“This is Orlege,” he told her. “I have a dispute to settle here today. One of the village men lost his wife, and wishes to have another, but his neighbors will not match any of their daughters with him. I must learn why, and then settle the problem.”
Vartan was greeted warmly by the villagers of Orlege. He was led into the headman’s house, and seated at the small high board in the little hall. Lara stood quietly at the side of the room, observing all. The headman, Scully, brought forth the complainant to state his case. Pol was a man in his sixth decade. He had been widowed for a year and wished to take a new wife, but, he complained to his lord, the villagers of Orlege would not offer him their marriageable daughters that he might choose. He begged his lord to help him find a wife to take care of him in his old age.
Next, the headman spoke for the villagers. Pol was an old man. No young girl wanted to be shackled to an old man. She wanted a vigorous husband who would give her children, that she not be ashamed at the well when she went to draw water. And no father in Orlege would force his daughter to be Pol’s wife. He was an ordinary man with only a small holding he could barely work any longer.
“I must think on this,” Vartan said. “Bring me something to drink.” He looked to Lara, and beckoned her to him. When she stood by his side he said, “What would you do in a case like this, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword?”
“Ask the headman if there is a widow who would be willing to have Pol for a husband,” she replied. “If he has no children to care for him it is unlikely he will have them at his age. He does not need a young wife. He needs a housekeeper, a cook and a companion. What could he possibly give a young wife but unhappiness?”
“A clever solution, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” Vartan said. He drank from the cup placed by his left hand, and then shared the draught with Lara.
How easy she felt with this man, Lara thought to herself. Their acquaintance was hardly a lengthy one, and yet she felt completely comfortable with Vartan of the Fiacre.
When he had finished his drink, Lara moved discreetly away again to the side of the hall and watched while Vartan settled the issue between Pol and his fellow villagers. First he drew Scully, the headman aside, and spoke with him for several minutes in low tones. Scully listened, nodded and finally smiled. The headman signaled another man, murmured to him. The second man went off into the crowd of villagers, speaking with several women. Finally he led three of them forward. Both Scully and Vartan spoke with them, and then Vartan called for silence.
“Pol of Orlege, you seek a wife to care for you in your old age. Is this correct?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then choose from among these three fine widows. Women of good reputation with experience in keeping a husband happy,” Vartan said. “No father will give you his young daughter. No young girl wants a graybeard for a mate. In this I concur. You seek a companion who will keep you comfortable and well-fed. Here stand three, all eminently suited to your needs, and all willing to have you. You must choose from among them if you would remarry.”
Pol looked the three women over, and finally said, “I choose Corliss.”
“Corliss, you are willing?” Vartan asked.
“I am, my lord,” the plump widow said.
“Then come forward, and be joined,” Vartan said, and when the two stood before him he said, “Marriage between a man and a woman is sacred in the eyes of the Celestial Actuary. It is the husband’s duty to provide for his mate. It is the wife’s duty to care for her mate. Are you, Pol, willing to provide for Corliss, and treat her with dignity and kindness?”
“I am, my lord,” Pol said.
“And you, Corliss, will you care for Pol, treating him with respect and kindness?”
“I will, my lord,” the widow replied.
“Then it is done, and you are considered husband and wife in the eyes of the Celestial Actuary,” Vartan concluded. He drew a coin from his vest pocket, and gave it to the bride. “For luck,” he told her, and kissed her cheek. Then he shook Pol’s hand.
“Thank you, my lord,” the newly wed man said. Then he and his new bride left the hall chattering busily about where they would now live.
“A grand solution, my lord, to a difficult problem,” Scully said grinning broadly.
“Do not thank me, but rather my companion, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” Vartan said graciously. “She is my guest at Camdene.”
The headman looked at Lara admiringly. “Thank you, my lady,” he said.
“It was common sense,” Lara told him, “but sometimes it takes an outsider to see the path through the woods.” She smiled at him.
They left Orlege, and traveled on to Leax, Vartan’s next village. Again Lara found it a pretty and thriving place. Along the path they traveled, fat cattle grazed on the grass of the plain. There were no problems in Leax that required Vartan’s attention, and so they moved quickly on to the next village, Scur, which sat by a swiftly flowing brook. The headman there, Evin, was concerned because in the last few days the fish that populated the brook were turning up dead. He had forbidden anyone to eat the fish, but was worried that if the fish were dying, the water could be tainted.
“Where does the brook flow from?” Vartan asked.
“The north, my lord. In the mountains of the Piaras and Tormod clans,” Evin answered.
“I shall send someone north to investigate,” Vartan promised. “The village has another well?”
“Yes, my lord. It comes from an underground spring not connected with the brook,” Evin said.
“Continue to keep people from the brook and the fish until we learn what is happening,” Vartan said.
“You will remain the night, my lord?” Evin bowed when he offered the invitation.
“We will,” Vartan said jovially. “This is Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, who is my guest at Camdene.”
“You are from Hetar,” Evin said.
“We are all from Hetar,” Lara told him.
“They do not think it,” he replied.
“Then they are fools,” Lara remarked, “and I have little tolerance for fools.”
The sun set quickly, as was its habit here in the Outlands. Evin’s wife invited them to her table, clucking and fussing as the meal was brought forth. Vartan praised her menu, and she beamed, well pleased. Shortly after their meal in the headman’s little hall the lord of the Fiacre and his companion were shown to a bedchamber, and bid goodnight.
Lara looked about her. There was one bed. “Where will you sleep?” she asked Vartan. “The bed or the floor?”
“We will share the bed,” he said in matter-of-fact tones.
“I have not offered my body to you, my lord Vartan,” Lara said tartly.
“I have not asked for it,” he replied, his tone amused.
“Then one of us must sleep upon the floor,” she told him.
“Why? The bed is large enough for two,” he replied. “Evin and his wife have honored us by giving us their chamber to sleep in, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.”
“I will take the floor, then,” Lara said, and pulled a coverlet from the bed.
He snatched the coverlet back with one hand, reaching for her with the other. Then tossing the coverlet onto the bed he took her chin between his thumb and his forefinger even as he pressed her slender form against his hard one and looked down into her lovely face. “Do you think I lured you out to one of my distant villages to seduce you, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword? Do you believe I am the kind of man who would share my body with you for the first time in a borrowed bed, in an underling’s house?” His blue eyes stared fiercely into her green ones. “If I had desired nothing more than to bed you I could have done it that first day we met out on the plain. When we finally decide to share pleasure with each other, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, it will be because we both want it. Despite what your Hetarian teachers have taught you, I am not a savage bent on rapine and pillage. Now get into that bed, which I fully intend sharing with you. The nights grow cold in late summer on the plain.” Then tipping her face up, he kissed her a slow, hard kiss and, releasing her from his grasp, shoved her toward the bed.
Meekly, Lara complied with his request, but she couldn’t resist saying, “I just wanted you to understand that I am not some common Pleasure Woman, my lord Vartan.”
“No,” he replied wryly. “You could not be called common, and you have a destiny to fulfill.” Then climbing into the bed, he turned his back to her.
