She dipped her quill in the inkwell. Date . . . “Why, this is Mother’s Eve! You are quite sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow?” She beamed at them to show that she was not serious, but she was rather hoping they would agree to a delay, so she would have time to think.
The visitors looked deep into each other’s eyes and shook their heads. ”No,” the woman whispered.
She should have seated them a little farther apart. They were almost close enough to touch fingers across the table if they stretched out their arms. They were having trouble not doing so.
“Actually I have two weddings scheduled for tomorrow anyway. Don’t know I could stand the excitement of three. I am sure the God of Motherhood will bless your union even if you do not choose Their day. Your name, my dear?”
The woman spoke the name the soldier had spoken.
Iffini wrote it down with a sigh-not that she had been in any doubt that these were the ones. “That is a very unusual name. It used to be unusual, I should say. Now, of course, it is enormously popular, the name of our dear new impress. I am sure half the girls I have named this year have been Eshialas.”
She was surprised to see the shocked reaction in the girl’s face, a look of . . . of fright? How odd! Surely she was not seeking a marriage ceremony under a false name? Apart from the insult to the Gods, the procedure would be useless to her. The whole purpose of a wedding-the secular purpose-was to give a woman a legal hold over the father of her children so he could not disown them. That legal hold was the certificate she was now drawing up. It would be invalid if the information on it was perjured.
“Widow?”
“Yes.”
“And your name, sir?”
“Ylo. Bachelor.”
The legionary had not given Iffini the man’s name. Now she had heard it, it seemed oddly familiar. She was sure she had heard that name in the last year or two in some connection or other.
Young Master Ylo was grinning rather naughtily at his bride-to-be, who was trying not to show any reaction. The word “bachelor” sometimes brought out a sense of guilt in some of the racier ones.
“Oh do stop talking nonsense, you feather-headed bird,” said the parrot.
Mother Iffini dipped her quill again. “Now, your late husband’s name, ma’am?”
Sudden, shocking pallor . . . Silence.
“Is this information necessary?” the boy asked.
That cleared away some of the smoke. Mother Iffini placed her pen in the inkwell and left it there. The legionary had been vague as to why exactly the two persons were wanted for questioning and perhaps had not known the reason himself. She had suspected that just possibly the law and the servants of the law might not have been on quite the same bearing.
Once in a very long while even the law itself might vary a little from what the Gods required. On a matter of bigamy, however, there could be no divergence and no doubt.
“You did not bring the funeral certificate?” she asked. The girl shook her head and looked in horror at the boy. His expression was bleak—as well it might be—but he was obviously not about to give up. He had probably anticipated that this might happen and he was going to try to bluff it through. ”The man was lost in battle and his body was not recovered, Mother.”
Iffini folded her plump, soft fingers together on the weathered old stone table before her. “Then the army issues a special certificate of presumed death. It is not valid for remarriage until three years have passed.”
“The circumstances are unusual, Mother. You are aware of the goblin invasion?”
She nodded, wondering if she was about to hear some inspired creative fantasizing. If he had a glib tongue to go with his looks, this Ylo would be irresistible to impressionable young women. She was no impressionable young woman, yet she did not think he was faking his own infatuation.
“Indeed I have,” she said. She had conducted several special prayer services on the subject of the goblin invasion. “There was no formal battle and the man was a civilian, so the army would not be directly involved. He and I were ambushed by the goblins. I escaped, but only just, and his horse fell. Even if he was taken alive by the goblins, Mother, his chances of surviving the day were absolutely zero.”
Iffni shivered and muttered a prayer. “There were no other witnesses?”
“No, Mother. I swear this is truth.” The lad’s eyes were steady. If he was lying about this, he was as accomplished a liar as she had ever met.
“Then you should have sworn an affidavit before the lictor of the district or the military autho—”
“Mother!” he said reproachfully. “The countryside was in chaos! There were no authorities at all, military or civil.” She sighed and stared down at her fingers again while she pondered. A convenient story! The boy moved his chair slightly so he could reach out and grasp the girl’s hand. Mother Iffini looked up. “I suppose I could accept your affidavit on the subject. It would be very irregular, though.”
The girl started to smile and then froze. Her pallor seemed to grow more intense.
“I will swear any oath you wish,” the boy said calmly, “but I will not reveal the man’s name.”
The chaplain removed her quill and wiped it. She closed the inkwell. “I think we must discuss this matter further.”
“There is no alternative, is there?” he said bitterly. “If we seek out another chaplain and my fiancee claims to be a spinster, then the marriage would be invalid?”
Mother Iffini nodded. “And she would require signed permission from her father, or a brother. I do not make the laws, Master . Ylo.” Master Ylo? Again that vague memory! No, there had been a title. Tribune Ylo? Legate Ylo? Something military.
At that moment the child dropped the bag of crumbs into the fish pool and screamed in frustration. The man jumped up and hurried over to her.
“Maya!” he said . . .
Iffini’s heart missed a beat. Two beats. No! It couldn’t possibly be! Of course a woman with the same name as the future impress might well have chosen to give her child the same name as the future impress’s child. Quite possible! The alternative explanation was untenable. There would not have been a solitary legionary coming around calling on inns and temples, there would have been an Impire-wide hue and cry.
Wouldn’t there? Or would the sheer magnitude of the scandal have made that course of action impossible even to consider? The impress herself? And the heir to the Imperial throne?
The girl was staring down at her hands on the table, avoiding eye contact. She was worried now, but she had been worried earlier, though trying to hide the fact. After fifty years of marrying people, a priestess could recognize that anxiety with her eyes closed. Either this Eshiala was pregnant or she strongly suspected she was.
Mother Iffini decided that she had not merely a problem, but a very serious problem.
The boy returned, carrying the child. “I am afraid we have wasted your time, Mother. Come, darling.”
“Sit down,” Iffini snapped. “I need to think a moment.” He sat. The little girl squirmed down from his lap, demanding the fish food. He gave the dripping bag to her, and she trotted over to the pool again.
One possibility was just to ask them if the dead husband’s name had been Emshandar, but that would close off any other avenue of escape. Either they would lie or Mother Iffini would have to pretend to accept extraordinary coincidences. She certainly could not believe that the imperor had been killed by goblins while traveling incognito with a single companion. So she must assume that the incident had not occurred at all or that the man had not been named Emshandar. Why, then, was she so reluctant to ask that simple question? Pretty-boy’s tale of ambush was a very convenient way to cover up abduction or even viler deeds.
She would not sign a certificate she believed to be false, nor would she perform a bogus wedding ceremony in her temple. Her clear duty was to report this pair to the authorities. No doubt they would then be forcibly separated-but the girl’s fear showed that she desperately needed some hold on that slippery beguiler, and had come to ask the help of the Gods.
Hesitantly Mother Iffini said, “There is another possibility. It would require that you both swear a solemn oath that you are not committing bigamy.”
The girl looked up at once, hope shining brightly behind her tears. “I will swear!”
“I, also,” the boy said.
Well! Mother Iffini relaxed. She had never doubted where her first loyalties lay. Love should be sanctified even if it was legally irregular.