Читать книгу The Complete Farseer Trilogy - Робин Хобб - Страница 29

‘– and so let them come, the people of who I am, and when they reach the city, let them always be able to say, “this is our city and our home, for however long we wish to stay”—Let there always be spaces left, let – (words obscured) – of the herds and flocks. Then there will be no strangers in Jhaampe, but only neighbours and friends, coming and going as they will.’ And the will of the Sacrifice was observed in this, as in all things.

So I read years later, in a fragment from a Chyurda holy tablet, and so finally came to understand Jhaampe. But that first time, as we rode up the hills toward Jhaampe, I was both disappointed and awed at what I saw.

The temples, palaces, and public buildings reminded me of the immense closed blossoms of tulips, both in colour and shape. The shape they owe to the once traditional stretched-hide shelters of the nomads who founded the city; the colour purely to the mountain folk’s love of colour in everything. Every building had been recently restained in preparation for our coming and the Princess’s nuptials, and thus they were almost garishly bright. Shades of purple seemed to dominate, set off by yellows, but every colour was represented. It is best compared, perhaps, to chancing upon a patch of crocus, pushing up through snow and black earth, for the bare, black rocks of the mountains and the dark evergreens made the brightness of the buildings even more impressive. Additionally, the city itself is built on an area fully as steep as Buckkeep Town, so that when one beholds it from below, the colour and lines of it are presented in layers, like an artful arrangement of flowers in a basket.

But as we drew closer, we were able to see that between and among the great buildings were tents and temporary huts and tiny shelters of every kind. For at Jhaampe, only the public buildings and the royal houses are permanent. All else is the ebb and flow of folk coming to visit their capital city, to ask judgement of the Sacrifice, as they call the king or queen who rules there, or to visit the repositories of their treasures and knowledge, or simply to trade with and visit other nomads. Tribes come and go, tents are pitched and inhabited for a month or two, and then one morning, all is bare, swept earth where they were, until another group moves in to claim the spot. Yet it is not a disorderly place, for the streets are well-defined, with stone stairs set into the steeper places. Wells and bath-houses and streams are located at intervals throughout the city, and the strictest rules are observed about rubbish and offal. It is also a green city, for the outskirts of it are pastures for those who bring their herds and horses with them, with tenting areas defined by the shade trees and wells there. Within the city are stretches of garden, flowers and sculpted trees, more artfully tended than anything I had ever seen in Buckkeep. The visiting folk leave their creations among these gardens, and they may take the form of stone sculptures or carvings of wood, or brightly-painted pottery creatures. In a way, it put me in mind of the Fool’s room, for in both places were colour and shape set out simply for the pleasure of the eye.

Our guides halted us at a pasture outside the city, and indicated that it had been set aside for us. After a while it became obvious that they expected we would leave our horses and mules here, and proceed on foot. August, who was the nominal head of our caravan, did not handle this very diplomatically. I winced as he angrily explained that we had brought with us much more than we could be expected to carry into the city, and that many there were too weary from travelling to relish the idea of the uphill walk. I bit my lip and forced myself to stand quietly, to witness the polite confusion of our hosts. Surely Regal had known of these customs; why had he not warned us of them, so we would not begin our visit by appearing boorish and unaccommodating?

But the hospitable folk tending to us swiftly adapted to our strange ways. They bade us rest, and begged us to be patient with them. For a time we all stood about, vainly trying to appear comfortable. Rowd and Sevrens joined Hands and me. Hands had a slosh or two of wine left in a skin, and this he shared, while Rowd grudgingly reciprocated with some smoked meat in strips. We talked, but I confess I paid little attention. I wished I had the courage to go to August, and entreat him to be more adaptable to the ways of this people. We were their guests, and it was already bad enough that the groom had not come in person to carry off his bride. I watched from a distance as August consulted with several elder lords who had come with us, but from the motions of their hands and heads I deduced that they were only agreeing with him.

Moments later, a stream of sturdy Chyurda youths and maidens appeared on the road above us. Bearers had been summoned to help carry our goods into the city, and from somewhere bright tents were conjured for those servants who would stay here to tend the horses and mules. I much regretted to find that Hands would be one of those left behind. I entrusted Sooty to him. Then I shouldered the cedar herb-chest and slung my personal bag from my other shoulder. As I joined the procession of those walking into the city, I smelled meats sizzling and tubers cooking, and saw our hosts setting up an open-sided pavilion, and assembling tables within it. Hands, I decided, would not fare poorly, and almost I wished I had nothing more to do than tend the animals and explore this bright city.

We had not gone far up the winding street ascending into the city before we were met by a flock of litters carried by tall Chyurda women. We were earnestly invited to mount into these litters and be carried into the city, and many apologies were made that we had been wearied by our trip. August, Sevrens, the older lords and most of the ladies of our party seemed only too happy to take advantage of this offer, but for me, it seemed a humiliation to be carried into the city. However, it would have been even ruder to turn down their polite insistence, and so I surrendered my chest to a boy obviously younger than myself, and mounted into a litter borne by women old enough to be my grandmother. I blushed to see how curiously the folk on the streets regarded us, and how they stooped to talk quickly together as we passed. I saw few other litters, and they were inhabited by those obviously old and infirm. I set my teeth and tried not to think what Verity would have felt about this display of ignorance. I tried to look out pleasantly on those we passed, and to let my delight in their gardens and graceful buildings show on my face.

I must have succeeded in this, for presently my litter began to move more slowly, to allow me more time to see things, and the women to point to anything they thought I might have missed noticing. They spoke to me in Chyurda, and were delighted to find I had a crude understanding of their language. Chade had taught me the little he knew, but he had not prepared me for how musical the language was, and it soon became apparent to me that the note of word was as important as the pronunciation. Fortunately, I had a quick ear for languages, so I blundered manfully into conversation with my bearers, resolved that by the time I spoke to my betters in the palace, I would no longer sound quite so much an outland fool. One woman undertook to give me a commentary on all we passed. Jonqui, her name was, and when I told her mine was FitzChivalry, she muttered it to herself several times as if to fix it in her mind.

With great difficulty, I persuaded my bearers to pause once and let me alight to examine a particular garden. It was not the bright flowers that attracted me, but what appeared to be a sort of willow that was growing in spirals and curls rather than the straight willow I was accustomed to. I ran my fingers along the supple bark of one limb and felt sure I could persuade a cutting to sprout, but dared not take a piece of it, lest it be construed as rude. One old woman stooped down beside me, grinned, and then ran her hand across the tops of a low-growing, tiny-leaved bed of herbs. The fragrance that arose from the stirred leaves was astounding, and she laughed aloud at the delight on my face. I would have liked to linger longer, but my bearers emphatically insisted that we must hurry to catch up with the others before they reached the palace. I gathered there was to be an official welcoming, one I must not miss.

Our procession wound up a terraced street, ever higher, until our litters were set down outside a palace that was a cluster of the bright, bud-like structures. The main buildings were purple tipped with white, putting me in mind of the roadside lupin and beach-pea flowers of Buck. I stood beside my litter, staring up at the palace, but when I turned to my bearers to indicate my pleasure in it, they were gone. They reappeared moments later, robed in saffron and azure, peach and rose, as did the other bearers, and walked among us, offering us basins of scented water and soft cloths to wash the dust and weariness from our faces and necks. Boys and young men in belted blue tunics brought a berry wine and tiny honey cakes. When every guest was washed and greeted with wine and honey, we then were bade to follow them into the palace.

The interior of the palace was as foreign to me as the rest of Jhaampe. A great central pillar supported the main structure, and closer examination showed it to be the immense trunk of a tree, with the swells of its roots still obvious beneath the paving stones around its base. The supports of the gracefully curving walls were likewise trees, and days later I was to find that the ‘growing’ of the palace had taken almost one hundred years. A central tree had been selected, the area cleared, and then the circle of supporting trees planted and tended, and shaped during their growing by ropes and pruning, so that they all bowed toward the centre tree. At some point all other branches had been lopped away and the treetops interwoven to form a crown. Then the walls had been created, first with a layer of finely-woven fabric, that was then varnished to hardness, and then overlaid with lapping after lapping of sturdy cloth made from bark. The bark-cloth was daubed over with a peculiar local clay, and then coated with a bright layer of resinous paint. I never did discover if every building in the city had been created in this laborious fashion, but the ‘growing’ of the palace had enabled its creators to give it a living grace that stone could never mimic.

The immense interior was open, not unlike the great hall at Buckkeep, with a similar number of hearths. There were tables set out, and areas obviously for cooking and weaving and spinning and preserving, and all the other necessities of a great household. The private chambers seemed to be no more than curtained alcoves, or rooms like small tents set against the exterior wall. There were also some elevated chambers, reached by a network of open wooden stairs, reminding me of tents pitched on stilt platforms. The supporting legs of these chambers were natural tree-trunks. My heart sank as I realized how little privacy there would be for any ‘quiet’ work I needed to do.

I was shown quickly to a tent chamber. Inside I found my cedar chest and clothing bag awaiting me, as well as more warm and scented wash-water and a dish of fruit. I changed quickly from my dusty travelling clothes into an embroidered robe with slit sleeves and matching green leggings that Mistress Hasty had decreed as appropriate. I wondered once more at the threatening buck embroidered on it, then set it out of my mind. Perhaps Verity had thought this changed crest less humiliating than the one that so clearly proclaimed my illegitimacy. In any case, it would serve. I heard chimes and small drums from the great central room, and left my chamber hurriedly to find out what was afoot.

On a dais set before the great trunk and decorated with flowers and evergreen swags, August and Regal stood before an old man flanked by two servants in plain white robes. A crowd had gathered in a great circle around the dais, and I quickly joined them. One of my litter-bearers, now robed in rose drapings and crowned with a twining of ivy, soon appeared at my side. She smiled down at me.

‘What is happening?’ I made bold to ask.

‘Our Sacrifice, er, ah, you say, King Eyod will welcome you. And he will show to you all his daughter, to be your Sacrifice, hem, ah, queen. And his son, who will rule for her here.’ She stumbled through this explanation, with many a pause, and many encouraging nods from me.

With mutual difficulty, she explained that the woman standing beside King Eyod was her niece and I awkwardly managed a compliment to the effect that she looked both healthy and strong. At the moment it seemed the kindest thing I could find to say of the impressive woman standing so protectively by her king. She had an immense mass of the yellow hair that I was becoming accustomed to in Jhaampe, with some of it braided up and coiled about her head, and some flowing loose down her back. Her face was grave, her bare arms muscular. The man on the other side of King Eyod was older, but still as like to her as a twin, save that his hair was cut severely short at his collar. He had the same jade eyes, straight nose and solemn mouth. When I managed to ask the old woman if he, too, were a relative, she smiled as if I must be a bit dim, and replied that, of course, he was her nephew. She shushed me then, as if I were but a child, for King Eyod was speaking.

He spoke slowly and carefully, but even so, I was glad of my conversations with my litter-bearers, for I was able to make out most of his speech. He greeted us all formally, including Regal, for he said that previously he had greeted him only as the emissary of King Shrewd and now he greeted him as Prince Verity’s symbol of his presence. August was included in this greeting, and both were presented with several gifts, jewelled daggers, a precious fragrant oil, and rich fur stoles. When the stoles were placed about their shoulders, I thought with chagrin that both now looked more like decorations than princes, for in contrast to the simple garb of King Eyod and his attendants, Regal and August were decked in circlets and rings, and their garments were of opulently rich fabrics and cut with no regard for either thrift or service. To me, they both appeared foppish and vain, but I hoped that our hosts would merely think their outlandish appearance was part of our foreign customs.

And then, to my personal chagrin, the King summoned forward his male attendant, and introduced him to our assemblage as Prince Rurisk. The woman beside him was, of course, Princess Kettricken, and Verity’s betrothed.

And finally, I realized that those who had been our litter-bearers and greeted us with cakes and wine were not the servants, but the women of the royal household, the grand-mothers, aunts and cousins of Verity’s betrothed, all following the Jhaampe tradition of serving their people. I quailed to think I had spoken to them so familiarly and casually, and again mentally cursed Regal that he had not foreseen to send us more word of their customs rather than the long list of clothing and jewellery he wished brought for himself. The elderly woman beside me, then, was the King’s own sister. I think she must have sensed my confusion, for she patted my shoulder benignly and smiled at my blushes as I attempted to stutter an apology.

‘For, you have done nothing to shame yourself,’ she informed me, and then bade me call her not, ‘My lady’, but Jonqui.

I watched as August presented to the Princess the jewellery Verity had selected to send her. There was a net of finely-woven silver chain set with red gems to drape her hair, and a silver collar set with larger red stones. There was a silver hoop, wrought like a vine, full of jingling keys, that August explained were her household keys for when she joined her husband at Buckkeep, and eight plain silver rings for her hands. She stood still as Regal himself decked her. I thought to myself the silver with red stones would have looked better on a darker woman, but Kettricken’s girlish delight was dazzlingly obvious in her smile, and around me people turned and murmured approvingly to one another to see their princess so adorned. Perhaps, I thought, she might enjoy our outlandish colours and accoutrements.

I was grateful for the briefness of King Eyod’s speech that followed, for all he added was that he bade us welcome, and invited us to rest, relax and enjoy the city. If we had any needs, we had but to ask of anyone we encountered, and they would attempt to meet them. Tomorrow at noon would begin the three-day ceremony of the Joining, and he desired that we all be well-rested to enjoy it. Then he and his offspring descended, to mingle as freely with one and all as if we were all soldiers on the same watch.

Jonqui had obviously attached herself to me, and there was no gracious way to escape her company, so I resolved to learn as much as I could as quickly as I could about their customs. But one of her first acts was to present me to the Prince and Princess. They were standing with August, who appeared to be explaining how, through him, Verity would witness his ceremony. He was speaking loudly, as if this would somehow make it easier for them to understand. Jonqui listened for a moment, then apparently decided that August had finished speaking. She spoke as if we were all children brought together for sweetcakes while our parents conversed. ‘Rurisk, Kettricken, this young man is most interested in our gardens. Perhaps later we can arrange that he speak with those who tend them.’ She seemed to speak especially to Kettricken as she added, ‘His name is Fitz-Chivalry.’

August frowned suddenly and amended her introduction. ‘Fitz. The bastard.’

Kettricken looked shocked at this soubriquet, but Rurisk’s fair face darkened somewhat. Ever so slightly, he turned toward me, putting his shoulder to August. Even so, it was a gesture that needed no explaining in any language. ‘Yes,’ he said, switching to Chyurda and looking me full in the eye. ‘Your father spoke of you to me, the last time I saw him. I was grieved to hear of his death. He did much to prepare the way for the forging of this bond between our folk.’

‘You knew my father?’ I asked stupidly.

He smiled down at me. ‘Of course. He and I were treating together, regarding the use of Bluerock Pass, at Moonseye, north-east of here, when he first learned of you. When our time of talking of passes and trade as envoys were done, we sat down to meat together, and spoke, as men, of what he must next do. I confess, I still do not understand why he felt he must not rule as king. The customs of one folk are not those of another. Still, with this wedding, we shall be closer to making one folk of our peoples. Do you think that would please him?’

Rurisk was giving me his sole attention, and his use of Chyurda effectively excluded August from the conversation. Kettricken appeared fascinated. August’s face past Rurisk’s shoulder grew very still. Then, with a grim smile of purest hatred for me, he turned aside and rejoined the group around Regal, who was speaking with King Eyod. For whatever reason, I had the complete attention of Rurisk and Kettricken.

‘I did not know my father well, but I think he would be pleased to see …’ I began, but at that moment, Princess Kettricken smiled brilliantly at me.

‘Of course, how could I have been so stupid? You are the one they call Fitz. Do not you usually travel with Lady Thyme, King Shrewd’s poisoner? And are you not training as her apprentice? Regal has spoken of you.’

‘How kind of him,’ I said inanely, and I have no idea what next was said to me, nor what I replied. I could only be thankful I did not reel where I stood. And inside me, for the first time, I acknowledged that what I felt for Regal went beyond distaste. Rurisk frowned a brother’s rebuke at Kettricken, and then turned to deal with a servant urgently asking his instructions about something. Around me people conversed genially amid summer colours and scents, but I felt as if my guts had turned to ice.

I came back to myself when Kettricken plucked at my sleeve. ‘They are this way,’ she informed me. ‘Or are you too weary to enjoy them now? If you wish to retire, it will offend no one. I understand that many of you were too weary even to walk into the city.’

‘But many of us were not, and would truly have enjoyed the chance to walk leisurely through Jhaampe. I have been told of the Blue Fountains, and look forward to seeing them.’ I only faltered slightly as I said this, and hoped it had some bearing on what she had been saying to me. At least it had nothing to do with poison.

‘I will be sure you are guided to them, perhaps this evening. But for now, come this way.’ And with no more ado or formality than that, she led me away from the gathering. August watched after us as we walked away, and I saw Regal turn and say something in an aside to Rowd. King Eyod had withdrawn from the crowd, and was looking benignly down on all from an elevated platform. I wondered why Rowd had not remained with the horses and other servants, but then Kettricken was drawing a painted screen aside from a door-opening and we were leaving the main room of the palace.

We were outside, in fact, walking on a stone pathway under an archway of trees. They were willows, and their living branches had been interlaced and woven overhead to form a green screen from the noon sun. ‘And they shed rain from the path, too. At least, most of it,’ Kettricken added as she noted my interest. ‘This path leads to the shade gardens. They are my favourites. But perhaps you would wish to see the herbery first?’

‘I shall enjoy seeing any and all of the gardens, my lady,’ I replied, and this at least was true. Out here, away from the crowd, I would have more chance to sort my thoughts and ponder what to do from my untenable position. It was occurring to me, belatedly, that Prince Rurisk had shown none of the signs of injury or illness that Regal had reported. I needed to withdraw from the situation and re-evaluate it. There was more, much more, going on than I had been prepared for.

But with an effort I pulled my thoughts away from my own dilemma and focused on what the Princess was telling me. She spoke her words clearly, and I found her conversation much easier to follow away from the background chatter of the great hall. She seemed to know much about the gardens, and gave me to understand that it was not a hobby but knowledge that was expected of her as a princess.

As we walked and talked, I constantly had to remind myself that she was a princess, and betrothed to Verity. I had never encountered a woman like her before. She wore a quiet dignity, quite unlike the awareness of station that I usually encountered in those better born than I. But she did not hesitate to smile, or become enthused, or stoop to dig in the soil around a plant to show me a particular type of root she was describing. She rubbed the root free of dirt, then sliced a bit with her belt knife from the heart of the tuber, to allow me to taste its tang. She showed me certain pungent herbs for seasoning meat, and insisted I taste a leaf of each of three varieties, for though the plants were very similar, the flavours were very different. In a way, she was like Patience, without her eccentricity. In another way, she was like Molly, but without the callousness that Molly had been forced to develop to survive. Like Molly, she spoke directly and frankly to me, as if we were equals. I found myself thinking that Verity might find this woman more to his liking than he expected.

And yet, another part of me worried what Verity would think of his bride. He was not a womanizer, but his taste in women was obvious to anyone who had been much around him. And those whom he smiled upon were usually small and round and dark, often with curly hair and girlish laughter and tiny soft hands. What would he think of this tall, pale woman, who dressed as simply as a servant and declared she took much pleasure in tending her own gardens? As our talk turned, I found she could speak as familiarly about falconry and horse-breeding as any stableman. And when I asked her what she did for pleasure, she told me of her small forge and tools for working metal, and lifted her hair to show me the earrings she had made for herself. The finely-hammered silver petals of a flower clasped a tiny gem like a drop of dew. I had once told Molly that Verity deserved a competent and active wife, but now I wondered if she would much beguile him. He would respect her, I knew. But was respect enough between a king and his queen?

I resolved not to borrow trouble, but to keep my word to Verity instead. I asked her if Regal had told her much of her husband, and she became suddenly quiet. I sensed her drawing on her strength as she replied that she knew he was a King-in-Waiting with many problems facing his realm. Regal had warned her that Verity was much older than she was, a plain and simple man, who might not take much interest in her. Regal had promised to be ever by her, helping her to adapt, and doing his best to see that the court was not a lonely place for her. So she was prepared …

‘How old are you?’ I asked impulsively.

‘Eighteen,’ she replied, and then smiled to see the surprise on my face. ‘Because I am tall, your people seem to think I am much older than that,’ she confided to me.

‘Well, you are younger than Verity, then. But not so much more than between many wives and husbands. He will be thirty-three this spring.’

‘I had thought him much older than that,’ she said wonderingly. ‘Regal explained they share but a father.’

‘It is true that Chivalry and Verity were both sons of King Shrewd’s first queen, but there is not that great a span between them. And Verity, when he is not burdened with the problems of state, is not so dour and severe as you might imagine him. He is a man who knows how to laugh.’

She cast me a sideways glance, as if to see if I were trying to put a better face on Verity than he deserved.

‘It is true, princess. I have seen him laugh like a child at the puppet shows at Springfest. And when all join in for luck at the fruitpress to make autumn wine, he does not hold back. But his greatest pleasure has always been the hunt. He has a wolfhound, Leon, which he holds dearer than some men hold their sons.’

‘But,’ Kettricken ventured to interrupt. ‘Surely this is as he was, once. For Regal speaks of him as a man older than his years, bent down by the cares of his people.’

‘Bent down as a tree burdened by snow, that springs erect again with the coming of spring. His last words to me before I left, princess, were to desire me to speak well of him to you.’

She cast her eyes down quickly, as if to hide from me the sudden lift of her heart. ‘I see a different man, when you speak of him.’ She paused, and then closed her mouth firmly, forbidding herself the request I heard anyway.

‘I have always seen him as a kind man. As kind as one lifted to such a responsibility can be. He takes his duties very seriously, and will not spare himself from what his folk need of him. This it is that has made him unable to come here, to you. He engages in a battle with the Red Ship Raiders, one he couldn’t fight from here. He gives up the interests of a man to fulfil his duty as a prince. Not through a coldness of spirit, or a lack of life in himself.’

She gave me a sideways glance, fighting the smile from her face as if what I told her were sweetest flattery such as a princess must not believe.

‘He is taller than I am, but only by a bit. His hair is very dark, as is his beard, when he lets it grow. His eyes are blacker still, yet when he is enthused, they shine. It is true there is a scattering of grey in his hair now that you would not have found a year ago. True, also, that his work has kept him from the sun and the wind, so his shoulders no longer tear the seams of his shirts. But my uncle is still very much a man, and I believe that when the danger of the Red Ships has been driven from our shores, he will ride and shout and hunt with his hound once more.’

‘You give me heart,’ she muttered, and then straightened herself as if she had admitted some weakness. Looking at me gravely, she asked, ‘Why does Regal not speak of his brother so? I thought I went to an old man, shaking of hand, too burdened by his duties to see a wife as anything other than another duty.’

‘Perhaps he …’ I began, and could think of no courtier’s way to say that Regal was frequently deceptive if it gained him his goal. For the life of me, I had no idea what goal might be served by making Kettricken so dread Verity.

‘Perhaps he has … been … unflattering about other things as well,’ Kettricken suddenly supposed aloud. Something seemed to alarm her. She took a breath, and became suddenly franker. ‘There was an evening, in my chamber, when we had dined, and Regal had, perhaps, drunk a bit too well. He told tales of you then, saying you had once been a sullen, spoiled child, too ambitious for your birth, but that since the King had made you his poisoner, you seemed content with your lot. He said it seemed to suit you, for even as a boy, you had enjoyed eavesdropping and skulking about and other secretive pursuits. Now, I do not tell you this to make a mischief, but only to let you know what I first believed of you. The next day Regal begged me to believe it had been the fancies of the wine rather than the facts he had shared with me. But one thing he had said that night was too icy a fear for me entirely to lay aside. He said that if the King did send you or Lady Thyme, it would be to poison my brother, so that I might be the sole heir to the Mountain Kingdom.’

‘You are speaking too quickly,’ I chided her gently, and hoped my smile did not look as dizzy and sickly as I suddenly felt. ‘I did not understand all you said.’ Desperately I strove to think of what to say. Even as accomplished a liar as I found such a direct confrontation uncomfortable.

‘I am sorry. But you speak our language so well, almost like a native. Almost as if you were recalling it, rather than learning it new. I will go more slowly. Some weeks, no, it was over a month ago, Regal came to my chambers. He had asked if he might dine alone with me, that we might get to know one another better, and …’

‘Kettricken!’ It was Rurisk, calling down the path as he came seeking us. ‘Regal is asking that you would come and meet the lords and ladies who have come so far to see your marriage.’

Jonqui was at his shoulder, hurrying after him, and as the second and unmistakable wave of dizziness hit me, I thought she looked too knowing. And, I asked myself, what step would Chade have taken if someone had sent a poisoner to Shrewd’s court, to eliminate Verity? All too obvious.

‘Perhaps,’ Jonqui suddenly suggested, ‘FitzChivalry would like to be shown the Blue Fountains now. Litress has said she would gladly take him.’

‘Maybe later this afternoon,’ I managed to say. ‘I find myself suddenly wearied. I think I shall seek my chamber.’

None of them looked surprised. ‘Shall I have some wine sent to you?’ Jonqui asked graciously. ‘Or perhaps some soup? The others will be summoned to a meal soon. But, if you are tired, it is no trouble to bring food to you.’

Years of training came to the fore. I kept my posture straight, despite the sudden fire in my belly. ‘That would be most kind of you,’ I managed to say. The brief bow I forced myself to make was sophisticated torture. ‘I am sure I will rejoin you soon.’

And I excused myself, and I did not run, nor curl in a ball and whimper as I wished to. I walked, with obvious enjoyment of the plantings, back through the garden to the door of the great hall. And the three of them watched me go, and spoke softly together of what we all knew.

I had but one trick left to me, and small hope it would be effective. Back in my room, I dug out the seapurge the Fool had given me. How long, I wondered, had it been since I had eaten the honey cakes? For that was the venue I would have chosen. Fatalistically, I decided I would trust the ewer of water in my room. A tiny part of me said that was foolish, but as wave after wave of giddiness washed over me, I felt incapable of any further thought. With shaking hands I crumbled the seapurge into water. The dried herb absorbed the water and became a green sticky wad, which I managed to choke down. I knew it would empty my stomach and bowels. The only question was, would it be swift enough, or was the Chyurda poison too widespread in me?

I spent a miserable evening that I will not dwell on. No one came to my room with soup or wine. In my moments of lucidity, I decided they would not come until they were sure their poison had had its effect. Morning, I decided. They would send a servant to waken me, and he would discover my death. I had until morning.

It was past midnight when I was able to stand. I left my room as silently as my shaking legs would carry me and went out into the garden. I found a cistern of water there, and drank until I thought I would burst. I ventured further into the garden, walking slowly and carefully, for I ached as if I had been beaten and my head pounded painfully with each step I took. But eventually I stumbled into an area of fruit trees gracefully trained along a wall, and as I had hoped, they were heavy with the harvest. I helped myself, filling my jerkin with a supply. These I would conceal in my room, to give me food I could safely consume. Sometime tomorrow, I would make an excuse to go down and check on Sooty. My saddlebags still held some dried meat and hard bread. I hoped it would be enough to get me through this visit.

And as I made my way back to my room, I wondered what else they would try when they found the poison hadn’t worked.