Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (45 page)

Standing, the lanky physician cleared his throat and glared down his considerable nose at the objector. ‘Although I am a member of a cloistered Order, Elder, I am first and foremost a surgeon, and well versed in anatomy. The patient on my table yesterday afternoon was most certainly female.’

‘So how did she pass for a boy, being so abundantly female? In the bathhouse, at the garderobe?’

‘It is not so difficult to arrange a little privacy for these things,’ said Hengfors. ‘Her physique is well trained and muscular, and her feminine attributes –’ Jago blushed ‘– are modest. With care for how she walked and some strapping around her chest, we all saw what we expected to see.’

Arranging his robe around his heron-like frame as if settling his feathers, Hengfors perched back on the end of the witnesses’ bench below the lowest row of Elders, next to the martial Masters. Jago plumped into his seat with his face flaming to the roots of his ash-coloured hair.

Festan opened his mouth again, but before he could utter a word another Elder was standing up to address the Rede.

‘But Elder Jago’s original point was well made,’ Ceinan said. ‘The very qualities we most prize in womankind, and which we are sworn to defend, are the same qualities that make them unsuitable to be soldiers of the Goddess. They are nurturers, not warriors. They bring forth new life from their bodies. Surely we should not ask them to take life away?’

Nods and murmurs of agreement met his words. Standing uncomfortably at the witness stand with her left arm strapped across her chest, Selsen stirred, her face tight with anger. She tried to sign something then had to give up; thieftalk was impossible with only one useful hand. She turned a look of appeal towards Ansel. His fingers flickered discreetly.

I understand
.

‘Forgive my speaking on Selsen’s behalf,’ he said, ‘but we are not asking her to do anything at all. She is asking us.’ Selsen nodded vigorously.

‘With all respect to her,’ Ceinan said, bowing to Selsen just enough to appear polite, ‘this Elder at least must refuse. Call the vote, Preceptor. Let each man here follow his conscience on this matter.’ With that, he subsided gracefully into his seat.

Festan remembered he had the floor and shook himself like a large dog coming out of the sea. ‘There’s no point calling for a vote,’ he rumbled. ‘Even if we wanted her to be Knighted, she couldn’t be. Honestly, Preceptor, I don’t understand why you persist with this folly when it’s patently impossible.’

‘Selsen completed the trial-at-arms with high honour, one of the finest novices our Order has ever produced. What more must she do to prove her worth?’ Ansel leaned forward a little, the better to make his point. ‘You were there, Festan, sitting right in front of me in the pavilion. You watched the events, you heard the judges’ decisions, just as I did.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘But what?’ Ansel attempted to rein in his temper but his patience had worn too thin to make a good leash. ‘All that’s happened since is you’ve discovered the novice you watched is of the fairer sex. It doesn’t change her achievements, so why do you object to her receiving due credit for them?’

Festan threw up his hands as if appealing to heaven to intervene. ‘It is forbidden under the Articles! A woman cannot become a Knight!’

‘Under which Article would that be, Elder?’ put in Danilar mildly.

Thanks be to the Goddess!
Whatever his own reservations about the matter at hand, Danilar remained a man of his word.

The interruption threw Festan from his stride. ‘Chaplain?’

‘Under which of the Articles of Knighthood are women excluded from service? Forgive me – I’m getting older and my memory’s not what it was.’ The snort from before returned, this time developing into an outright chuckle. Ansel suspected he knew who it was but he didn’t dare scan the rows of Elders to find out for sure. Besides, Festan’s apoplectic features were an entertainment in themselves.

‘Well, I don’t recall exactly, but—’

‘Elder Morten is right there, with a copy of the Articles,’ Danilar said, indicating the Elder and his equally aged brother Tercel seated at one the clerks’ desks, a leather-bound book open before them. ‘Perhaps he could check?’

Morten’s reedy voice failed to carry over the hubbub of assertion and counter-assertion. Ansel rapped his staff on the dais for silence and the white-haired Elder tried again.

‘I don’t need to check, gentlemen – and milady.’ He turned and gave Selsen a half-bow. ‘Nowhere in the Articles is there a reference to gender except in the form of the personal pronoun “he” which, as any student of the law will know, can refer to either sex and requires no disambiguation.’

Ceinan leaned forwards in his seat. ‘Are you saying, Morten, that this woman’s ordination should be permitted on the strength of a bit of legal shorthand?’

Elder Morten spread his frail hands. ‘I am saying there is nothing in the Articles to specifically proscribe it.’

‘But there’s nothing that specifically permits it, either?’

‘Correct.’

‘But—’

Tercel held up a knobby finger and Ceinan, surprisingly, fell silent. ‘In law, the position has always been: that which is not prohibited
is permitted
. It is one of the pillars of jurisprudence.’

Ansel bit his cheek to contain his glee.
Thank heavens for Morten and Tercel and their unsurpassed reverence for the niceties of consistorial law! They were experts on it before I was out of the novitiate. Does anyone want to argue with them?

The Elders muttered like a pot on the boil, but no one raised an objection strenuous enough to force it to be acknowledged. Too soon, far too soon to be hopeful, but Ansel’s fingers twitched to pin the gilded oak leaves on Selsen’s shoulder. ‘Let us be absolutely clear about this, gentlemen,’ he declared. ‘Elder Morten, please list for us the requirements for Knighthood.’

‘Under Article One, the candidate must be hale of body, sound of limb and at least twenty years of age. Under Article Four, a minimum of six years must have been served in the novitiate and under Article Eight, the candidate must demonstrate sufficient skill at arms in the presence of authoritative witnesses.’

Not once did Morten have to refer to the worn pages of the book in front of him. He turned to Selsen, a kindly smile creasing his wizened features even further. ‘Novice Selsen, are you qualified under these Articles?’

Selsen nodded.

‘Can you not speak, milady, so that your answer might be recorded by Brother Chronicler?’

On the opposite desk the clerk finished writing and waited, pen poised. Selsen shook her head.

‘The girl is mute from birth,’ Ansel put in. ‘I have a letter that attests to it, which can be entered into the record.’
Please don’t call for it, Morten. I’ve risked enough to get her this far. It has to be enough!

‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Preceptor. Your word is sufficient for the purpose of these proceedings.’ Morten folded his hands in front of him. ‘And I believe Selsen has demonstrated the necessary skill at arms, eh, Masters?’

Across the hall on the witnesses’ bench, the Master of Swords, Master of Horse and Master of Arms all nodded, though only Selenas looked comfortable about it. A hint of a smile played about his lean jaw.

It was you who chuckled before, wasn’t it? If you didn’t, you look like you want to now
.

‘Could you discern that the novice was female?’ Ansel asked. They all shook their heads. ‘You saw only an aspiring Knight and made your judgement on that basis, devoid of prejudice?’ Once again, they nodded. ‘So all that remains is for her to serve her vigil. She is qualified under the Articles. I fail to see what further objections can be brought.’

He raised his staff in preparation to strike it and end the debate, but Festan was not finished.

‘I find it morally objectionable,’ he declared. ‘There are perils faced by women, and only women, which must exclude them from situations where they have to engage the enemy directly.’

‘Specifically?’ Ansel said.
I was expecting this, but I never expected Festan to be the one to suggest it
.

‘Specifically pertaining to their treatment if captured.’

The word hung in the air, soundless but as loud as thunder. Every man in the room heard it. They could not do otherwise: it was part of a Knight’s duty to protect women from such assault with strength of arms, with his body or, when all else failed, with his life. Regardless of how high or low their station, a woman was the embodiment of the Goddess’s power of creation in physical form, and to profane that form with violence or ill intent was to commit a profound sin. But the central tenet of Knighthood, upon which all others depended, was to act in defence of what was right, no matter the cost.

Someone has to say it. It might as well be me
. ‘Rape.’

Festan looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with his sleeves and unable to meet Selsen’s eye. The rest of the Curia fared little better, save those accustomed to hiding their emotions behind a mask of dispassion. More than a few sported blushes to rival their robes for hue.

‘In a word, yes,’ replied Festan. ‘This is not a peril the rest of us must face.’

You’d be surprised, Festan. The Saint Benet’s Day massacre at the Daughterhouse in El Maqqam showed us that rape was not the furthest depth to which the Cult would stoop
.

An urgent clicking sound dragged his attention to Selsen – she was snapping her fingers. When she had his eye she mimed writing with her good hand.

‘You wish to add something?’ Her eyes imploring, she nodded. ‘If the Rede has no objection?’

No one demurred. Selsen stepped down from with witness stand and hurried to Brother Chronicler’s desk. She grabbed one of his spare quills and a sheet of paper and scribbled several lines, then handed the page back to the clerk who looked uncertainly from the girl dressed in novice robes to his Preceptor and back again.

‘Please read the witness’s statement, Brother,’ said Ansel.

‘“I ask only for the right to defend my faith to the best of my ability. If I feared the consequences, I would not ask for that right. It is my life’s wish to be a Knight; if it be the Goddess’s will that I take hurt or die in Her service, then let Her will be done.”’

The clerk lowered the sheet and laid it on the desk, staring at it as if it was an adder that might yet bite him.

‘Surely if a woman wishes to serve the Goddess, she can do so by taking holy orders,’ interjected Elder Eadwyn. Several other voices chorused their agreement. ‘There is no need for her to don armour and trade blows with a sword.’

‘Why not, if that is what she wants?’ All eyes turned to a new speaker. Selenas, the sinewy Syfrian Master of Swords, was on his feet. ‘If she wishes to shoulder the responsibility of Knighthood, surely that is her choice? Or are we reduced to making women’s decisions for them and telling them what they may and may not do for their own good? I rather think our Goddess would take a dim view of such paternalistic presumption on our part.’

One or two scandalised gasps flitted through the assembled Curia at Selenas’s own presumption to speak on Her behalf.

‘It is a man’s duty to protect a woman, and even more so a Knight’s,’ said Eadwyn to general approbation, and sat down.

Selenas cocked his head to one side. ‘And what if she doesn’t want our protection? What if she feels she is capable of protecting herself and anyone else who needs it? I have faced Selsen over crossed swords, gentlemen, and I can assure you, the person requiring protection that day was not the lady.’

He swept her an elegant bow, bending his whipcord frame at the waist with his right hand over his heart. After a moment’s startlement, Selsen returned the compliment.

Eadwyn rose to his feet again. ‘Surely you can see that women lack the necessary aggression to overcome an enemy hand-to-hand. She may have all the martial skill, but does she have the steel inside to press home her attack, when doing so might put her own life at risk? Will she fail when blood and worse are sprayed across her face?’

‘You’ve obviously never stepped into a stable where a mare has a foal at foot,’ said the Master of Horse gruffly.

‘Indeed,’ said Ansel. ‘Women have the hearts of lions, Elder Eadwyn, of that I have no doubt. All Selsen asks is for a chance to prove it.’

In the uncomfortable pause that followed, Ceinan rose again.

‘Are we not still overlooking something, my brothers?’ he began. ‘There is another moral question to be addressed. Women serving alongside men, at close quarters, lays both open to the temptations of the flesh. How are women to preserve their modesty and their virtue under such circumstances? How are the men?’

How indeed? If a Knight can fail and break his vows when all his comrades are men, what hope is there for him when he fights shoulder to shoulder with women?

‘That, I think, is a question we cannot answer in debate,’ Ansel said. ‘We can only answer it in the field and trust to our faith that we are strong enough to prevail.’

Again the urgent snapping of fingers. Selsen held up the sheet of paper so all the Elders could see. In block letters on the reverse, so forcefully that the quill had split and sputtered, she had written: I WILL NOT FAIL. When Ceinan raised his eyebrows she scowled and brandished the paper before her like a shield.

‘It appears I am outmatched, my lady, and must cede the field,’ the Dremenirian said. He spread his hands and bowed his head, but not before Ansel had caught the twitch of his lips that hid a smile. ‘My objections remain. I have no need to restate them.’

He sat down and Ansel nodded.

‘Your objections are noted, Elder. Is there any further comment before we put this to the vote? Eadwyn? Festan?’ Meaty arms folded across his chest, Festan shook his head grimly. Returned to the witness stand once more, Selsen made the sign of blessing over her breast and closed her eyes. ‘Then so be it.’

Staff ringing on the stone dais, he called for the vote.

27

SIGNS