it, and left only silence. I shouted again and advanced toward the door with the dog at my heels, and had almost reached it when a woman appeared there. She had a delicate face that might easily have been beautiful had it not been for her haunted eyes, but she wore a ragged dress that differed from a beggar's only by being clean. After a moment, a round-faced little boy, larger-eyed even than his mother, peeped past her skirt. I said, “I am sorry if I startled you, but I have been lost in these mountains.”
The woman nodded, hesitated, then drew back from the door, and I stepped inside. Her house was even smaller within its thick walls than I had supposed, and it reeked with the smell of some strong vegetable boiling in a kettle suspended on a hook over the fire. The windows were few and small, and because of the depth of the walls seemed rather boxes of shadow than apertures of light. An old man sat upon a panther skin with his back to the fire; his eyes were so lacking in focus and intelligence that at first I thought him blind. There was a table at the center of the room, with five chairs about it, of which three seemed to have been made for adults. I remembered what Dorcas had told me about furniture from the abandoned houses of Nessus being brought north for eclectics who had adopted more cultivated fashions, but all the pieces showed signs of having been made on the spot.
The woman saw the direction of my glance and said, “My husband will be here soon. Before supper.”
I told her, “You don't have to worry — I mean you no harm. If you'll let me share your meal and sleep here tonight out of the cold, and give me directions in the morning, I'll be glad to help with whatever work there is to be done.”
The woman nodded, and quite unexpectedly the little boy piped,
“Have you seen Severa?” His mother turned on him so quickly that I was reminded of Master Gurloes demonstrating the grips used to control prisoners. I heard the blow, though I hardly saw it, and the little boy shrieked. His mother moved to block the door, and he hid himself behind a chest in the corner farthest from her. I understood then, or thought I understood, that Severa was a girl or woman whom she considered more vulnerable than herself, and whom she had ordered to hide (probably in the loft, under the thatch) before letting me in. But I reasoned that any further protestation of my good intentions would be wasted on the woman, who however ignorant was clearly no fool, and that the best way to gain her confidence was to deserve it. I began by asking her for some water so that I could wash, and said that I would gladly carry it from whatever source they had if she would permit me to heat it at her fire. She gave me a pot, and told me where the spring was. At one time or another I have been in most of the places that are conventionally considered romantic — atop high towers, deep in the bowels of the world, in palatial buildings, in jungles, and aboard a ship — yet none of these have affected me in the same way as that poor cabin of stones. It seemed to me the archetype of those caves into which, as scholars teach, humanity has crept again at the lowest point of each cycle of civilization. Whenever I have read or heard a description of an idyllic rustic retreat (and it was an idea of which Thecla was very fond) it has dwelt on cleanliness and order. There is a bed of mint beneath the window, wood stacked by the coldest wall, a gleaming flagstone floor, and so on. There was nothing of that here, no ideality; and yet the house was more perfect for all its imperfection, showing that human beings might live and love in such a remote spot without the ability to shape their habitat into a poem.
“Do you always shave with your sword?” the woman asked. It was the first time she had spoken to me unguardedly.
“It is a custom, a tradition. If the sword were not sharp enough for me to shave with, I would be ashamed to bear it. And if it is sharp enough, what need do I have of a razor?”
“Still it must be awkward, holding such a heavy blade up like that, and you must have to take great care not to cut yourself.”
“The exercise strengthens my arms. Besides, it's good for me to handle my sword every chance I get, so that it becomes as familiar as my limbs.”
“You're a soldier, then. I thought so.”
“I am a butcher of men.”
She seemed taken aback at that, and said, “I didn't mean to insult you.”
“I'm not insulted. Everyone kills certain things — you killed those roots in your kettle when you put them into the boiling water. When I kill a man, I save the lives of all the living things he would have destroyed if he had continued to live himself, including, perhaps, many other men, and women and children. What does your husband do?”
The woman smiled a little at that. It was the first time I had seen her smile, and it made her look much younger. “Everything. A man has to do everything up here.”
“You weren't born here then.”
“No,” she said. “Only Severian...” The smile was gone;
“Did you say
“That's my son's name. You saw him when you came in, and he's spying on us now. He is a thoughtless boy sometimes.”
“That is my own name. I am Master Severian.” She called to the boy, “Did you hear that? The goodman's name is the same as yours!” Then to me again, “Do you think it's a good name? Do you like it?”
“I'm afraid I've never thought much about it, but yes, I suppose I do. It seems to suit me.” I had finished shaving, and seated myself in one of the chairs to tend the blade.
“I was born in Thrax,” the woman said. “Have you ever been there?”
“I just came from there,” I told her. If the dimarchi were to question her after I left, her description of my habit would give me away in any case.
“You didn't meet a woman called Herais? She's my mother.” I shook my head.
“Well, it's a big town, I suppose. You weren't there long?”
“No, not long at all. While you have been in these mountains, have you heard of the Pelerines? They're an order of priestesses who wear red.”
“I'm afraid not. We don't get much news here.”
“I'm trying to locate them, or if I can't, to join the army the Autarch is leading against the Ascians.”
