This was going too far, and I decided at that point to ‘take steps’.
‘No, Pol,’ mother’s voice murmured. ‘Stay out of it.’
‘But -‘
‘Do as I say!’ Mother almost never took that tone, and it got my
immediate attention. I relaxed my gathering Will.
‘That’s better,’ she said.
As it turned out, Ontrose didn’t really need any help from me.
Baron Lathan appeared to be so wrought up that his skill deserted
him on the third pass. He seemed to be so intent on destroying his
opponent that he forgot to brace his shield properly, and Count
Ontrose neatly picked him out of his saddle with that long lance of
his and hurled him to the ground with a resounding crash.
‘No!’ The fallen knight howled, and his voice was a wail of regret
and unspeakable loss.
Count Ontrose reined in sharply, swung down from his saddle,
and rushed to his friend. ‘Art thou injured?’ he demanded, kneeling
at Lathan’s side. ‘Have I harmed thee?’
I didn’t exactly disobey mother, but I did send a quick, probing
thought at the fallen baron. He was gasping, but that would have
been quite normal. Being unhorsed in a jousting match almost
always knocks the wind out of a man.
Then the physicians reached the pair, and they seemed greatly
concerned. Baron Lathan had taken a very nasty fall, and the steel
armor in which he was encased was so dented in on the left side
of his chest that he could scarcely breathe. Once the physicians had
pried him out of his armor, however, his breathing became normal,
and he even congratulated Ontrose on his victory. Then the
physicians carted him off to the dispensary.
Count Ontrose remounted his war-horse and rode over to claim
his prize – me, in this case. He lowered his lance to me, and. in
keeping with tradition, I tied a flimsy blue scarf about its tip as a
visible sign of my ‘favor’. ‘Now art thou my true knight,’ I declaimed
in formal tones.
‘I thank thee, your Grace,’ he replied in a musical baritone, ‘and
I do hereby pledge unto thee my life and undying devotion.’
I thought that was terribly nice of him.
ontrose, now ‘the mightiest knight of life,’ was one of those rare
people who excelled at everything he put his hand to. He was a
philosopher a rose fancier, a poet, and a lutanist of the first
magnitude
. His manners were exquisite, but he was a complete terror in
the jousting lists. Not only that, he was absolutely gorgeous! He was
tall, slimly muscular, and his features might have served as a model
for a statue. His skin was very fair, but, as I mentioned before, his
long hair was lustrous blue-black. His large expressive eyes were a
deep sapphire blue, and a whole generation of young Arendish
ladies cried themselves to sleep over him every night for a goodly
number of years.
And now he was mine.
There was a formal investiture after the tourney, of course. Arends
love ceremonies. The three dukes, dressed in semi-regal finery,
escorted the hero into my presence and formally asked me if this
beautiful young man was acceptable to me. What an absurd question
that was. I recited the formulaic little speech that enrolled Count
Ontrose as my champion, and then he knelt to swear undying
allegiance to me, offering up the ‘might of his hands’ in my defense. It
wasn’t really his hands that interested me, though.
Baron Lathan was in attendance with his left arm in a sling. His
unhorsing had severely sprained his shoulder. His face was very
pale, and there were even tears of disappointment in his eyes during
the ceremony. Some competitors simply cannot bear to lose. He once
again formally congratulated Ontrose, which I thought was very
civilized of him. There have been times in Arendia when the loser
of a jousting match has declared war on the winner. Lathan and
Ontrose had been friends, and that evidently hadn’t changed.
We lingered for a time at the fair, and then returned to Vo Wacune,
where Ontrose took up residence in my town house.
As autumn touched the leaves, my champion and I rode north so
that I could familiarize him with the peculiarities of the duchy of
Erat.
‘I have been advised, your Grace, that serfdom doth no longer
Prevail within thy boundaries, and I do confess that I have been
much intrigued by that fact. The emancipation of they who stand
or grovel – at the lowest level of society is an act of sublime
humanitY, but I am hard put to understand how it is that the economy of
this duchy hath not collapsed. Prithee, enlighten me concerning this
wonder.’
I wasn’t entirely certain if his education had descended into the
labyrinthine sphere of economics, but I tried to explain just how it
was that my duchy prospered without serfdom. I was startled – and
pleased – by how quickly he grasped certain concepts that had taken
me whole generations to pound into the thick heads of my vassals.
‘In fine then, my Lady, it seemeth to me that thy realm doth still
rest upon the backs of the former serfs – not in this case upon their
unrequited labor, but rather upon their wages. For certes, now can
they purchase such goods as previously were beyond them quite.
The merchant class prospers, and their share of the tax burden
doth lighten the load borne by the land-owners, thy vassals. The
prosperity of the former serf is the base upon which the economy
of the entire realm doth stand.’
‘Ontrose,’ I told him, ‘you’re a treasure. You grasped in moments
what’s eluded some of my vassals for six hundred years.’
He shrugged. ‘It is no more than simple mathematics, your Grace,’
he replied. ‘An ounce apiece from the many doth far exceed a pound
apiece from the few.’
‘Nicely put, Ontrose.’
‘I rather liked it,’ he agreed modestly.
We talked of many things on our journey north, and I found my
young – well, relatively young – champion to have a quick and agile
mind. He also had an uncharacteristic urbanity that reminded me
a great deal of my dear friend Kamion back on the Isle of the Winds.
He was suitably impressed by my manor house, and he had the
uncommon good sense to make friends with my Killane-descended
retainers. Moreover, his enthusiasm for roses at least equaled rny
own. His conversation was a delight, his impromptu concerts on
his lute – often accompanied by his rich baritone – brought tears to
my eyes, and his ability to grasp – and question – obscure
philosophical
issues sometimes astounded me.
I found myself beginning to have thoughts I probably shouldn’
have had. In my mind, Ontrose was becoming more than a friend
That’s when mother stepped in. ‘Polgara,’ her voice came to me one
night, ‘this isn’t really appropriate, you know.’
‘What isn’t?’ My response wasn’t really very gracious.
‘This growing infatuation of yours. This isn’t the man for you. That
part of your life is still a long way in the future.’
‘No, mother, it’s not. What you choose to call that part of my
will come whenever I decide it’s going to
come, and there’s nothing you or anybody else can do to change my
mind. I’m tired of being
lead around on a string. It’s my life, and I’ll live it any way I choose.
‘I’m trying to spare you a great deal of heartache, Pol.’
‘Don’t bother, mother. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some
sleep.
‘As YOU wish, Pol.’ And then the sense of her presence was gone.
Well, of course it was rude. I realized that even as I was saying it.
That particular confrontation crops up in just about everyone’s life.
It usually comes a bit earlier, however.
By morning, I was more than a little ashamed of myself, and as time
went on I regretted my childish reaction more and more. Mother’s
presence had always been the central fact of my life, and my little
outburst had erected a wall between us that took years to tear down.
I won’t demean what I felt for Ontrose by calling it an infatuation.
I will admit that what was happening in my personal life distracted
my attention from something I was supposed to be watching more
closely, however. The second Carteon had been succeeded by yet a
third in Asturia. Carteon III was an even bigger scoundrel than his
father or grandfather had been, and most of his animosity seemed
to be directed at Wacune. It was fairly obvious that there were
close ties between Wacune and Erat, and the Oriman family had
apparently concluded that my duchy could not survive without
Wacite support. The Asturian animosity toward me personally
wasn’t really too hard to understand, and it probably dated back to
the time of Duke Nerasin. I had made examples of a fair number of