“Go on,” Alain said, and the hounds crept closer to Conrad, snuffled at his knees, and groaned a little, not quite a growl, allowing him to rub their huge heads and fuss a bit over them.
“I like dogs,” Conrad said. “They are more faithful than men—with the natural exception of my good retainers.” His grin charmed effortlessly. “I trust my dogs not to turn on me. What about you?”
“Am I your dog?”
Conrad laughed. “A hard question. Yet again I must say, I don’t know. You came to Autun with some purpose. We offered you Lavas, and you have not precisely turned us down. We spoke of your marriage to my daughter Berengaria, which might bring you to rule Varre at her side. Yet I see in you no grasping servility, seeking our favor in this scheme. I see no testing of bonds with the other lesser lords, whom you may one day hope to command. No clawing and biting and growling for precedence.”
“I am sorry,” said Alain. “I am not what you think I am.”
“So it would seem,” said Conrad as the hounds moved away from him to flank Alain. “Yet these hounds puzzle me. You puzzle me. What do you want?”
“Healing.”
“Healing for the scar in your heart? From the marriage gone wrong? The lady torn from you and given to another? The loss of your father? The loss of Lavas County, and its riches?”
“I am but one man. Observe the world, Duke Conrad, and you will see what I mean.”
“I have taken the measure of the world, Lord Alain. It is a cruel abode, containing many pits for the unwary. So do I act.”
“So must we all.”
Conrad looked closely at him. “You do not speak of Lavas County, or the woman who was once your wife and is now mine. You do not speak of my sweet daughter, Berengaria, who might possibly become your wife. You do not speak of a consort’s chair.”
“I do not.”
Conrad folded his arms across his chest. Alain was tall, but Conrad had bulk in addition to height, arms made thick by many years riding to war and wielding the reaper’s scythe. Alain had met few men more formidable than the duke of Wayland. He had a sword, and Alain only his crude staff, and his hounds.
Conrad made no move, although his frown suggested his displeasure. “A spy might speak so, sent into my ranks to learn my secrets. Yet it’s also said that wise men speak in riddles. Seek you revenge for the wrong done to you when Henry took Lavas County out of your hands?”
“Was it wrong to cast me out as the count of Lavas?”
“I cannot answer that question! Lord Geoffrey has a legitimate claim in the name of his daughter. In his own name, truth to tell, since he is the great grandson of the last countess, Lavastina, and the grandnephew of Lavastine’s grandfather, Charles Lavastine. Still, Geoffrey preferred to push his daughter forward instead of himself, since she is a girl and the old countess ruled by the ancient law.”
“The ancient law?”
“Still held to in Alba, I might add, and in much of Varre. The identity of a woman’s children is always known, since they have sprung from her womb. That of a man’s offspring—well, no matter what anyone says, in the end it is always a matter of faith. Therefore, by that custom, a daughter will always hold precedence over a son because her heirs are assuredly the descendants of her foremothers. Geoffrey chose to ally himself with the old custom, while Lavastine chose you, a boy of uncertain parentage. No doubt that influenced Henry’s decision. Yet, for Geoffrey, the rule of Lavas County comes to the same thing, as his daughter is still a child and he must therefore be her regent for many years.”
d smiled slightly, but did not stir as the impromptu verses ground on.
Realizing that neither Conrad’s silence nor the song was likely to end soon, Alain felt obliged to answer. “I was sorry to disappoint Count Lavastine, who hoped for an heir.”
Conrad bent to pluck a plant out of the dirt. “Bastard balm.” He crumbled the leaves in his big hand and tested the scent its oils left. “Not to my taste, the flavor of this plant. Did Lavastine believe you to be his baseborn son? Or was that only a lie? Not that it matters to me, mind you. I’m content with matters as they stand between you and me. But I’m curious.” He indicated the hounds. “These give you a powerful claim. The tale was well known, that the black hounds answer to none but the rightful heir of Lavas County. That they would kill any other person who sought to claim them.”
He whistled softly, extending his hand palm up. Both Rage and Sorrow whined piteously and thumped their tails on the ground as they looked at Alain for permission.
“Go on,” Alain said, and the hounds crept closer to Conrad, snuffled at his knees, and groaned a little, not quite a growl, allowing him to rub their huge heads and fuss a bit over them.
“I like dogs,” Conrad said. “They are more faithful than men—with the natural exception of my good retainers.” His grin charmed effortlessly. “I trust my dogs not to turn on me. What about you?”
“Am I your dog?”
Conrad laughed. “A hard question. Yet again I must say, I don’t know. You came to Autun with some purpose. We offered you Lavas, and you have not precisely turned us down. We spoke of your marriage to my daughter Berengaria, which might bring you to rule Varre at her side. Yet I see in you no grasping servility, seeking our favor in this scheme. I see no testing of bonds with the other lesser lords, whom you may one day hope to command. No clawing and biting and growling for precedence.”
“I am sorry,” said Alain. “I am not what you think I am.”
“So it would seem,” said Conrad as the hounds moved away from him to flank Alain. “Yet these hounds puzzle me. You puzzle me. What do you want?”
“Healing.”