Chapter 3 – A Lamb’s Tale #6
Ophele waited, nerving herself to speak.
“I’m sorry,” she began, at the first break in the conversation. “I know it’s already been decided, and you fought so hard for it yesterday, but I don’t see why you have to be hallows instead of regular guards. I don’t see why you would…want to be one.”
It came out every bit as awkward and childish as she feared. Remin’s eyes flicked to Sir Justenin’s, a wordless communication.
“I was against it, at first,” the knight began, with a nod to Ophele.
“There are many reasons why hallows are no longer used. The interjection of the Temple in such worldly matters is awkward, especially among noble Houses. The oath of a hallow is the most sacred oath a guardsman can swear. The punishment for betraying it is purification by the Temple, which is a very painful way to die, and requires the Temple to perform a public execution, which they have not done for over a hundred years. In His Grace’s case… ”
Sir Justenin glanced at Remin with a tight-lipped smile.
“If one is willing to antagonize both the Temple and the Emperor, it means that if anyone attempts to bribe, blackmail, or interfere in any way with your hallows, the Temple will be forced to recognize the blasphemy. Even if the person attempting to subvert them is acting on behalf of someone of divine blood. ”
“Oh,” Ophele said, looking at Remin with appreciation. “It would cause trouble between the Temple and the Emperor, if he tried to do anything?”
“It’s not a guarantee,” Remin acknowledged. “But it’s a deterrent. And if reminding the Temple of their duty antagonizes them, that’s their problem, not mine.”
“Opinions differ,” said Sir Justenin blandly.
“But His Grace is right that it is much harder to bribe or blackmail a hallow in the first place. Sir Leonin and Davi will renounce all blood ties and take the name of the House of Andelin, as if they were adopted into the household. In the eyes of the Temple, it will be as if they were related to you by blood.”
Which would come with another lengthy set of prohibitions. Relations between a hallow and their ward were regarded the same as incest. Ophele was silent, processing the new information. She should have asked these questions yesterday.
“You have time to think about it, wife,” Remin assured her. “They’re not hallows today. They can’t take the oath until the cleric arrives, anyway.”
Ophele nodded, trying to take comfort from that. She didn’t even know why she didn’t like this so much; she hadn’t had time to think through her objections, but it felt as if she accepted these men today, it would be that much harder to speak up later.
“Why would you want to do that?” she asked, turning her attention to the two strangers sitting opposite her at the table. “Give up your names and your families…is it that you don’t have one? Or you don’t—I’m sorry for asking such personal questions,” she added, flushing.
“I got a family, lady,” Davi answered steadily. “From Lomonde. Fourth city Valleth attacked, last time they invaded. You might’ve been too young to hear much about it, but it went hard for the people in the first three.”
“Oh,” she said, recognizing the name instantly. “That’s the city His Grace—”
“I told you, you don’t owe me anything for that,” Remin interrupted gruffly. “I didn’t do it for you. I just saw an opportunity.”
“I think I do, m’lord,” Davi retorted. His accent thickened as he spoke, pure Westland farmer.
“I got four sisters. What would’ve happened to them, I don’t like to think.
And I don’t forget me debts. I been following you seven years, looking for a way to pay.
Not that you ain’t a good lady,” he added, tugging his forelock in Ophele’s direction.
“Don’t see as it’ll be a hardship, serving the Lady of the Wall. But I owe.”
As motives went, this was hard to argue. Ophele’s eyes went to Sir Leonin.
“My reasons are not so nice, I’m afraid,” he said pleasantly. “I disagree with Davi. I think being the hallow of the Duchess of Andelin will be very difficult. It is a singular calling. That is why I wish to attempt it.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of that. And really, who was she to judge? As Sir Miche had said, their lives were theirs, to spend as they pleased. What difference did it make if they were sworn hallows or regular guardsmen? They would be following her around forever either way.
She did make an effort to participate in the lighter conversation that followed, but she was very much distracted and all too soon the time came for Remin and Sir Justenin to go to the barracks for their afternoon exercises, which made no allowances for weather.
Trailing behind Remin to the cookhouse doors, she felt bereft.
Remin couldn’t even kiss her good-bye with other folk about.
“I meant what I said,” he said in a low voice as Sir Justenin waited a discreet distance away. “If you don’t like them, we’ll find someone else.”
“I know,” she agreed, subdued.
“What’s wrong, then?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling foolish for the complaint.
“Everything you and Sir Justenin said made sense, and if they don’t mind, I guess…
but…but I don’t know them, and it’s for my whole life,” she burst out in a whisper, looking up at him unhappily.
“Beyond my life. I know I’m the Duchess of Andelin and I will have guards, so it doesn’t really matter if they’re hallows or not, but they’re strangers and I don’t want to take an oath with a stranger for my whole life. I’m sorry.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“Don’t apologize. You’re right. That is…a serious thing,” he agreed. There was an odd note in his voice, but his face gave nothing away, set in its usual stern lines. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
He fell silent as the rain poured in sheets behind him.
“There will be no oaths unless you want to make them,” he said finally. “It is a sacred oath. It shouldn’t be forced on anyone, unwilling. But that means you don’t tell me you are if you aren’t. Promise? ”
“I promise,” she said, inexpressibly relieved. Tentatively, she brushed his fingers with hers, wishing she dared to kiss him. “Thank you. Be careful riding in the rain.”
Her prospective hallows waited until Remin and Sir Justenin had gone to approach her.
“We are yours to command, Your Grace,” said Sir Leonin, standing very straight. “His Grace was vague as to the details of your routine.”
“He said he wasn’t going to tell us nothing so you’d have to talk to us,” Davi said bluntly.
A short laugh escaped her, even as her ears reddened.
“That is my next appointment,” she said, gesturing to Jacot, pelting toward them through the rain.
For the first half of the afternoon, she hardly needed to talk to her guards at all. As soon as a dripping Jacot took his seat by the fire, they moved back, though the boy eyed them narrowly before he determined they were not a threat.
“They’re my guards,” Ophele explained when the younger boys arrived. She would not call them her hallows until they actually were.
“The ones who fought His Grace yesterday?” Blond Gavrel asked, staring at them in round-eyed awe.
“Yes,” she admitted, and exchanged a rueful glance with Davi as the boys exploded into a recounting of the match and an avalanche of questions for the two participants. Davi seemed willing to at least entertain them, but Sir Leonin shook his head.
“Do you think you ought to distract the duchess’s guards from their work?” he asked them, with a chill in his polite voice. “If you are hoping to be knights, you must think of Her Grace’s safety before your own satisfaction.”
This squelched them quite effectively, though Ophele felt very self-conscious with her guards in earshot; she was confident in her teaching of Jacot, but there was so very much she didn’t know that even ten year-old pages had already learned.
She was just settling into the lesson when a small figure appeared in the open doors of the cookhouse, draggled as a drowned rat.
“Elodie?” she said, bewildered, and hurried to usher the girl over to the fire. “You’re soaked! Does your mother know you’re here? ”
“Mama’s at auntie’s house, my lady.” Elodie dropped a curtsy and the beginnings of a puddle onto the floor. “ I’m supposed to serve you, aren’t I?”
She gave the assembled boys a bristling glance.
“They’re having their lessons,” Ophele explained, wondering why she was defending herself to a nine year-old. “You shouldn’t have come out in the rain, I’m sure your mother will worry, and what if you get sick? Oh, bother.”
She bit her lip, thinking. The easiest answer would be to ask one of her guards to take the girl home, but she didn’t need Sir Leonin to tell her that was wrong; they were guards, not errand runners.
“I’ll take her, m’lady,” said Jacot, who had only just begun to dry out. “By the north gate, right?”
“Yes, thank you, Jacot,” she said gratefully. “You can take my parasol so at least you won’t get soaked again. Elodie—”
Elodie’s lowering eyebrows were like rainclouds on the horizon.
“You don’t want me to wait on you, my lady?” she asked, glancing mournfully at the despised boys.
“Not today.” Barring the page boys, Ophele hadn’t had much to do with children since she was one, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. “I’ll come and talk to you and your mama about it soon. But if you want to be my pagegirl, you must mind what I say and wait.”
This was sufficient for peace, and Jacot set off wearing a thunderous expression that promised a lengthy lecture for Elodie. Ophele had witnessed several forceful corrections to the younger boys and recognized the warning signs.
Sliding back into her chair at the table, Ophele found herself confronted with five pairs of censorious eyes.
“You want her to be your page, my lady?” Little Valentin asked, wielding his large, sad brown eyes like a dagger to her heart.
“Well, I do,” she began, casting about for some consolation. “I need someone to help me while you’re all busy learning to be knights, don’t I?”