A Time of Justice

‘Handsome guests?’ Babryan said with a grin. ‘Of course, Sevvi. Mine are yours. We’ll look through and pick one out.’

‘Good child. But truly, you lasses must stop thinking of little things like a man’s looks. Most good-looking men are so horribly vain – well, Sevvi dear, your father’s an exception, truly, but he’s the only one I’ve ever met – and anyway it’s things like steadiness and kindness that matter in a marriage, not curly hair and blue eyes.’

‘Of course,’ the three girls chorused.

‘Oh I know!’ Caffa waggled a playful finger at them. ‘I was your age once, wasn’t I? But it’s time for all of you to think of the things that matter. We shall have lots of nice chats now that Sevvi’s here.’

When Lady Caffa turned away, Babryan rolled her eyes heavenward, and all three girls broke out giggling.

Dinner that night was a splendid meal, as every meal seemed to be in the gwerbret’s palace. The gwerbret and his family ate at a carved and polished table near a hearth inlaid with Bardek tiles. On the other side of the enormous hall, a warband of two hundred men sat listening to their own bard. Servants in spotless embroidered clothes silently and gracefully served four elaborate courses, starting with a vegetable aspic made in colourful layers as intricate as the tiles and ending with an apple cake soaked in fine mead. While Sevinna desperately tried to mimic her cousins’ delicate manners, she watched this guest, who, or so Caffa had made clear, had been invited expressly to look over the gwerbret’s unmarried niece. Although his title was simple, Lord Timryc was one of the King’s own equerries with a large holding of land near the Holy City itself. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, about thirty, with sandy-blond hair, a prominent chin, and undeniably kind eyes. Every now and then he would look Sevinna’s way and smile at her, a gesture that flustered her so much that she would bury her nose in her water-goblet. When at the end of the meal the ladies retired to their hall, Sevinna was profoundly glad to be gone.

Caffa took the girls to her own hall, a vast round room where Bardek tapestries hung at intervals on the walls and cushioned furniture stood in profusion. The serving women lit candles in silver sconces, then sat down on cushions near the mistress’s chair.

‘Well, Sevinna dearest,’ Caffa said. ‘He seems a very nice man. Not too young, of course, but his first wife died in labour, you see. He’s been consolidating his position at court, and a man like that can hold out for a good match. But anyway, I think we shall arrange a little riding party tomorrow.’ She glanced at Wbridda. ‘Now Bry, if you mind your manners and that tongue of yours, you may join us and bring your little falcon.’

‘My thanks, Mam,’ Wbridda said. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way. He looks dull to me.’

‘Now hush,’ Caffa snapped. ‘You may all go upstairs.’

No sooner were they safely in their own hall than Babryan wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue.

‘He’s too old. You can do better than that, Sevvi.’

‘I hope so,’ Sevinna said. ‘I didn’t like his chin, either.’

‘It’s his beastly position that Mania’s so smitten with,’ Wbridda put in. ‘But he just won’t do.’

‘I’m glad you agree with me. Well, maybe he won’t like me. My father can’t give me that big a dowry, after all.’ Wbridda smiled in an oddly sly way and sat down on a chair with a flounce of her dresses.

‘We can make sure he’s not interested. Can’t we, Baba?’

‘If we have to. We’ve got somewhat to tell you, Sevvi. It’s a secret, so you’ve got to promise you’ll never tell anyone, especially a man.’

‘Of course I’ll promise. What is it?’

‘It’s a thing we learned from Lady Davylla. She’s the wife of Lord Elyc of Belgwerger.’

‘All the ladies are doing it,’ Wbridda put in. That’s why we’ve got to keep it a secret, you see. But anyway, Lady Davylla spends lots of time in court, and she says that even the princesses know. I don’t know about the Queen, though.’

‘Oh, she’s doubtless too busy with all that court stuff she has to do. But it’s ever so amusing, Sevvi, and I’ll wager it works.’

‘What?’

‘You have to swear first,’ Babryan said. ‘Just a promise won’t do. Come on, Bry. Go get your little knife. We’ll do it by the fire.’

While Wbridda rummaged through her jewellery casket, Babryan put out all the candles so that the only light was a pool from the fire. When Sevinna and Babryan knelt down in the flickering shadows, Babryan giggled in pleasant excitement, and Sevinna caught her mood. Whatever this mysterious something was, it was much more amusing to think about than marrying a man she hardly knew. Wbridda knelt down beside them and opened her hand to show Sevinna a tiny knife with a silver handle and a blade of black obsidian.

‘Lady Davylla has a Wise Woman living in her dun,’ Wbridda explained. ‘She’s awfully awfully old, she doesn’t even have any teeth, but she knows everything. She makes these knives, you see. Lady Davylla gives them to her special friends, and she gave one to us.’

‘What are they for?’

‘We’ll tell you once you swear,’ Babryan said. ‘Here, we’re going to have to have a bit of your hair and a drop of your blood, but it won’t hurt. That knife’s awfully sharp.’

Wbridda cut off a tiny bit of Sevinna’s hair and laid it on the hearthstone, then pricked her index finger and squeezed a drop of blood onto the hair. Sevinna sucked her fingertip.

‘Now you’ve got to swear you’ll never repeat any of this to one who doesn’t know the goddess,’ Babryan said.

‘Which goddess?’

‘We can’t say yet. Just swear.’

‘All right. I swear I won’t betray the secrets to one who doesn’t know the goddess.’

‘And to any man ever.’

‘And to any man ever.’

Babryan picked up the bit of hair and threw it into the fire.

‘Aranrhodda,’ she called out. ‘Aranrhodda, favour our cousin and us, too, for bringing her to you!’

The bit of hair caught and burned with a drift of stench in the wood smoke. Sevinna went cold, wondering what she’d just done to herself, wishing she’d asked more before she’d sworn the vow, but Babryan and Wbridda were giggling. Oh, there can’t be any harm in it, Sevinna thought, not if they’d do it.

‘There, now you’re one of us,’ Babryan announced. ‘Lady Davylla will probably ride our way soon for a visit, and you’ll get to meet her. Oh, she’s ever so splendid.’

‘But anyway,’ Wbridda said. ‘If you don’t like this Timryc fellow, we’ll just work a charm to turn him cold to you. You can work lots of charms when you learn how, Sevvi. There’s one to turn a man cold to you, and one to make him love you, and one to make your father or brother favour the man you favour, just lots of them.’

‘Oh here,’ Sevinna said. ‘I thought you didn’t even care what men did.’

‘Well, it’s all going to come in handy someday.’ Wbridda shrugged. ‘I don’t want to marry some dry stick of a man just because Da says I have to. This way there’s stuff you can do about it, you see. Otherwise there isn’t.’

Sevinna nodded. She did see, entirely too well.

On the morrow, Gwerbret Tudvulc called Sevinna into his private council chamber for a little chat. Her uncle, so tall and stout and noisy, had always intimidated Sevinna, and being dependent on his charity only frightened her the more. Tudvulc sat her down in a chair and strode back and forth by an open window while they talked. His mop of brown hair and moustache had gone quite grey since the last time she’d seen him.

‘Now here, lass. No use in mincing words, eh? I want you to take a good look at Timryc here. He’s got splendid connections, a good bit of land. You’d have plenty of pretty dresses from a man like that, eh?’

Sevinna smiled out of duty alone.

‘But there’s no use in jumping at the first hare out of the bushes, either,’ Tudvulc went on. ‘You’re my niece, got connections of your own, and you’re blasted good-looking, too. A pretty face is worth half a dowry, eh? So you just wait and see what kind of game we can beat out of the forest, lass. No rush. You’re always welcome at my table.’

‘His grace is ever so kind.’ Sevinna bowed her head. ‘I’m willing to wait for the right match.’

‘Good, good. Never know about you lasses, eh? Most of you are so eager to get that crown of roses on your head you can’t think straight.’ He gave her a twisted grin that was doubtless meant to be jolly and avuncular. ‘Oh, the gwerbret of Buccbrael has a young son, too. Be a cursed good alliance for both our clans, and I hear the lad’s already turning the heads of the local lasses. Good-looking sort. A year or two younger than you, but young men grow faster with a wife in their bed. We’ll see what we can turn up, truly.’

Bowing, a page appeared in the doorway.

‘Your Grace? There’s a messenger here from the gwerbret of Caenmetyn. He says it concerns an urgent matter of justice, an escaped murderer.’