Jimmy the Hand (24 page)

Then came a
whirl of images: settling into his guest quarters, touring the city
and its environs, meeting the many scholars he’d corresponded
with, visiting booksellers with as many as a hundred volumes in their
collections.

Then a moment of
clarity from that time returned:
I’m happier than I’ve
ever been in my life,
he had realized suddenly one day, letting a
heavy volume in his lap fall closed.
I don’t want to go
home, to settle suits over cows and count the arrows in the
storerooms and talk of crops and hunting and weather, pointless
patrols along a border Kesh rarely troubles, instructing captains to
set to sea to chase pirates out ofDurbin. I wish I could stay here,
for all my days, among the learned and wise, among those who
understand the value of knowledge . . .!

Stop,
the
old man’s lips said silently, as his hands plucked at the
coverlets. Tears squeezed out from beneath the thin wrinkled lids of
his eyes.
Oh, please, stop now.

Bernarr took his
hands from between his liege’s and rose, looking up into the
careworn face. He was close enough to smell the cinnamon-and-cloves
scent of spiced wine on the older man’s breath, and to see the
slight dark circles of worry beneath his eyes. The court was a blaze
of colour around them.

The ceremony was
quickly over. King Rodric the Third, a tired, anxious-looking man,
offered a few words to the new baron, then Bernarr was hustled
quickly away by court functionaries: there were others behind him and
the King had many men to greet. Somehow he knew he would never again
see this king, and that soon after leaving Rillanon, Bernarr would
receive word that the King had died, and his son, likewise named
Rodric, would assume the crown.

Receptions and
audiences, a brief encounter with Prince Rodric, and the days flew.
The provincial baron was viewed with indifference by most of the
resident courtiers, though a few showed envy at the Prince’s
interest in the scholarly young noble from the west. Alone of those
in court only Lady Lisabeth, one of the Queen’s
ladies-in-waiting, showed a personal interest in Bernarr, but her
stout figure and lecherous demeanour repulsed him. She didn’t
want him; she wanted any man with a title; even a country noble like
Bernarr could see that.

The memory that
was a dream was vivid. Bernarr almost jumped a foot when Lisabeth
popped out of the bushes as he made his way to the centre of the
maze, intending to read in solitude amid the pleasant smell of green
and growing things. The tinkle of the fountain would be his only
company. He quickly adjusted his expression to an indifferent mask.
‘My lady,’ he said coolly, with a slight bow. Then,
clutching his book, he moved on.

She begged his
attention, and balancing between being polite and curt, he attempted
to disengage from her grasp as he explained he sought solitude, not
company. He saw her lips move and remembered fragments of the
conversation, but it blurred a moment, then came suddenly into focus
as a peal of merry laughter was followed by a voice: ‘Oh,
Lisabeth, let the gentleman get on with his studies and come away
with me, do. We need another to play at cards and we would welcome
your company.’ Bernarr turned his attention away from the
unpleasant visage of Lady Lisabeth to find himself confronted by a
vision in a plain green gown.

No!
The
old man’s voice keened through the dark closeness of his
bedchamber.
Not this! Please, not this! Let me wake, let me wake!

It was as though
someone had taken his book and clubbed him over the head with it. All
he could see was the young woman’s sparkling green eyes and the
lush fall of her dark hair, the white column of her throat and that
sweet, sweet smile. Birds with plumed tails and rings of silver on
their claws walked about her, and the trumpet-vines behind her
trembled purple and crimson in the breeze that moved wisps of her
hair. His heart leapt at sight of her.

The Lady
Lisabeth appeared momentarily annoyed at the interruption. Then she
glanced at Bernarr and threw up her hands. ‘I see that you are
right, Elaine,’ she said and moved toward her friend. ‘The
Baron has no time for me.’

As they prepared
to move away, Bernarr came to life again, feeling a wrenching sorrow
he could not name, one that squeezed his heart and chest like the
shadow of future grief. ‘My Lady Lisabeth,’ he said
breathlessly, ‘will you not introduce me to your friend?’

Although an
angry flush appeared in her cheek, Lisabeth was not in a position to
refuse an introduction to a baron. ‘My lord, may I present the
Lady Elaine du Benton.’ Her tone and manner were perfunctory.
‘Her family has a small estate outside Timons.’ Lisabeth
took evil delight in stressing the word small.

‘Enchanted,’
he said, softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

It is no
courtly flattery,
he thought,
for she has cast a spell over me
with but one smile.

Elaine
curtseyed, her eyes downcast, she did not rise.

Lisabeth rolled
her eyes impatiently. ‘My lady Elaine, I have the honour to
present Lord Bernarr, Baron of Land’s End.’

Elaine rose with
a radiant smile and offered her hand to him. He took it gently and
kissed it, suddenly, painfully aware of the ink-stains on his long
fingers.

‘I am
delighted, Baron,’ Elaine said.

She had dimples.
For the first time he could see why they were considered pretty.

‘Please
excuse us,’ Elaine said, ‘our friends are waiting.’

‘Of
course. I hope to see you again soon, my lady.’ He bowed, and
it took every shred of willpower he possessed to release her delicate
fingers from his grip.

They were
already moving away, arm in arm. Just before they turned the crisp
corner of the hedge Elaine turned and gave him a shy smile and a
little wave of her hand. That easily she made him her slave.

The dream
burred, and bits of memory flashed through his mind. Days and weeks
passed and their acquaintance hardly progressed. He contrived reasons
to be near her, yet he never seemed to find the opportunity to speak
to her alone. She always had a previous engagement, or her duties to
the Queen prevented any meeting. He found himself intruding on groups
of younger courtiers when she was allowed away from duties and was
with her friends. They regarded him as an interloper, but his rank
provided him a great shield against their youthful disdain, and his
blindness to others when Elaine was near prevented him from seeing
their mocking amusement at his obvious infatuation. The more she
eluded him, the more he desired her. Despite his nearly thirty years
of age, despite his responsibility as Baron and his years of running
the barony while his father lingered ill, he was unprepared for a
girl barely more than half his age. Knowing next to nothing about
Elaine, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with her.

Longingly, he
thought of her during every waking moment and in his dreams: for she
seemed to him everything that was lovely and feminine and sweet. It
was impossible that he could love her this deeply and she could feel
nothing for him; she must just be hiding her feelings, waiting for a
time when they were alone.

The part of
Bernarr that was an old man in a lonely bed no longer begged. It
panted slightly, like a beaten dog lying in the dust, scarcely
flinching as the whip fell.

Baron Hamil de
Raise was a nobleman who exercised considerably more court influence
than Bernarr, and had some real wealth as well: there were ancestral
banners and weapons on the panelled walls of his chambers, but also
instruments and books. It had been his scholarly interests that had
caused him and Bernarr to gravitate to one another.

Their early
meetings flickered through Bernarr’s mind without sound,
glimpses of a glass of wine shared, a banquet where they sat nearby
and exchanged pleasantries, then suddenly the dream became vivid, as
if reliving a memory.

Hamil was
leading Bernarr down a dark street in a seedier part of the city. The
stench of garbage in the alley they passed before reaching their
destination was vivid, as was the sound of bootheels grinding in the
damp gravel and mud. Hamil said, ‘Hers is a very minor family,
of no particular consequence, fine old name, originally a line of
court barons from Bas-Tyra, but now reduced to the one lone estate in
the south. Her father is an active embarrassment to the proud name.
What remains of it. He’s been stripped of every hereditary
title his forebears gained, and clings with near desperation to the
rank of “Squire”, which the Crown permits as an act of
courtesy. She is merely “Lady du Benton”. He’s a
most intemperate gambler who has squandered considerable wealth over
the years. With no male heir, the line dies with him and I’d
wager the Crown forecloses on the estate.’

The gambling
house was of a low sort and it was set into the basement of what was
probably a brothel, with ancient smoke-marked beams barely a tall
man’s height overhead once you had gone down the six worn stone
steps. The two men kept their long cloaks close about them as they
entered, but the very fabric of the dark cloth marked them out. Eyes
shifted toward them; hard, feral eyes in scarred faces; bodies
shifted, clad in rags or raggedy-gaudy finery. The guilty drew away
in fear while the predatory moved closer.

Hamil smiled
thinly and let the hilt of his sword show. The worn shagreen of the
grip sent a stronger message than the inlay-work on the guard; the
various toughs and bravos stepped away.

‘Not the
sort of place to find a gentleman,’ Hamil murmured, echoing
Bernarr’s thought.

‘And we
haven’t,’ the younger man said, equally quietly.

Du Benton was
unmistakable, leaning forward on a bench and ignoring the newcomers;
he was thin and dirty and his clothing, once of good quality, was
stained and torn. His pale eyes held a frantic light as they watched
the play of the dice. As du Benton placed his bet he licked his thin
lips with naked lust.

Bernarr turned
his head away; this was more than he’d wanted to know about any
man, least of all the father of the one he loved.

Yes, loved!

Hamil was right:
the man was a disgrace. That a flower like Elaine had blossomed from
such slime defied belief.
I must save her,
he thought,
before
her beast of a father defiles her.
For he could see that a man
like du Benton would drag her down with him in some foul way if she
wasn’t freed of him. The desperation in the man’s face as
he lost the wager told Bernarr that du Benton would gladly offer his
daughter’s hand to any man with a pouch of gold. He must obtain
leave to wed her. He must save her from her father offering her hand
to some fat old merchant or wastrel son of an idle eastern noble.
‘Let’s go,’ he said to his friend. ‘I’ve
seen enough.’

‘I hope
you have,’ said Hamil, though from his tone it was apparent he
knew Bernarr mistook his meaning. As they returned towards Hamil’s
apartment near the palace, the older baron knew this lesson was lost
on his young friend.

There were
formalities to be observed. Bernarr quietly petitioned the Crown for
permission to marry and after a contentious meeting with the court
official who was responsible for recommendations to the Crown,
permission was grudgingly given.

Having the
King’s permission, if not blessing, armoured Bernarr and he set
out to woo and win the lady of his dreams. He found that love was a
glorious feeling: dizzying, intoxicating, delightful past all
measure.

At first he
hadn’t been sure that Elaine shared the feeling and he’d
been in an agony of uncertainty, all the more painful because of his
overwhelming love for her. Her declining of his invitations and her
duties to the Queen made her seem unreachable. He began to find ways
to be with her, even if it meant contriving invitations to social
events where she was in attendance. But it was so difficult to get
her attention. She was always surrounded by a butterfly cloud of her
fashionable friends. There was one fellow in particular who usurped
her time, a handsome but dissolute young fellow named Zakry, the
third son of a minor court squire. He wore the latest court fashions
and carried himself with a swagger born of arrogance, not battle-won
confidence.

His mouth was
almost feminine as he pursed his lips in disapproval over some
imagined flaw in Bernarr’s attire, and his smile was constantly
mocking. It was obvious to Bernarr that his intentions toward Elaine
were not honourable, but it was equally clear that she was infatuated
with the boy. He would need to act soon or her generous nature and
naivete would lead her into disgrace. Bernarr was certain once Elaine
was sure of his true love for her, her childish attraction to a
dissolute boy like Zakry would be swept away.

Had his father
been still alive he might never have dared to ask for her hand. The
old baron would have demanded a more politically advantageous match
for his son, and future grandsons. But Bernarr was free to act for
his own happiness and so he did.

Soon he began
ignoring social conventions and seeking ways to be with her. He would
simply put himself at her side whenever possible, ignoring dark looks
from Zakry and her other friends as he used his rank to force them
aside.

Elaine was
always gracious, but always correct. Her smiles were cordial and she
laughed politely at his quips. After a while, he realized that she
was shy and pure and didn’t know how to show him her deeper
feelings. She was a true lady, despite her awful father. She hid
behind a mask, for it was impossible for him to imagine she could not
return his feelings. She must love him!

Being loved by a
goddess like Elaine made him feel special and powerful, capable of
accomplishing anything. Even winning her hand and heart, despite her
modesty. Suddenly he had new insight into the romantic poets and the
fixations of men who had gone to war for the love of a woman. After
less than a month of seeing her briefly at the palace, he resolved to
put an end to this matter and sought out her father.