"I trained you that you might fulfill your prophecy and lead your people north." Joscelin's tone was gentle. "Not die in La Serenissima defending my Queen.”
"You'll let the Illyrians fight!" another lad burst out in anger.
I glanced at Kazan, wondering how he would take it; fortunately, he was amused, eyebrows raised at the notion of a D'Angeline determining where and when he was al lowed to do battle. All the Illyrians, even Ushak, who had seemed so young and green to me when I thought of him risking his life, looked like seasoned veterans next to the Yeshuites. I listened while Joscelin overrode their objections, hoping they would hear reason.
In the midst of it all, the young woman spoke, knitting her brows.
"Joscelin," she said, a soft trace of a Habiru accent in her voice. "What if it
was
like the watchtower?"
SEVENTY-ONE
It is impossible to say when the hands of the gods intervene in the affairs of mortals and to what purpose, but of a surety, there are times when they do. Although the Yeshuites have no tradition of women fighting alongside the men such as one finds among the Albans and the Dalriada, the girl Sarae came of a family of notoriously strong-willed women.
She had chosen to learn to defend herself, that she might travel at the side of her beloved, Micah ben Ximon, when they followed Yeshua's prophecy and journeyed northward. In so doing, she had broken ties with her equally strong-willed mother, who had arranged a different marriage for her.
Sarae was not the first woman in her family to have thus defied her parents' wishes.
"My great-great-aunt Onit," she murmured, suddenly shy at speaking to so many attentive listeners, "ran away rather than marry a fat rag merchant, ran away and joined the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea. When she was very old, she came home to die. We children were not allowed to see her lest we be corrupted, but we would sneak into her room, to hear tales of the worship of the terrible goddess Asherat." Glancing around, she cleared her throat. "There is a balcony above the temple where the Oracle stands to give prophecy twice a year to the city entire, facing the altar and the people gathered below. Onit told us how it is staged, with an echo chamber to make her voice mighty and a bronze sheet that is rattled for the sound of thunder. We laughed, to think a goddess would need such tricks. There is a secret passageway, too, so it may seem that the Oracle vanishes without descending, while in truth it leads to a tunnel beneath the canals."
There was silence as we considered the implications, save for the murmur of Kazan translating her words into Illyrian for the benefit of his men.
"Where does the tunnel emerge?" Joscelin asked with re luctant interest.
She pushed her hair back from her face, frowning in thought. "To a warehouse, where some things are stored in winter; oil, dried goods and such. It was only to stay for a little while. When the Temple was empty, the Oracle would come back and descend the stairs. Only the priestesses and the temple eunuchs know about it. It would be lightly guarded, if at all."
"Joscelin," I said.
He looked at me. "No. Oh, no."
"It could work."
"In a temple," he said slowly, "full to bursting with Benedicte's and Marco Stregazza's supporters, with the like lihood of rioters breaking in the doors."
I shrugged. "There is an avenue of escape, and a great many folk present who are
not
their supporters, including Cesare Stregazza, who is still technically the Doge."
"You don't have any idea how they mean to kill Ysandre, do you?"
"No." I shook my head, recalling Melisande's words with regret. I had asked.
You know enough.
"A rioter, like as not. They'll seek to lay it at Ricciardo's doorstep, and get rid of him for good. I'm sure witnesses will be found to testify as much. It doesn't matter, Joscelin. If we're there, we stand a chance of preventing it. If we're not, she will die."
"It is a good plan, D'Angeline," Kazan remarked. "Better than storming the door, eh? If we die ..." he grinned, "... many Serenissimans will die with us, yes."
"He likes that idea, doesn't he?" Joscelin asked me, then turned resolutely to Sarae. "All right, then. Do you know where to find this warehouse?"
"Yes." Her voice was strained, her face pale and stubborn. "I will show you ... if you take us with you to fight at your side."
Joscelin swore and clutched at his tangled hair. "I said no!"
"It is not your choice, apostate," Micah said calmly. "It is ours."
Joscelin opened his mouth to protest again when Ti-Philippe interrupted him. "Joscelin, he's right; it's not our choice. Let them come if they will, and obey orders. They can ward the tunnel and safeguard our retreat. It's no more risk than La Dolorosa, and," he added, eyeing Micah, "I suspect you'd find them in the Square if you don't let them come. At least this way they'll be out of sight, and less likely to be arrested for bearing arms unlawfully."
In the end, there was nothing else for it. Once it was agreed, Sarae went willingly enough with Ti-Philippe to ex amine the warehouse's security. I misliked the risk, for 'twas near enough to the Great Canal that there would be guards about, but I had to admit, with his gaunt features, rough- spun garb and a farmer's wide-brimmed hat atop his dyed, cropped hair, Ti-Philippe looked nothing like himself. As for Sarae, no one was looking for Yeshuites.
Like as not, I thought, if aught happens, it will be that they are turned away and forced to make a detour; and even at that, Ysandre should have arrived by now, and the net of security will have drawn tight around the Little Court. Still, I would not rest easy until their return.
Kazan and his men set to making windbreaks for the night's shelter, since it seemed we had little choice but to remain on this nameless isle, at least until the small hours of the night. The Yeshuites aided them warily, and Joscelin and I sat together with too much to say and not enough time to say it.
"I'm so sorry," he said at length. "For everything."
"No." I took his hand. "I am. I hurt you in my actions, and wronged you in my thoughts. I drove you to cruelty, I pushed you to breaking, and I took pleasure in it when you did. Joscelin, the fault was mine."
"I gave you reason," he said dryly. "Phèdre, I fell in love with you with both eyes wide open, and fighting against it every step of the way. When you told me you were returning to Naamah's Service, I thought I had bent as far as I could without breaking. When you began spending so much time with Severio, I was sure of it. And when you disappeared, I realized that I hadn't even begun to fathom what I could endure." Glancing down at the silver
khai
pendant that rested still on his chest, he took it in his free hand and gave a short, sharp jerk, snapping the thin chain. "The Yeshuites will have to wait a while longer for Cassiel the Apostate to bow his head before the Mashiach's throne," he said, holding the bright object in his palm. "Elua's priest spoke truly; I choose the path of the Companion."
I folded his fingers over the pendant and leaned over to kiss his hand. "Keep it. You've done what you could for them. You've given them the means to survive."
"If I can keep them alive long enough." He brushed my hair with his fingertips, saying my name with wonder. "I thought I had lost you, truly."
"And I thought I was truly lost," I said. "More than once. But here we are."
"Until tomorrow, at least." Joscelin gave his faint smile. "Is there any chance I can convince you not to go?"
I shook my head. "No. I began this, after all, and I've faced too many kinds of death and madness not to see it through."
"I thought as much." He pondered our joined hands. "Is there any chance we'll live to see the end, do you think?"
"There's a chance," I said. "If we can turn the tide against Prince Benedicte, even for a little bit, Marco Stregazza may turn with it rather than fall with his ally. If he sees danger and a chance to save himself, he'll take it." I stirred, thinking. "Joscelin, do you think one of your Yeshuites could get word to Ricciardo Stregazza? He's confined to house arrest, but if the Scholae still answer to him, those who aren't in Marco's pocket, they might serve to counter the rioters."
"It might arouse suspicion, if he's guarded," he said thoughtfully.
"What about his wife?" I remembered Allegra Stregazza, seated at her desk in the charming library overlooking their estates, writing out a letter of introduction for me. It had gotten me into the Little Court, where I had walked in the Queen's Garden with Madame Felicity d'Arbos and admired the charming sight of Prince Benedicte's veiled wife and her babe on the balcony. "She has a name for being eccentric, a woman of letters in La Serenissima. Would it arouse suspicion if a young Yeshuite scholar delivered her a scroll?"
"Probably not," Joscelin admitted, grinning involuntarily. "Your mind still turns out ideas like a Siovalese windmill churns grain."
"It works better when I'm with you," I said. "Do you have pen and paper on this forsaken isle?"
"We might." He rose. "Teppo's scholar enough to have brought it ... oh, wait, I have something that will serve for paper, at any rate." Disappearing into one of the tents, he reemerged with a packet wrapped in oilskin. "After Ti-Philippe turned up with his tale, I went to Mafeo Bardoni, your factor's man here. I thought if there was any chance you'd left word with him, I should get to him before anyone else did. You'd gotten a letter from home," he said, handing it over. "Eugenie sent it in care of your factor's man, since you'd never written with another address. I looked," he added as I began to open it. "But 'twas naught to do with your disappearance.”
It was, in fact, a letter from Micheline de Parnasse, the Royal Archivist, who had at last heard a reply from the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood; one Lord Calval, who had inherited the post when Lord Rinforte passed away at the end of a long illness. In accordance with her long-ago promise, she enclosed a list of those Cassiline Brothers who had attended House de la Courcel, the information excised from the ledger in the Royal Archives. "You saw what this is?" I asked Joscelin. He nodded. "You learned as much from Thelesis de Mor-nay's inquiries," he said, shrugging and adding laconically, "I wrote too, you know. Lord Calval never bothered to answer me."
"The Cassiline Brotherhood has not declared the Royal Archivist anathema," I said absently. "You, they have. Jos celin, this list isn't the same as the one Thelesis gathered." "No?" He crouched to peer over my shoulder. "What's different?"
My lord Delaunay used to challenge Alcuin and me to exert our powers of observance and memory, quizzing us at unexpected intervals about the most seemingly innocuous of things. It is a habit that has stuck with me all my life. I daresay I would not have scanned the entire list, had it not been for that. But I did, and I came across a name that made my blood run cold with foreboding, my hand rising of its own volition to cover it.
Your Queen, does she not already have such guards in
her service?
"Thelesis' list only had the adoptive names of those taken into Lord Rinforte's household, the names such as the Cas siline Brothers themselves offered to her," I whispered. "This comes direct from the Prefect's archives, and gives their names in full. The ledger in the Royal Archives, the one that was desecrated, must have done the same. Oh, Joscelin! I think I know how they're planning to kill Ysandre." He knew what I was reading. He looked sick. "Let me see.”
I moved my hand to reveal a name: David de Rocaille no Rinforte.
"De Rocaille," Joscelin said aloud, and swallowed. "Da vid de Rocaille."
"You're Siovalese, and a Cassiline," I said softly. "Jos celin, Ysandre's mother Isabel was responsible for the death of Edmée de Rocaille. I ought to know; it's what began Delaunay's feud with her. Did Edmée de Rocaille have a brother who joined the Brethren?"
"I don't know." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I never followed the genealogies of the Great Houses of Siovale; I knew I was bound for Cassiel's service. And if he was among the Cassilines ... I don't know. He would have left, by the time I began training. Ah, Elua!" He dropped his hands, looking at me with anguish. "That soldier, among the Unforgiven ... he said he saw it, didn't he? A Cassiline Brother, escorting the woman he thought was Persia Shahrizai."
"Svariel of L'Agnace said it," I murmured. "Fortun had it written in his notes."
"Why would he do it?" Joscelin demanded, slightly wild-eyed. "Why now, after so long? Why take revenge on some one for the crimes of her mother? Even if it's true, if he's been attendant on Ysandre, he could have done it at any time! Why now?"
"I don't know." I made my voice gentle. "Melisande blackmailed Percy de Somerville; mayhap he did the same to de Rocaille, or she did. He hid his name a-purpose, to be sure; the timing suits her needs, and the diversion his; the other Cassilines on guard will be distracted. Mayhap he was waiting for the same thing as Prince Benedicte, a true- born D'Angeline heir—and one untainted by L'Envers blood—to inherit. Mayhap I'm wrong, after all. 'Tis only a guess."
"No," he said dully. "All the pieces are there. It makes too much sense, Phèdre. A riot for distraction, yes; but what assassin could be sure to break through the Queen's guard, Cassilines included? This way, it is certain. And Benedicte and Melisande and Marco ... as you said, all the world would see their hands were clean."
