“Vanessa!”
She blinked. “In't tha' wha' you want, Martin?”
Yvonnet sat down in his big chair. Had he been a physically smaller man, he would have been trembling. As it was, he felt weak, dizzy. “I was looking forward to . . . seeing you again, Martin.”
“No, that's not what I want!” Martin was close to tears with fear.
Vanessa was still nodding. “And you still dan know wha' you want, do you?”
She was not mad: that was the problem. Had she been mad, she might well have been the object of laughter and ridicule. But it was painfully apparent that she was lucid, cogent . . . and just as apparent that she saw more than any human being had a right to see.
Yvonnet looked up at the ceiling. “Merciful God,” he murmured. “How is it that something like that can be allowed to run about loose?”
“It's na my time yet, m'lord baron,” said Vanessa. “They'll cam for me when it's time, na before.”
Yvonnet was chilled. She could, he knew, have spoken as openly and as easily about what he wanted from Martin, about what he took from Lengram. “Dam you, woman, be quiet!”
Vanessa nodded knowingly, blinked.
“I . . .” Martin groped for words. “I bring greetings from Baron Paul delMari. He sends his best wishes . . . and hopes for your continued . . . health. . . .”
And Vanessa knew what Martin would do for Yvonnet's continued health. She knew everything. And Martin had brought her straight into the Château. And, at any moment . . .
Yvonnet lifted his head and glared at the assembly in the hall. They probably knew, too, but wealth and power had silenced them. Even the priests, even the bishops. He was baron of Hypprux and could silence them all. But this lovely demon in woman's form saw . . . and spoke. And, yes, she was probably right: as was the case with madmen and prophets and sibyls throughout the ages, if death lay ahead of her, it would, unfortunately, not come soon.
“Get out, all of you,” he shouted. “Get the hell out. You damned dandies and villeins! The sight of you makes me sick! Sergeant, take care of Martin's men. Margot, give this girl a room . . . by herself. Make sure she gets supper.”
Vanessa was staring at a corner of the room as though there were someone standing there. But the corner was empty.
“ Get out! ”
Martin mustered his courtesy. “Don't be afraid, Vanessa. You'll be safe.”
“Safe?” said the girl. “Nay, I'm na worried abo' being safe. The patterns say it's safe, and you can't change the patterns. No one can.” With obvious repugnance, Margot took the girl's arm, and Vanessa turned those huge brown eyes on her. She smiled with a smile that seemed to go back too far, and Margot all but screamed.
The courtiers were leaving, likewise the servants. Yvonnet grabbed Martin's hand. “You're coming with me, little girl. And you'll do what I want.”
Martin wilted, but Yvonnet could not help but wonder whether he wilted from apprehension or from knowledge: Vanessa might well have already told him everything that was going to happen in the baronial bed that afternoon. Margot was leading Vanessa out of the room.
Those eyes . . .
***
Christopher continued to grow stronger, and as May lengthened, he began weapons practice in the courtyard. He trained doggedly, swinging a sword against bales of hay and two-inch saplings until the muscles of his arms and shoulders burned, tilting at the quintain for hours in heavy armor augmented with lead weights, clashing with Ranulf until they were both dizzy.
It was something to do. Once he had realized that, because of his ignorance regarding even the most basic agricultural theory and practice, he was actually hindering his people more than he was helping them—and worrying them considerably: what kind of baron labored in the fields like a serf?—he had courteously withdrawn from direct participation in the tillage and husbandry. But without the distraction of physical labor, he had been left with free time,
She blinked. “In't tha' wha' you want, Martin?”
Yvonnet sat down in his big chair. Had he been a physically smaller man, he would have been trembling. As it was, he felt weak, dizzy. “I was looking forward to . . . seeing you again, Martin.”
“No, that's not what I want!” Martin was close to tears with fear.
Vanessa was still nodding. “And you still dan know wha' you want, do you?”
She was not mad: that was the problem. Had she been mad, she might well have been the object of laughter and ridicule. But it was painfully apparent that she was lucid, cogent . . . and just as apparent that she saw more than any human being had a right to see.
Yvonnet looked up at the ceiling. “Merciful God,” he murmured. “How is it that something like that can be allowed to run about loose?”
“It's na my time yet, m'lord baron,” said Vanessa. “They'll cam for me when it's time, na before.”
Yvonnet was chilled. She could, he knew, have spoken as openly and as easily about what he wanted from Martin, about what he took from Lengram. “Dam you, woman, be quiet!”
Vanessa nodded knowingly, blinked.
“I . . .” Martin groped for words. “I bring greetings from Baron Paul delMari. He sends his best wishes . . . and hopes for your continued . . . health. . . .”
And Vanessa knew what Martin would do for Yvonnet's continued health. She knew everything. And Martin had brought her straight into the Château. And, at any moment . . .
Yvonnet lifted his head and glared at the assembly in the hall. They probably knew, too, but wealth and power had silenced them. Even the priests, even the bishops. He was baron of Hypprux and could silence them all. But this lovely demon in woman's form saw . . . and spoke. And, yes, she was probably right: as was the case with madmen and prophets and sibyls throughout the ages, if death lay ahead of her, it would, unfortunately, not come soon.
“Get out, all of you,” he shouted. “Get the hell out. You damned dandies and villeins! The sight of you makes me sick! Sergeant, take care of Martin's men. Margot, give this girl a room . . . by herself. Make sure she gets supper.”
Vanessa was staring at a corner of the room as though there were someone standing there. But the corner was empty.
“ Get out! ”
Martin mustered his courtesy. “Don't be afraid, Vanessa. You'll be safe.”
“Safe?” said the girl. “Nay, I'm na worried abo' being safe. The patterns say it's safe, and you can't change the patterns. No one can.” With obvious repugnance, Margot took the girl's arm, and Vanessa turned those huge brown eyes on her. She smiled with a smile that seemed to go back too far, and Margot all but screamed.
The courtiers were leaving, likewise the servants. Yvonnet grabbed Martin's hand. “You're coming with me, little girl. And you'll do what I want.”
Martin wilted, but Yvonnet could not help but wonder whether he wilted from apprehension or from knowledge: Vanessa might well have already told him everything that was going to happen in the baronial bed that afternoon. Margot was leading Vanessa out of the room.
Those eyes . . .
***
Christopher continued to grow stronger, and as May lengthened, he began weapons practice in the courtyard. He trained doggedly, swinging a sword against bales of hay and two-inch saplings until the muscles of his arms and shoulders burned, tilting at the quintain for hours in heavy armor augmented with lead weights, clashing with Ranulf until they were both dizzy.
It was something to do. Once he had realized that, because of his ignorance regarding even the most basic agricultural theory and practice, he was actually hindering his people more than he was helping them—and worrying them considerably: what kind of baron labored in the fields like a serf?—he had courteously withdrawn from direct participation in the tillage and husbandry. But without the distraction of physical labor, he had been left with free time,
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