The Forgotten War (142 page)

At last things started to make sense. ‘That rumour about him wanting to marry me? Was that why you were sent here? To see how the locals would accept annulment of my marriage
here?’

‘Partly,’ said Henk. ‘As I said, though he has long mooted the idea, of late the advantages of a marriage to you have become more and more desirable.’

She narrowed her eyes a little; a most unpalatable thought was taking root inside her head. ‘So really, in a way, the death of my husband has worked out rather well for the Grand Duke. Now
he does not have to fight the church for an annulment, nor does he risk inflaming those northern barons still loyal to him by dissolving my marriage, a marriage that to him appeared more and more
to be both rash and a bad decision on his part.’

Henk nodded. ‘I personally would not imply that the Grand Duke makes either rash or bad decisions, but you are free to marry again and the Grand Duke would have your hand as expediently as
possible.’

‘Would he now!’ She met his even gaze with a similar one of her own.

‘Henk?’

‘Yes, my Lady.’

‘Did you kill my husband?’

Henk did not flinch. ‘Your husband is dead and that is a tragedy, but, as I said earlier, you need to move swiftly on. I have arranged for a fast caravel to take you directly home, back to
Tanaren City or even Edgecliff, where you can await the Grand Duke’s return from his campaign in the east. It will leave on the morning tide, so I will await you there.’

‘You are one of Leontius’s fixers, aren’t you? Father talked about such men once. His spies, his secret assassins and poisoners; those that do his nasty jobs, the ones he must
not soil his hands with, at least not in public.’

Henk’s jaw clenched a little. ‘My Lady, I ask you again to think what is about to happen to you. You are to marry the Grand Duke! It is the greatest honour for any woman in Tanaren.
I know of your love of the city and its finery. You can leave this backwater for ever and spend your days swathed in samite and silks, adorned in sapphires and pearls and fêted by every other
lady in society. The Grand Duke will adopt your child, for he or she will give him direct control over Osperitsan Island; he in effect will become the chief baron in the north, entitled to chair
their councils. As I said earlier, Baron Wulfthram’s death was a terrible thing, but inadvertently there are many benefits to it, for all of us.’

‘For all of us,’ she said absently.

‘Indeed, my Lady. For all of us.’ He stood. ‘I will take my leave now but, remember – the dawn tide; the ship’s name is the
Arrow of Hytha
; I will be
waiting. See you there, my Lady.’ He bowed low and left the hall and the manor house, closing the door behind him.

Ceriana picked up the goblet of ale he had been drinking. He had left half of it, obviously too busy talking to notice, she supposed. It was a good ale, too; in the north it was disrespectful
not to drain a host’s drink. Had he known this? She had little doubt that he did. She ran her finger around its rim, pressing harder and harder, as she felt a seething anger well up in her.
If Wulfthram had not been forced to marry her in the first place, he would still be alive.

Abruptly, her restraint dissolved. She hurled the goblet at the door Henk had exited, where it impacted loudly before crashing to the floor spilling its contents over the straw covered
stone.

‘Fucking snake!’ she shrieked at the top of her lungs before storming out of the room, fighting back the tears that, at long last, had started to come.

The manor house’s chapel was tiny, with barely room for two pews. The priest was not in attendance, for he was in the harbour blessing the fleet. The smell of stale incense hung heavily in
the air and dust clung to the room’s neglected corners, most of which were clothed in the late-afternoon shadow caused by the fitful sunlight that filtered through the tiny leaded windows. On
a low table in front of the lead pew were placed icons of Artorus, Camille and Elissa, all three of whom gazed solemnly over their tiny domain with eyes of inlaid lapis lazuli.

Ceriana sat in here all alone, chin on hands, eyes shut, praying silently, asking the Gods for their forgiveness. Her mind, though, kept wandering. All the time she was fighting off her own
self-recriminations. Wulfthram was dead because of her. Her father was dead because of her. If she had never been born, then they would both still be alive. The chain of events set in motion that
day long ago when she waited at Edgecliff Castle for her father’s return had played out to their tragic conclusions all because of her. Everything was her fault.

She heard the door open behind her and the sound of soft footsteps coming along the aisle. ‘Hello, Ebba,’ she said softly. ‘Do you wish to sit with me?’

‘If you do not mind, my Lady.’

‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘This place is yours as much as it is mine.’

Ebba sat beside her, but made no attempt to start praying.

‘They have abandoned me, Ebba. I do not know why. I am racking my brains for the reason, but they have abandoned me. Of that I am certain.’

Ebba turned to her. ‘Why do you say such things, my Lady? The Gods’ favour or disfavour is not for us to know.’

Ceriana gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Sometimes it is possible to work things out for oneself. The two men I have loved for what they are, are dead. Dead because of me. I might as well have
pushed the knife in myself.’

‘That is not true, my Lady.’ Ebba sounded shocked. ‘They are dead because of the actions of evil men. not because of a gentle-hearted creature such as yourself. To entertain
such a notion is madness. Perhaps, my Lady, you have a brain fever. Rest, a tonic and a lavender bath might be just what you need at the moment.’

‘A lavender bath might be nice,’ Ceriana said ruefully, ‘but it will not bring the Gods back.’

‘I will arrange your bath, my Lady, but it is on the proviso that you forget this notion of yours that you have been abandoned. You have many friends, and the Gods never leave anyone.
Their motives are obscure to us; none can fathom them clearly and to think that you can is, if you don’t mind me saying so, presumptuous.’

‘Presumption is part of what I am, and, as for friends, I should distance myself from them, for none that gets close to me seem to survive for long. And there is another thing, I am
surprised you have not mentioned it.’

‘Mentioned what, my Lady?’

‘The Gods have abandoned me.’ Ceriana stuck her chin out as if to emphasise the point. ‘All of them. Including Elissa. You see what that means?’ She put her hand to her
stomach. ‘Those deserted by Elissa can never carry a child for the full term and, if they do, then either the child dies, or the mother, or both. Death stalks me like a shadow and it will
claim both of us in all probability. Xhenafa is the only God who never leaves us.’

Ebba threw her hands up into the air. ‘My Lady, you are talking such nonsense; I wish you could listen to yourself, I really do.’

‘Death in childbirth happens in my family. I have seen it for myself.’

‘As I have seen it in mine! No family remains untouched by it. We all have friends or relatives cursed by such tragedy. It is not that Elissa abandons us at such times. The Gods have their
reasons and, with all the respect in the world, neither you nor I have any grasp of their intent. I am sorry if I exceed my station in saying so, but you are possessed by something; a malaise, I
know not, but you need to get a grip on it for I do not like where your thoughts are taking you!’

Ebba’s noisy outburst seemed to have some sort of an effect on Ceriana. She seemed to shrink in her chair, a defeated woman. She shut her eyes and sighed.

‘I am so sorry, Ebba. You have been a friend and I should not be upsetting you so. A lavender bath sounds lovely; could you arrange one for me? I have some letters to write.’

‘Of course, my Lady. You will feel better for it, I promise you.’

She did feel better for it. She lay back and relaxed in it, inhaling the soothing vapours. Once she had dried herself, she dressed and retired to her room.

On her desk were the five letters she had written earlier. None of them was long – time had put that constraint on her – but each said everything that she needed to say. One was to
Jon Skellar, one to her brother with a request that he forward her best wishes to her sisters, and the other three were to Doren, Ebba and Alys. From a jewellery box next to them she pulled various
expensive items, examined them, before carefully replacing them. She looked out of her window – the harbour was still full of activity but, with the sun beginning to sink in the sky, she
guessed that most of the preparation had been done and things were winding down. Until the dawn tide. She wondered which of the ships was Henk’s caravel. ‘Bastard!’ she whispered
softly to herself.

There was a knock at her door. She did not answer, so it opened softly and Baron Skellar stepped inside. ‘How are things?’ he enquired cautiously.

‘What? You wish to know what that man wanted with me?’

‘I am sorry; I did not mean to intrude.’

‘He killed my husband!’ she said flatly. ‘He was ordered to free the way so that I can marry the Grand Duke. There is a ship waiting to carry me away in the harbour.’

‘Artorus’s teeth,’ the Baron hissed softly. ‘What do you want to do? I promise I will do whatever I can to help you.’

‘That is very sweet of you,’ she replied. ‘I honestly do not know what I have done to inspire such loyalty.’

‘You are just you. That is enough. Now, what do you wish of me? Do you want this man killed? It is not something I have much experience of, but this is my island; I should be able to
arrange something.’

She gave a gentle laugh. ‘You are a hopeless baron, aren’t you? Everyone here seems to carry a dagger to plunge into their friend’s back when it is turned, but not you. Perhaps
that is why I trust you more than anyone else here. Leave the man be. I feel killing him is beneath you. When his ship returns without me, he can explain that to the Grand Duke – that should
be punishment itself.’

Baron Skellar’s eyes widened. ‘You are not going with him?’

‘I have unfinished business here. Now, Jon, can I entrust you with another duty, one far more important than killing that red-haired nonentity.’

He gave a small bow. ‘Whatever you wish.’

‘These letters – one is for you, but can you get the others delivered for me? With these three’ – she held up the letters for Alys, Doren and Ebba – ‘there is
an accompanying piece of jewellery to go with them, so only send those that you trust to deliver them.’

‘You are giving away your jewellery?’

‘It will be better served with those that receive it. Two of them can use it to get married; the other can use it to help her through her dotage, though hopefully that is still far away.
The letter for you I ask not to open until the day after tomorrow. I will be going for a ride in the morning, you see, and if I do not return by the evening then I will not be returning at
all.’

Skellar looked appalled. ‘You sound like you are going to die!’

‘We are all dying, Jon; all of us, loved or forsaken; we are all dying!’

‘But...’

‘Can I trust you to do these things for me, and to ask no further questions?’

He took a step backwards. ‘As you wish, but I deeply regret what I said earlier, for I do not like the sound of any of this.’

‘You do not have to, Jon. If I am being truthful neither do I. I just require your loyalty.’

‘Then you have it.’

‘Thank you, Jon. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. There is but one more thing and I will stop chewing your ear off.’

‘Name it.’

‘Spend the night with me. Not to do anything. I am probably too fat for you now anyway, but I need warmth and comfort tonight for I do not know when I will get it again; if, indeed, I ever
will.’

Skellar gave a short, bewildered interjection. ‘Ha, last time I was here I would have given my baronetcy to hear you ask me to spend the night with you. I wanted nothing more. Now, though,
I am so concerned for you the last thing I want is sex. And it has nothing to do with your child, for you are even more beautiful than I last remember.’

‘I am not beautiful.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

He came up to her and put his arms around her in a warm, soothing hug. It felt good, and reassuring, and briefly her fears abated in his warmth. For in truth she was afraid. What she was going
to do terrified her more than anything she had experienced in her life before. But her terror was not important, for she was a Hartfield and, for one such as she, duty was the most important thing
of all.

‘Right, all we need to do is tie this up and we are done.’ Cygan stood back to admire his newly rebuilt home.

Whitey was on his knees holding his umpteenth length of rope. His breeches were damp with the wet grass and his back was aching. He did not know why he had been accosted to help but, as it meant
being away from the stern eyes of his captain, he had not raised an objection. The house itself was beginning to look quite cosy. Vaneshanda, the Marsh Man’s wife, was busying herself putting
all the scant furnishings, hammocks, blankets and the like back in their original places. For the first time in a while Cygan and his family would be spending the night all together under a roof
with a fire going. Whitey guessed from Cygan’s demeanour that he was looking forward to it. He could even be called cheery, though maybe that would be stretching it a little.

One thing was irritating him a little, though. Throughout the day, while he had been sweating and grafting away, a succession of young Marsh girls would row over to the island, moor up and come
over to watch them. They would giggle and babble away in their unintelligible language and point at Whitey from time to time, before talking to Cygan who seemed happy to spar with them in a jocular
manner.

At last, he could take it no longer. There were three of them there now – small dark-haired girls whispering to each other and laughing quietly at some private joke. He knew his appearance
was odd, especially here, but his patience had worn away to nothing by this time.