'He's working my butt-end off,' Robinton said in an unrepentant growl. 'i'll be all morning listening to troublemakers' excuses and deciding fines for minor infractions.'
'Keep you from being nervous about the afternoon,' she said, teasingly.
'Ha! The morning'll make me worse. Having to sit through Court will give me indigestion, having to listen to all those half-truths and alibis ...' He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair, which had a soothing effect on his disturbed digestion. Kissing her provoked other sensations, and once again he didn't get around to mentioning the Sonata to Sea-Green Eyes.
Of course, the longer he delayed, the harder it was going to be to work in a playing of it before the Gather. And suddenly he wasn't at all sure of its worth. It was definitely the most serious music he had ever written, and he was quite unsure of its merit. He could be fooling himself. It wasn't as if he could play for a critical listener, like Minnarden, who had seen the rest of his travel songs and liked them. They were insignificant compared with the sonata – if it was any good at all. Yet whenever he heard the music in his head, it thrilled him, and he felt a tremendous lift at the finale of the last movement. Like making love. And that's what he wanted people to hear when they listened to it – the crescendo which was also an orgasm.
Finally it was the day before the Gather and his mother arrived with Master Gennell. What with the necessary hospitality accorded them, he had trouble finding a few moments alone with Merelan, when he could chide her for making such a long journey when she was obviously tired.
'Tired of riding, yes,' she said, her voice vigorous. 'Your father has sent a short piece, which I'm to sing at your espousal.'
'He did?' Robinton was flabbergasted as he took the score from his mother's hand.
'It's not in his usual style, either. I do believe your father is mellowing with age.'
Robinton snorted but, as he scanned the music, he realized that this was a softer music, almost gentle, and quite simple, considering the usual style in which his father wrote.
'Minnarden said he would accompany me, as you'll he otherwise occupied ...' And then Merelan hugged him fiercely.
'She's lovely, your Kasia, and she is besotted with you. You'll be happy, Robie. I know you'll be happy.'
'I am already,' he said with a silly grin on his face. 'And Mother, I have some music I need you to look over.'
'You do? Just like old times,' she said, waiting as he rummaged in his drawers to find the sonata. 'I'm almost jealous that others get to see your music now before I do.'
'I always send--'
'I know you do, lovey, but it was such fun to be the first to---' She had unrolled the score and blinked at the first measures. She read on, and started to hum the opening melody. Cocking her head, she took to walking as she read, sometimes half-singing, sometimes nodding her head to the tempo, her eyes never leaving the page.
While his stomach churned and his heart seemed to be squeezed tight, he watched. Fortunately he had moved into their new quarters on the uppermost level of the Hold, well down the corridors from the rooms the old aunties and uncles occupied. There were two rooms with a small bathing facility in what Kasia called a walk-into closet. So there was space for Merelan to pace from the bedroom door across the wide living area.
Abruptly Merelan paused, gave him a bemused look, then sat herself down on the stool by his gitar stand and, propping up the music and picking up the gitar, she started to play it.
He had arranged it for first fiddle, or a gitar, harp and pipes, with the occasional emphasis of a flat drum. It wasn't that long a piece, for all its three movements. He had not added a fourth, as his father would have done, because he had said, musically, all that he needed to in the allegro, adagio and rondo. A scherzo would have fractured the mood.
When his mother played the final chords, her hands remained motionless on the strings for a long moment. Then she gave a funny little shake as if she'd had a spasm and looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.
'Oh, Robie, that is the most beautiful thing you've ever written. Does Kasia like it? For I know you wrote it for her.'
Robinton gulped. 'I haven't shown it to her. I didn't... know ... if it was any good or not.' The last phrase came out fast.
'Not good! Not good!' His mother returned the gitar to its stand and rose in indignation. 'Robinton, you have never written a bad piece of music yet, and that' – she pointed a stiff forefinger at the roll – 'is the best composition to date. How dare you not give it to her? You said she plays the harp. Why, it's the most romantic piece of music I have ever heard. Even better ...' She closed her lips.
'No, there is no comparison. You have a far more romantic soul, my dearest son.' She put her arms around his waist and hugged him. 'If you don't show her that before tomorrow ...'
'When will I have the time? It is nearly tomorrow now, Mother!' He hugged her tightly to him, smelling the scent she packed her clothing with and wondering at how the two women he loved felt much the same in his arms.
'You'd better do it soon, then,' Merelan said. 'She'll never forgive you for not doing it sooner ... unless, of course, you've just finished the piece.'
'No, I wrote it this summer.'
'Oh!' she exclaimed in explosive dismay. 'If you were so worried about it, why didn't you send it to me? I'd have reassured you.'
Why he hadn't sent it was no mystery to either of them, but he felt relieved and more confident than ever, having her positive opinion. And he knew that she would never have been so enthusiastic if she didn't truly find it good. That courtesy had nothing to do with him being her son.
'Is there a copy of it, Rob? Master Gennell will want to use it for other espousals. It's so ... so lyric. So romantic. Oh, Robinton, you are such a comfort to me.' Abruptly she changed moods. 'I'm exhausted after that, love. Will you escort me to my room? I don't think I could find my way back down.'
When he had returned from escorting his mother, he prepared for bed himself, since it was late and tomorrow would be an exceedingly eventful day. He smiled, and then broke into a chuckle as he shucked off his clothes and settled into the wide bed that he and Kasia would be sharing. It was far too warm to require night-wear, and besides, he seldom bothered and now probably never would, it being so comforting to snuggle Kasia into his arms and have her skin next to his all night long. He exhaled deeply, and then realized that he was far too excited to sleep yet.
So he threw off the light fur and found a long-tailed shirt. His new clothes for the espousal – well, Gather Day, if he wasn't being self-centred – were hanging on the closet door. He ran a hand down the fine, brocaded fabric which Clostan had talked him into having made up. It really was a fine set, and he could see why cut and fit were so important.
'Do harpers really like wearing bags?' Clostan had sarcastically demanded when Robinton would have settled for the first outfit long enough to fit his torso and legs at Tillek's WeaverHall. The MasterHealer was as tall as Robinton, dark-haired and handsome, with fine, long hands which were clever in sewing up wounds and gently strong in setting broken bones. He had been at Tillek for the past seven turns, ever since he attained his Mastery, for the Hold required an experienced healer and Clostan had worked hard to adapt treatment to the needs of a fishing community. 'By the Egg, man, you do yourself no favours. You've broad shoulders ...' Clostan flicked fingers at them. 'You've a trim waist' – he couldn't pinch much there – 'and long shanks ... Show them off.' Clostan's trousers tended to cling to his strong, muscular legs, just missing a tension that might be considered lewd. 'Especially during your espousal ... show all the girls what a fine one they missed out on. And allow Kasia to be proud of you.'
'Because I show off?.' Robinton had demanded, almost indignant. 'I can't! I'm far too excited to sleep yet.'
So he threw off the light fur and found a long-tailed shirt. His new clothes for the espousal – well, Gather Day, if he wasn't being self-centred – were hanging on the closet door. He ran a hand down the fine, brocaded fabric which Clostan had talked him into having made up. It really was a fine set, and he could see why cut and fit were so important.
'Do harpers really like wearing bags?' Clostan had sarcastically demanded when Robinton would have settled for the first outfit long enough to fit his torso and legs at Tillek's WeaverHall. The MasterHealer was as tall as Robinton, dark-haired and handsome, with fine, long hands which were clever in sewing up wounds and gently strong in setting broken bones. He had been at Tillek for the past seven turns, ever since he attained his Mastery,
