all having together.

Now, hungry after her day in the barn, she still found the food hard to get down; it was some kind of meat, or more likely, entrails, stewed with coarse-ground meal, and flavored with a highly spiced sauce; the bread was dark, coarse and unleavened, and there was some stewed fruit in honey which might have been tolerable if it had been chilled, but which was served warm. She was accustomed to Darkovan foods, and liked most of them, but by unlucky chance, the foods tonight were all new to her and distasteful; she nibbled at buttered bread, pushed the stew around on her plate, and longed, angrily and hopelessly, for a good cup of coffee. She had been trained, in Intelligence, to eat any kind of alien food without protest or visible distaste, and usually she managed it, but tonight she felt exhausted and let down. Could she really endure a half year here, among these strange women and in these uncomfortable conditions?

She sat in her place next to Doria; across the table was the elderly
emmasca
, Camilla, who had witnessed her oath, and beyond her was the new woman, Keitha. Today she looked better, with some color in her cheeks, and her bright hair, roughly hacked off for the oath-taking, had been neatly trimmed around her neck. She was wearing Amazon clothing which looked shabby and much-worn; probably from the same castoff-box as Magda’s own. She still seemed shy and lost and ate little.

Camilla’s gaunt face was kind with concern.

“But you are eating nothing, Margali—don’t you like the tripe stew?”

“Oh, is that what it is?” Magda took another forkful and wished she hadn’t. “It’s very good,” she lied, “but I’m not very hungry tonight.” She took another piece of bread and buttered it. At least she
could
eat the bread, and with the warm stewed fruit on it, it wasn’t too bad.

Mother Lauria rapped with a glass for silence. “Training Session tonight,” she said. “It is compulsory for all new sisters and for everyone who has been oath-bound for less than three years, and everyone, of course, is welcome. The Sisterhood is meeting in the Music Room tonight, so Training Session will be in the armory.”

There was a loud and audible groan. “Everybody remember to bring your extra shawls,” somebody grumbled, “It’s freezing down there!”

“We’ll put the mats down for you to sit on,” Rafaella said. “And a little cold won’t hurt you! It keeps you alert so you won’t go to sleep, as you might otherwise after a heavy supper!”

Magda whispered to Doria as they left the dining room, “What is the Sisterhood?”

“It’s a secret society,” Doria whispered back, “It links the Guild Houses together, that’s all I really know about it, and most of the women who belong to it are healers or midwives; Marisela belongs. They’re sworn to secrecy about it and they never tell.”

Camilla came and linked her arm through Magda’s as they went downstairs toward the armory. “I thought Jaelle was taking you to Neskaya. Why are you here? I heard that Jaelle was back for a night or two, but I had no chance to speak to her; I saw the scar on her cheek, though. What happened?”

“She and I were attacked by bandits.” Magda said. “We spent the winter at Ardais; she was too ill to travel. Then we came here to Thendara—”

“Well, it is not surprising, that she should want her oath-daughter in her own house,” said Camilla. She drew Magda after her into the Armory, where women were dragging the mats into a close circle. Camilla tossed Magda a blanket.

“You are cold, I can see, even with your shawl; wrap up in this,” she said.

Mother Lauria said, “My sisters, all of you have seen the new ones among us; it is many years since we have had as many as three to be trained together. You all know Doria; Rafaella has done what each of us hopes to do some day, brought a grown daughter or fosterling to take the Oath from her hands. Now it is time for you to know Margali n’ha Ysabet, who took the Oath at the hands of Jaelle n’ha Melora last winter, and Keitha n’ha Casilda, who took oath from Camilla n’ha Kyna here in this house four days ago. Camilla, you are oath-mother to one of these and oath-sister to the other; will you lead us in the first round tonight?”

“With pleasure,” said Camilla, “Doria, you have not yet taken oath, though you have lived among us all your life. Why do you want to take the Renunciate’s Oath?”

Doria smiled and said confidently, “Because I was brought up among you; it is my home, and will please my foster mother.”

Rafaella said quickly, “That is not a good reason. Doria, did I ever ask or require of you, as a condition of my love, that you should become an Amazon?”

Doria blinked, confused, but she said, “No, but I knew you wished—”

“But what was
your
reason?” asked Camilla, “Yours, not Rafi’s.”

“Because—well, really, because—I have lived here all my life, and I wanted to be really one of you—not just a fosterling here—but a real Amazon—”

Irmelin asked, “Were you afraid that if you did not take the Oath you would have nowhere to go?”

“That’s not fair,” Doria said shakily, but Irmelin insisted. “Tell me. If we refused to take your oath, what would you do?”

“But you aren’t going to do that, are you?” Doria protested, “I’ve lived here all my life, I’ve just
expected
to take the Oath when I was fifteen—” She looked shocked and afraid.

“Just tell us,” Irmelin said. “If we refuse you the oath, where will you go? What will you do?”

“I suppose—I don’t know—back to my birth-mother, I suppose, if she will have me—I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t
know
,” Doria cried, and burst into tears. Camilla shrugged, and turned to Keitha.

“You. Why did you come here, Keitha?”

“Because my husband beat and ill-treated me, and I could bear no more—and I had heard a woman could take refuge here—”

“How long had you been married?” Magda recognized the speaker as the heavily pregnant Byrna.

“Seven years.”

“And had your husband beaten you before this?”

“Y—yes,” Keitha said shakily.

Byrna made a wry face. “If you had endured his beatings before this, why did you suddenly choose to endure no more? Why did you not try to arrange your life in such a way that you need not endure his beatings and abuse, rather than running away?”

“I—I tried—”

“And so, when your feminine wiles could not soften his heart, you ran away because you had failed as a wife?” asked a woman whose name Magda did not know, “Do you think we are a refuge for any woman who cannot manage her husband?”

Keitha lifted blazing gray eyes and said, “You
did
take me in! Why did you not ask me all of this
before
I took Oath then?”

There was an odd little murmur around the circle, and Magda recognized it, with surprise, as approval. Camilla nodded as if Keitha had scored a point, and asked her, “What form of marriage did you have? Freemate, or
catenas
!”

“We were married
di catenas
,” Keitha confessed. Magda remembered; this was the most formal kind of marriage, where the
catenas
or marriage-bracelets were locked on the arms of both parties, and the marriage was difficult to dissolve in law.

“Then you were oath-bound,” said Camilla. “What do you think of the proverb which says that one who is false to her first oath will be false to her second?”

Keitha stared rebelliously at Camilla. Her eyes were reddened and a tear was trickling from the corner of one eye, but she said clearly, “I think it nonsense; for your proberb I offer you another; an oath broken by one does not thereafter bind the other. My husband vowed when we were bound by the
catenas
that he would care for me and cherish me; but I had nothing from him but abuse and vile language and of late, beatings till I feared for my life. He had violated his oath many times; at last I chose to consider that, in breaking it, he had released me from observing it.” She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but she stared defiantly at the women, and Camilla, at last, nodded.

“So be it. Margali, tell us why you wished to become an Amazon?”

Magda was suddenly grateful that she had been the third one interrogated; she realized that the point of the procedure was to put the questioned one on the defensive, and force her to justify herself. She said clearly, “I did not, at first, wish to become an Amazon; I was forced to take the oath since I had been found wearing Amazon—Renunciate garb and impersonating one of you.”

“And what were you doing running around in Amazon garments?” asked Rafaella.

Magda said, “I knew that no man would molest a Free Amazon; I did not want to create a scandal or expose myself to insult while traveling alone.”

“Tell us,” said Rafaella, “Did you feel it right to take advantage, unearned, of an immunity which other women had won at the point of their knives, and earned by years of renunciation?”

The hostility in her voice made Magda cringe, but she kept her own words steady.

“I knew too little of your ways to consider whether it was right or wrong. Lady Rohana made the suggestion—that I travel as a Free Amazon—but I myself will take responsibility for what happened.“

“And why did you later abide your oath?” asked a woman Magda did not know. “Since you have taken it under what were really false pretenses, why did you not petition the Guild Mothers to have it set aside?”

Magda glanced at Mother Lauria, impassive, wrapped in heavy shawl and cloak, across the circle. Surely she would say something? But she did not meet Magda’s eyes. Magda drew a breath, trying to form her words in such a way that they would convey her meaning without revealing what she had sworn never to reveal while she was in the Guild House. She could not explain that she felt this the best way to serve her two worlds, building a bridge between Terran and Darkovan; and that somehow she must free herself from the fetters of custom which prevented women from doing anything very important on Darkover. Finally she said, “I felt it wrong to break an oath I had sworn. And since I had no commitment elsewhere—”

That was not really true. She had sworn the Service oath. Yet in this way she could better serve as a Terran agent, and serve, too, the world she had chosen as her own.

“Commitment!” One of the women pounced on that at once. “Do you think we are simply a place for idle women who have nothing else to do? Why do you think you have anything to give us, in return for the protection of the Guild House and your sisters?”

“I am not sure,” Magda said, struggling to keep her calm, “but maybe you can help me to find out what I have to give.”

Camilla said, “That is a good answer,” but her words were almost drowned out by Rafaella’s hostile voice:

“Don’t you think we have anything better to do than to teach ignorant women what they want out of life?”

Magda felt anger stirring in her, and was glad. If she was angry enough, perhaps she would not cry. “No, I don’t,” she said sharply, “If you did, you would be doing it, not sitting here trying to make us angry!”

There was an outburst of laughter all around the circle, and small sounds of approval. I was right, Magda thought, that
is
what they are trying to do; probably because Darkovan women are taught to be so submissive. They want us to
think
, question our own motives, defend them. The one thing they do not want us to do is to sit here meekly and accept what we are told.

Mother Lauria said “Keitha brought jewels and tried to make a gift of them to the House. Do you know why they were refused, Keitha?”

“No, I don’t,” said the fair-haired woman. She moved restlessly where she sat; Magda wondered if her back was still raw with the dreadful wounds of her beating. “I could understand why you refused, if they had been my husband’s gifts to me. But they were a part of my dower property from my own mother; why am I not free to give them to you? Should I give them to my husband? And I have—” suddenly her voice wobbled, though she tried to hold it steady, “I have—now—no daughter to whom I might give them.”