The slaves are a second mystery. I don't mean, of course, that I am mystified by such things as would astonish a Koretian who had just arrived in this land. I have grown used, through my visits to the city, to the sight of slaves walking about naked-faced, talking as boldly as any free-man. Yet Verne seems to treat his slaves with greater generosity than the average Emorian. His slaves don't wear special clothes that distinguish them from free-men, and Verne always addresses them in the same soft, gentle voice he uses toward the rest of us. I cannot reconcile what I see with Fenton feeling so ill-used that he fled from his master. But Fenton never told me the full story of what happened. Perhaps Verne was not at fault at all; perhaps Fenton was being bullied by some of the other slaves here. Certainly the slaves have a sullen look, not in keeping with the considerate treatment they are receiving.
But the biggest mystery of all is this: Why is Verne hosting a barbarian prince?
"Prince" is the title Verne has given him. Alaric tried good-naturedly to explain to me his status on the mainland, but all I could gather is that his father rules over a territory, and that he is his father's heir. He is a mainland noble, at any rate, though much younger than the noble that Erlina is to marry: he is not much older than I am.
Even so, the prince already has a wife and two young daughters. He revealed this last night as we were sitting at the dining table, waited upon by an army of servants.
"I married very young," he said, smiling. "Too young, perhaps. You know, sir, how family duties can restrict the direction of one's life." He bowed toward Verne, as he is in the custom of doing every few minutes, confounding my preconceptions of barbarian manners.
In appearance, though, he is every bit a barbarian. His face is painted – I suppose for battle purposes – and his hair is as long as a boy's and is tied in braids. It's hard for me to imagine how any mainland woman could stand to be courted by someone looking like that, but I suppose barbarian women have lower standards.
"My wife has known how restless I am," he continued in good Emorian, "and so she finally tells me: 'Alaric, my cherished one, what you want is not to be found in our tribe. You must search further – search even the Great Peninsula, where I think you will find your heart's desire. And when you have found it, return here and be happy.' She is a very wise woman, my wife."
Verne, sitting with ease in his chair at the head of the table, said, "And have you found what your heart desires, here on the Great Peninsula?"
"I believe I have, yes." Alaric continued to smile. "And so I will start my journey back to the mainland soon, since my quest is finished."
Carle exchanged looks with me. Only a fur-covered barbarian, we supposed, would travel north during the winter. Well, I suppose that if my father could see me now, sitting in a house surrounded by snow that won't melt until April, he would think that I'd gone mad as well.
"Oh, but you must stay until the wedding." Erlina leaned forward. She had ignored her father's signal earlier that the after-dinner talk would be for men only, though this was the first remark she had addressed toward the oddly garbed barbarian. "I am sure that you have never seen such festivities on the mainland, not even at your own wedding. And my husband will be so eager to meet you in the spring."
Carle, who had been swallowing some wall-vine wine, was suddenly taken with a fit of coughing. As I pounded him on the back, Alaric said serenely, "The warmth and kindness of Emorian women never ceases to amaze me. You and your mother are like bright flowers peering out of the snow. Yet I, who have taken so much already from your father, cannot impose on his graciousness further." And he bowed again toward Verne.
"There is no imposition." Verne flung his courtesy whole at the barbarian, smiling back at him. "We would welcome your company until spring. Perhaps you can persuade my son and his friend to stay as well."
Carle managed at that moment to still the last of his coughing. He said nothing, which gave me hope. Could it be that, if we stay the winter, I can succeed in reconciling Carle to his father? I would so much like to give him that gift.
o—o—o
The first day of January in the 941st year after the giving of the law.
The village held celebrations today in honor of the founding of the laws of Emor. I could imagine my own family gathering today to offer up sacrifice to the gods in thankfulness for the creation of the gods' law at the turn of the year. I am filled with gratitude that I'm here rather than there.
Carle spent much of yesterday and today showing me around the village, where he is, it seems, much liked by the inhabitants. He also showed me his family's graveyard – a body-cemetery rather than an ash-cemetery. It lies upon a beautiful part of the mountaintop that overlooks the Chara's palace.
Carle has demonstrated greater reluctance to guide me around his home, though I have explored on my own during the periods when Carle and his father are closeted away together; Verne is evidently keeping his promise to listen to Carle's accounts of what he has learned in the army. The only section of the house barred to me is the slave-quarters, which are located in the basement. Nothing was explicitly said to me, but Carle made clear that Emorian views on rank do not allow for such mingling.
The rest of the house is beautiful and ancient, filled with carvings and decorations that date back to the early years after the civil war. One of the more recent tapestries evidently shows the family tree, though it is so filled with woven names that it is hard for me to read them. I will have to ask Carle about it.
I spent this evening talking with Verne. He was curious to know about my family background, and I found myself telling him the whole, terrible story of the blood feud. He was very sympathetic. Carle was angry at me afterwards when he learned that I'd spoken to his father about this. He reminded me that Quentin had advised me against telling this story to any but my intimates. Surely, though, Quentin never meant to suggest that I shouldn't tell the story to Carle's own father.
o—o—o
The second day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.
Carle was with his father all of this morning, and Erlina was invited to spend the day with Gervais's family, so I whiled away my time with Alaric. He tells me that he learned Emorian as a boy from a traveller who was mauled by a snow leopard and who was forced to spend many months with Alaric's family while he was healing. Alaric was surprised to learn during his travels here that Emorian can be voiced through symbols on paper. Apparently he had never seen a written word before he arrived in Emor, so I spent the forenoon teaching him the Emorian alphabet. He told me that he would continue to practice his letters until he was as good at writing Emorian as he is at speaking it, and he thanked me at such length that I was nearly yawning by the end.
He really is quite clever, for a barbarian. I feel as though, for kindness' sake, I ought to drop him a hint as to how unattractive long hair on a man looks to women.
o—o—o
The third day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.
I see that I haven't written anything about Carle's mother. This is because it's hard for me to know what to say about her. She is the shyest woman I have ever met; she never speaks unless Verne gently coaxes her into doing so. He is all kindness to her and often puts his arm around her in an affectionate manner.
Because of this, I am beginning to see that the disagreement between Carle and his father must have been serious indeed to cause the two of them to be estranged. Verne is not the sort of man who would ordinarily distance himself from his blood kin. On the contrary, he is always involving himself in his household's activities, flitting from chamber to chamber in his quiet manner.
Carle's mother I scarcely ever see, and I think that is by her wish. I came across her today, dressing the face of one of the slaves; he had evidently been in a fight with another slave, for his flesh had been laid open in a manner I've only seen among duellers. When she saw me, she was so startled that she fled from the room. I finished mending the slave's face, trying to converse with him, but to no avail. Eventually I realized that we were being watched by Verne, who smiled and thanked me for the assistance. He says that his slaves often get into such mischief as this. I fear that Verne shows too much softness toward the members of his household. Perhaps that is why Carle has leaned the other way and is keen on army discipline.
o—o—o
The fourth day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.
Carle and I spent this afternoon exploring the contents of his main bed-chamber. We found many old writings by him about the patrol; the writings made us laugh, since they showed a boy's view of what the patrol is like. We also found a copybook filled with Fenton's handwriting, which stung my heart.
Carle was just pulling an old tunic out of a chest when I heard a barking from under the window. Looking out, Carle said sharply, "Home! Go home, girl!"
There was a puzzled whimper from the dog, but Carle's tone of voice evidently permitted no disobedience, for when I looked out the window, the red-furred dog was gone. "Couldn't you have let her come inside?" I asked.
Carle shook his head. "She's Myles's dog now. Besides, my father never allowed my dogs inside the house. —Ah, I'd been thinking about this tunic." He held it up to the firelight. "I wore this in the last year I lived at home. I'd guess that it still fits me . . ." He glanced over toward me, then back down at the tunic again.
I quickly rose and voiced a desire to use the lavatory. (So luxurious is Carle's house that it even has a chamber that is filled with nothing other than a chamber-pot and washbasin.) In actuality, I simply wanted to give Carle the opportunity to undress in private. He is still modest about his body, even in my presence.
When I returned, he was gazing with satisfaction at the most peculiar tunic I have ever seen anyone wear. The cloth is made all of one piece and wraps around him; the belt too is attached to the tunic, so that when it is untied, it remains with the tunic rather than separating.
"I wanted to show this to Quentin," said Carle, tying his belt. The belt was naked of weapons; here in Emor, I've learned, even soldiers and nobles walk unarmed when they're at home. I can't imagine what men here do when they're challenged to a duel.
"I had an idea that a uniform made in this style might come in handy during the summer months," Carle continued. "Patrol custom is to sleep in one's uniform, in case a danger whistle is emitted, which means that we sweat like dogs in that closed-in hut during the summer months. This tunic, though, can be quickly donned."
As he spoke, he unclasped his honor brooch, unfastened the belt, and swung the cloth open for me to see. He had not bothered to put on his winter breeches underneath or even to retain his breech-cloth, which surprised me, given what I knew of his shyness about showing his body.
He turned so that I could see how the cloth wrapped around the back. I asked, "Where did you find such a tunic?"
"Oh, I asked my mother to make it; I designed it myself. I got tired as a child of taking my tunic on and off several times a day. I decided that I might as well make matters easy for myself."
I was going to ask him then about the swimming basins at Peaktop – for that is what I assumed he was referring to – but we were called to the table then. I did mention the tunic to Verne at supper, and I've never seen him smile so deeply. I think he must be very proud of Carle's inventiveness. If only I could make Carle recognize how warmly Verne loves him.
o—o—o
The fifth day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.
Trouble has arisen, but not from Carle or his father. During my exploring today, I stepped into a dark corridor and discovered Alaric and Erlina in the shadows, kissing each other.
As instinctively as though I had sighted a breacher, I stepped back into the doorway through which I had entered. The kiss was evidently not long, for Erlina soon walked down the corridor, past where I was hiding. She was looking from side to side, as though worrying that someone might see her – as well she might. I waited until she was beyond sight, and then I stepped into the corridor.
Alaric sighted me at once. For a moment he stood frozen, reading from my expression what I had seen. After a bit, he came forward, a smile across his painted face. "Ah," he says, "we are discovered. I had expected that it would happen eventually."
His easiness about what he had done made me uncomfortable. How do you explain to a barbarian the notion of honor? "Sir," I said, falling back on my patrol politeness, "I know that you are merely visiting this land and cannot be expected to adopt the customs of the people here. But surely, even in your own kingdom . . . I mean, your wife . . ."
"Ah, yes, my wife." Alaric's smile did not waver, though his voice was discreetly low. "I have been interested during my travels through the Great Peninsula to learn of your customs of marriage. You come from the south originally – tell me, do they practice divorce there?"
"It's not as common as in Emor," I said. "It's against the gods' law, actually, but sometimes a priest will give a dispensation—" I took in suddenly what he had asked and said, "Do you mean . . .?"
He shook his head. "Divorce is a custom that we mainlanders find – I pray you to forgive how I express this – barbaric. The idea that I, after joining my body and life with a woman and sowing children upon her, should discard her and say that she is no longer my wife . . . That is hard for me to understand." He smiled at my puzzlement and added, "Yet I find it hard also to understand the view in the Three Lands that if a man and woman marry too young and discover that they do not love each other as a husband and wife should, their only other choice is to keep up the pretense that their marriage is fulfilling, so that they continue to live a loveless existence. Surely the gods within us would not be so cruel as to demand this."
I have my own views on what gods, Koretian or barbarian, might demand, but I confined myself to asking, "But what other choice is there? If you are divorced, you may decide to take a second love, yet if you are married—" I stopped, abruptly seeing the gulf between civilized life and barbarian life.
"You see how much wiser our gods are," said Alaric, his smile growing bright. "My wife and I live apart now, though we retain affection for each other. I have even allowed my wife to take a lover, which many husbands would not permit. Yet I think it is only fair that she should be allowed a love, since she has urged me so strongly to seek a second wife for myself. 'Go to the Great Peninsula,' she tells me. 'You are not drawn to shy women such as me; bold-speaking women are who you desire.' She knows me best, you see, since we are married. And so I have travelled many miles through the Great Peninsula, and I have sought far for my heart's desire. Finally, when I am close to giving up hope, I find my desire – but she is already promised to another man. And so I must return alone to the mainland, for I know now that I will never find another woman like her. Yet, though it pains me further to stay here and know that she will never be mine, I cannot help but desire to bring her happiness in this period before her marriage, for I fear that this is the only chance she will have to know what it is like to find happiness and love in the company of a man."