Count Scar - SA (23 page)

"Yet your father is scarcely known as a friend to the Perfected."

"Nor to fine legalisms as a general principle, either; I can say it if you will not, Brother Melchior. But we who are not schooled in deep philosophy as are you clerics tend to derive our overall rules
of what ought to be done from those matters that touch us personally. To speak plainly, my father would be deeply anguished should he learn that one particular heretic had been caught and put to
death without first being granted every possible opportunity to repent his errors, rejoin the community of the True Faith, and be restored to his former rank and station. Given this, he has no real
choice but to hold that all heretics should be accorded the same rights he would want to see extended to his own son."

She fell silent for a moment, wrapping her scarlet cloak closer and gazing out at the water with a thoughtful, even sad, expression. This was not entirely the same Lady Arsendis I remembered
from my earlier time at the duke's court,

"But if my good father remains capable of entertaining so tenuous a hope in his private moments, you well know that he is not the man to base any practical plan of action on such sand. He is
bound to look about for something firmer." She looked past me, then made a little motion of her graceful chin toward the garden and whispered, "Tell me, Brother Melchior, what see you there?"

I turned my own head slowly, as if idly gazing about during a lull in conversation. "Why, it is your elder sister, my lady, walking with her husband."

"Quite, but what do you not see when you look at them, either now or at any other time?" Her eyes seemed to have regained some of their usual sauciness.

"I am poor at riddles, my lady."

"Fie, brother Melchior: this from the man I have very often heard Prior Belthesar assure my father had been the best young diviner who had ever served under his authority! But I suppose it is
unjust of me to expect you to work without your powders and such. What you do not see with them is children. No sturdy little grandson, or even so much as a sweet little granddaughter, to
gladden my fathers heart and relieve him of his worries concerning the succession."

"Ah, my lady, of course! It is now—what—more than five years since the two of them were wed, is it not?" Suddenly her gravity and her questions both made sense. "So, your father is becoming
anxious to see you married where it will best assure the succession, and thinks Count Caloran may be the man."

"Indeed. Especially since he seems recently to have grown a little disillusioned with my sister's noble husband, no longer sure he is quite the man to hold the duchy securely should the need arise.

So now Father casts his net, fishing for a better man. Or perhaps I ought to say he casts his line, for he certainly uses bait. Myself." Abruptly she turned her dark eyes and lovely face full upon me.

"What do you think, Brother Melchior: is Count Caloran likely to answer?"

"I—I cannot say, my lady," I stammered. "I have never thought—"

"Oh, what poor simple creatures you men can be at times! Always so caught up in worrying over what you would call 'practical' matters that you fail to think about what is directly in front of
you. And what is more charming still, Count Caloran seems uncertain about the matter himself. He sees what is obvious to a soldier, of course. He sees that the long narrow county of Peyrefixade
points out of the mountains like a dagger at the heart of the duchy, and concludes, correctly, that my father wants a resolute and reliable man there to form our first bulwark against Nabarra and
its prince. He also has noticed, as he could scarcely have failed to do unless he'd been a great dolt, that my father has presented me to his attention. Yet despite everything, despite having received a
good deal more encouragement from my father than has led certain lordlings in the past to think themselves virtually the duke's sons-in-law, this Count Caloran still remains hesitant! He likes
it well enough that I am a duke's daughter, he likes the fact that I am not displeasing in face and form, yet this man who is so fearless a soldier is a timid lover! I could almost persuade myself he
would like to win not only my hand and the added advantages and wealth that would bring but also my heart and my regard, and fears any false step might prove ruinous. He seems perfectly
confident among the men. He treats my father with dignified subordination but no servility, and faced my formidable uncle the archbishop with perfect aplomb. So why, Brother Melchior, should
he be so behindhand with a mere lady?"

I hesitated, transfixed by the dark beauty of her uptilted eyes, yet unsure whether I would be disloyal to share my private inferences concerning Count Galoran's character with a lady I had in the
past seen to be quite mocking, even cruel, toward aspiring lovers. But that had been in the days when she was still in the first flower of her young womanhood, enjoying the power over men that
her position and beauty brought her and giving scant thought to anything beyond the delights of being courted by every young nobleman in the duchy and playing them off against one another in
various intrigues. This older Lady Arsendis seemed to have a more serious strain. Though she still put her questions and observations wittily, I did not think she was simply making fun of Count
Caloran. "This would only be my own guess, lady, but I have seen that the count always watches to find how people will react to the fact that he bears a scar. He might well feel uneasy with a
lady because of that."

"Ah, how like a man. Because you often look no further than to see whether a lady is beautiful, you assume we are the same. I of course except priests such as yourself, who look only at the beauty
of the soul," She smiled mischievously as I blushed. "If the count only knew how many of my handsome suitors in the past have shown themselves to be but whited sepulchres, he might perhaps
credit me with more depth in my assessments of men now." A chill breeze stirred the dark waters of the pond, and she drew her cloak closer. Without our noticing, the warmth of the afternoon
had gone below the wall along with the sun. "Now, I think it is time for you to take me back inside. My aging galant will still be seeking me, and I shall want the protection of his presence until
our friend the count at last deigns to appear for dinner."

As I took her graceful hand to assist her down the steps of the belvedere, she cocked her head and exclaimed, "Listen: it is a troubadour! Father hired several to entertain, but the wretches have all
been keeping themselves inside until now."

The musician was strolling along the main path as we reached it, playing upon his lute. Spying us, or rather the Lady Arsendis, he bowed low and began a new song:

"Ah, Madame, do I waste my time?

Is it your wish that I retire?

Ah, Madame, do I waste my time?

Or shall I have what I desire?"

He went on to spin a series of well-turned verses describing the charms and high valour of the lady in question and the alternating exaltation and despair of her would-be lover, always returning
to the first verse as a refrain. When the fellow had done, Lady Arsendis threw him a brilliant smile and a bright coin, and he bowed again and went on his way.

"Ah, that severely lightens my purse, I fear. But the pretty fellow put that question so much more gracefully than most of my genuine suitors. Especially as I have generally suspected they desired
something in addition to my sweet favor and charming person. The troubadours sing of purest love, Brother Melchior, and courtly suitors know well enough how to dance to such measures. But
when all's done, their love for a lady is like their love for a fine hawk or hound; they esteem each in exact proportion to what it can fetch for them. But I am not a hawk who would fly for any
knight, nor the sort of hound who would course for any hunter. I shall make my own free choice, or—ah, good day, Uncle."

Archbishop Amahic and a lean priest had come suddenly into view where the path curved around a mass of shrubbery. Now they looked up from their conversation and returned Lady Arsendis's
greeting. The bishop's wintery eye shifted to me, and he added, "And good day to you, Brother Melchior."

"I did not know you and my uncle were acquainted," said the lady as we walked on toward the terrace.

"Nor did I, my lady! I know him, of course, but I would never have expected him to recognize me."

"Indeed? Then you must be a rising man, despite your charming diffidence: marked out for great things by the powers of this earth! You and Count Caloran make a good pair. Let us hope neither
of you makes a misstep and loses his chance."

We reached the terrace, which was now deserted, and walked to the archway leading into the hall. The lords and ladies had gathered down at the end of the big room, where troubadours were
singing to entertain them, accompanied by others on various instruments. "Ah, it is the music of the great Machaut! A chaste priest like yourself, but nonetheless he wrote often of love. And
look, there is our friend Count Caloran, standing with my father and some other gentlemen and looking around while he pretends to attend to their conversation. Notice how he gives no
attention at all to trying to flatter my father, quite unlike the others."

As she finished this statement in an approving tone, I saw the count's eye fall upon us. His expression, which had been sour, changed at once, and he smiled and bowed. "He seems highly pleased
to see you, Brother Melchior; let us go join him. And may I say you have done well,

especially for one who has been seldom at court for several years. Your every speech has held just that right mixture of flattering attention and deference that a real gentleman's words to a lady
ought, while never straying into anything that would be improper from a priest! So, thank you for your company. It is always worth while talking to an intelligent man."

As we rode along the track up the valley toward Peyrefkade the next afternoon, the knights were speaking among themselves of the duke's fine Paschal hospitality, of his excellent food, of his
lavish entertainment. I also overheard (without giving any sign) more than one mention of visits to places of entertainment in the lower town, housing ladies whose virtue was negotiable. But
the count rode at the head by himself, wrapped in silence. After a time I kicked my horse to move up closer to him. To my surprise, he was humming! After listening for a minute, I recognized a
fine old tune of Machaut's we'd heard the night before, the one which begins, "When I have returned once morel Come from seeing my lady…"

If my mission from the Lady Arsendis was to deliver a message of encouragement when needed, it seemed unnecessary to do so at this moment, so I slacked the reins and started to fall back. But
the count spotted me from the corner of his eye and motioned for me to move my horse up and ride abreast with him. I expected him to speak of the lady, but he surprised me by instead asking,

"So, Brother Melchior, tell me what you know of this Prince Alfonso of Nabarra."

"I believe that I have already given you a full account of my personal impressions, Count Caloran."

"Of the man himself, yes. But I need to hear about the prince. Is he a man of honor in his public dealings, whatever his personal character may be? Would he, for instance, invite a man to a parley
with promises of safe conduct, only to seize or kill the fellow once he had him in his grasp?"

"And when and where is this parley to take place, Count?"

He smiled, a pleasant enough expression since I was riding next to his unmarred side. "Very good, Brother Melchior. Yes, the prince has asked me for a meeting. He suggests a spot in the
mountains, up near the boundary where my county and his principality adjoin. It seems there is a stretch of land up there containing a village or two which have been in dispute for a long time.

The prince claims he wishes to meet with me and make an amicable settlement of the matter once and for all. Hence my question."

"Ah." I thought for a moment. "Well, you are right to ask me to discuss the prince separate from the man, Count. Alfonso is a stranger to guilt in most matters, but he does possess a strong sense
of shame. I should say he would never commit an act such as you describe not because it would stain his soul but because he could not bear the disgrace to his public honor should word of it ever
get out, as it surely would."

"And are you confident enough of your opinion to accompany me when I ride to meet the prince? I am in need of a local man whose knowledge and intelligence I can trust."

"My Order has assigned me to serve as your spiritual advisor, Count Caloran, and you have accepted me into that office. Unless you should discover some flaw in me so grave that it warranted
my dismissal, my place in any exigency is at your side."

"Meticulously put, as always." The count's voice sounded amused, and I felt myself blush. "You like studying things through, don't you Brother Melchior? You like to know exactly what you
have to deal with, to be quite sure of your ground, before you speak or act."

"I have been trained so, Count, both practically and spiritually. A Magian must know exactly what he is doing before he begins if he's to succeed, and a priest must always strive to be sure of his
moral ground."

"And perhaps a man is the more likely to be attracted to either or both of those stations if he is inclined that way to begin with?" He gave me a sidelong glance with one of those smiles that looked
so pleasant on the unscarred side of his face. "Don't misunderstand me, Brother Melchior; I like this in you. It's a comfort to any commander to know he has a man by him who has put in the
effort to be sure of his skills when called on, whether these be as a fighting man or as a Magian and counselor. So then, give me your most meticulous thinking on this question. Is it likely that
the great Prince Alfonso has gone to all the trouble of sending a secret emissary to set up a meeting with a mere count simply to settle an old dispute over a few hardscrabble stony acres up in the
hills? Or must he have some other purpose?"