Suldrun's Garden

Chapter 22

AT CASTLE SANK TAUSSIG'S GANG was assigned to the saw-mill. A

ponderous water-wheel, moving a linkage of iron levers, raised and lowered a straight-bladed saw of forged steel nine feet long and worth its weight in gold. The saw squared timbers and cut planks with a speed and accuracy Aillas found remarkable. Skalings with long experience controlled the mechanism, lovingly sharpened the teeth, and apparently worked without coercion or supervision.

Taussig's gang was assigned to the seasoning shed, where they stacked and restacked planks.

Over the weeks Aillas gradually, a trifle at at a time, incurred Taussig's disfavor and dislike. Taussig despised Aillas'

fastidious habits and his disinclination to work any more energetically than was absolutely necessary. Yane shared Taussig's disfavor because he managed to achieve his share of the work without perceptible effort, which caused Taussig to suspect him of shirking, though he could never demonstrate as much.

At first Taussig tried to reason with Aillas. "Look you now! I've been watching and you don't deceive me an instant! Why do you give yourself such airs, as if you were a former lord? You will never better yourself by such means. Do you know what happens to shirkers and fiddity-didjets? They are put to work in the lead mines, and if they short their stint they are sent to the sword factory and their bodies' blood hardens the steel. I advise you to show me somewhat more zeal."

Aillas responded as politely as possible. "The Ska took me against my will; they broke apart my life; they have done me great harm; why should I exert myself for their benefit?"

"Your life has changed; true!" argued Taussig. "Make the best of it, like the rest of us! Think! Thirty years is not so long a time! They will either send you away a free man with ten gold coins, or they will give you a farmstead with a hut, a woman, animals; and your children are free from indenture. Is that not generous?"

"For the best part of my life?" Aillas sneered and turned away.

Taussig angrily called him back. "Perhaps you scorn the future!

Not I! When my gang performs poorly, I take demerits. I want none on your account!" Taussig hopped away, his face mottled with fury.

Two days later Taussig led Aillas and Yane to the yard at the rear of Castle Sank. He spoke no word, but the jerk of his elbows, the bob of his head were freighted with portent.

Where the gate opened into the yard, he swung about and at last gave vent to his rage. "They were wanting a pair of house-servants and I spoke up with my heart full! Now I am free of you both and Imboden the steward is your master. Try him with your provocations and learn what boon it brings you!"

Aillas studied the congested face thrust toward his own, then shrugged and turned away. Yane stood in despondent boredom. There was nothing more to be said.

Taussig called across the yard to a scullion. "Summon Imboden; bring him here!" He turned a darkling leer over his shoulder.

"Neither of you will like Imboden. He has the vanity of a peacock and the soul of a stoat. Your easy days of loitering in the sunshine are over."

Imboden came out on a porch overlooking the yard: a man of late maturity, narrow-shouldered with thin arms, long thin shanks, a swag of a belly. Dank locks clung to his scalp; he seemed to have no face, only a cluster of large features: long ears, a long lumpy nose, round black eyes encircled by arsenical rings, a drooping gray mouth. He made an imperious gesture toward Taussig, who roared: "Over here! I will not set foot in the castle yard!"

Imboden uttered an impatient oath, descended the steps and crossed the yard, using a peculiar strutting gait, which aroused Taussig's levity. "Come along now, you peculiar old goat! I haven't all day to waste!" To Aillas and Yane he said: "He's half-Ska, a bastard by a Celt woman: the worst of all worlds for a Skaling and he makes everyone know it."

Imboden halted at the gate. "Well, what now?"

"Here's a pair of house-monkeys for you. This one is finicky and washes overmuch; this one thinks himself wiser than the rest of us, principally me. Take them in good health."

Imboden looked the two up and down. He jerked his thumb at Aillas.

"This one has a strange wild look for one so young. He is not sick?"

"Sound as a hero in limb and lung!"

Imboden inspected Yane. "This one has the cast of a villain. I suppose he is sweet as honey?"

"He is deft and quick and walks as quiet as the ghost of a dead cat."

"Very well; they will do." Imboden made the smallest of signs.

In great glee Taussig told Aillas and Yane: "That means: 'Come along.' Oho, but you'll enjoy his signals, since he is too shy to speak!"

Imboden raked Taussig with a look of withering scorn, then turned and strutted across the yard with Aillas and Yane following. Where the stone steps rose to the porch Imboden made another small gesture, no more than a twitch of the finger. From the gate Taussig bawled: "That means he wants you to wait there!" With a chortling hoot of laughter Taussig went his way.

Minutes passed. Aillas became restless. Urgencies began to work upon him. He looked toward the gate and the open country beyond.

"Perhaps now is the time," he muttered to Yane. "There may never be a better!"

"There may never be a worse," observed Yane. "Taussig waits just yonder. He'd like nothing better than to see us run for it, since now he'd evade the flogging."

"The gate, the fields so close—they are tantalizing."

"Inside of five minutes they'd have the dogs on us."

Out on the porch came a slight sad-faced man in gray and yellow livery: short yellow trousers buckled below the knee on black stockings, a gray vest over a yellow shirt. A black bowl-shaped cap concealed his hair, which was evidently clipped short. "I am Cyprian; I have no title; call me slave-master, foreman, intercessor, chief Skaling—whatever you like. You will take orders from me, but only because I alone am privileged to speak with Imboden; he converses with the seneschal, who is Ska and is named Sir Kel. He receives those orders from Duke Luhalcx which ultimately are transferred through me to you. Presumably if you had a message for Duke Luhalcx you would utter it first to me.

What are your names?"

"I am Yane."

"That would seem Ulfish. And you?"

"Aillas."

'"Aillas'? That would be a name from the south. Lyonesse?"

"Troicinet."

"Well, no matter. Origins at Sank, like the kinds of meat in a sausage, are of no interest to anyone. Come with me; I'll find your dress and explain the rules of conduct, which as intelligent men, you already know. In simple terms they are—" Cyprian raised four fingers. "First, obey orders exactly. Second, be clean.

Third, be as invisible as air. Never intrude upon the Ska attention. I believe that they will not, cannot, see a Skaling unless he does something remarkable or noisy. Fourth, and obviously: attempt no escape. It distresses everyone except the dogs which enjoy snarling men to bits. They can follow scent a month old, and you will be tracked down."

Aillas asked: "What then?"

Cyprian laughed a gentle sad laugh. "Suppose you owned a horse, and it persisted in running away. What would you do with it?"

"Much would depend on the horse."

"Precisely. If it were old, lame and vicious, you would kill it.

If it were young and strong, you would do nothing to limit its ability but you would send it to where an expert might break its spirit. If it were fit only for the treadmill, you might blind it."

"I would not do such things."

"In any case, that is the principle. A skilled clerk might lose a foot. The best to be said of the Ska is that they seldom, if ever, torture. The more useful you make yourself, the easier it goes when the dogs chase you down. Come now, to the dormitory. The barber will cut your hair."

Aillas and Yane followed Cyprian through a cool back passage to the Skaling dormitory. The barber pressed a shallow bowl over the head of each in turn and cut their hair off square halfway across the forehead, and so around to the back. In a lavatory they stood under a flow of water and washed with soft-soap mixed with fine sand, then shaved their faces.

Cyprian brought them gray and yellow livery. "Remember, the inconspicuous Skaling finds the least blame. Never address yourself to Imboden; he is more haughty than Duke Luhalcx himself.

Lady Chraio is a kind woman of even disposition and insists that the Skaling be fed well. Lord Alvicx, the oldest son, is erratic and somewhat unpredictable. The Lady Tatzel, the daughter, is pleasant to look at but is easily vexed. Still, she is not mordant and causes no great difficulties. So long as you move quietly and never turn your head to watch, you will be invisible to them. For a period you must clean floors; this is how we all begin."

Aillas had known many fine palaces and rich manor houses; there was, however, at Castle Sank an austere magnificence which impressed him, and which he could not totally comprehend. He discovered neither galleries nor promenades; the chambers communicated by short, often crooked passages. High ceilings tended to be lost in the shadows, thus to give an impression of mysterious space. Windows, narrow and small, perforated the walls at irregular intervals, the glass panes tinting incoming light misty amber or pale blue. Not all the rooms served functions obvious to Aillas, nor, indeed, did Duke Luhalcx, nor his lady Chraio, nor their children Alvicx and Tatzel, act according to tenets he comprehended. Each moved about the somber castle as if it were a stage where only this single person acted. All spoke in quiet voices, as often as not using Skalrad, a language far older than human history. They seldom laughed; their only humor seemed to be quiet irony or terse understatement. Each personality was like a citadel; each often seemed in a state of deep reverie, or caught in a flow of inner ideas more absorbing than conversation.

Occasionally one or the other would exhibit sudden flair or extravagance, to be damped as suddenly as it appeared. Aillas, though never far from his own concerns, could not avoid an evergrowing fascination with the folk who inhabited Castle Sank. As a slave he was as inconspicuous as a door. Covertly Aillas watched the denizens of Castle Sank as they went about the business of their lives.

At all times Duke Luhalcx, his family and their associates wore formal costumes of great sophistication, which were changed several times daily, according to occasion. The costumes and their appurtenances carried large symbolic freight of an import known only to themselves. On many occasions Aillas heard fascinating references he found incomprehensible. The family in public or in private demonstrated the formal manners they might have used with strangers. If affection between family members were present, it showed itself in signals too subtle for Aillas' perceptions.

Duke Luhalcx, tall, gaunt, hard of feature, with sea-green eyes, carried himself with decisive and unthinking dignity, at once easy and exact, which Aillas never saw disturbed: as if Luhalcx, for every contingency, had ready an appropriate response. He was the

127th of his line; in the "Chamber of Ancient Honors"* he displayed ceremonial masks carved in Norway long before the coming of the Ur-Goths. Lady Chraio, tall and slender, seemed almost unnaturally remote. Even when the ladies of visiting dignitaries were on hand, Aillas often noticed her alone at her loom or carving pear-wood bowls. She wore her straight black hair in orthodox style, cut at the level of her jaw bones on the sides and back of the head, higher across the forehead.

*Obviously the expression "Chamber of Ancient Honors" is no more than an approximate translation.

Lady Tatzel, about sixteen years old, was slender and taut, with small high breasts, narrow flanks like those of a boy, a peculiar zest and energy which seemed to carry her off the ground as she walked. She had a rather charming mannerism of walking, at times with head tilted to the side, a smile trembling on her mouth, at some private amusement known to no one but herself. She wore her hair like her mother and most Ska women, square across the forehead and below the ears. Her features were engagingly irregular; her personality vivid and direct. Her brother, Lord Alvicx, was about Aillas' own age, and of all the family, the most restless and uneasy. He carried himself with a swagger and spoke with more emphasis than any of the others. According to Cyprian he had fought a dozen battles with distinction and could claim knighthood in his own right for the foe-men he had killed.

The duties assigned to Aillas were menial. He was required to clean fireplaces, scrub flagstones, polish bronze lamps and fill them with oil. The work allowed him access to most of the castle except the sleeping chambers; he worked well enough to satisfy Cyprian and remained sufficiently inconspicuous that Imboden paid him no heed, and during all his waking moments he pondered methods of escape.

Cyprian seemed to read his mind. "The dogs, the dogs, the terrible dogs! They are a breed known only to the Ska; once they are put on a scent they never relent. To be sure, Skalings have been known to escape, sometimes with the aid of magical devices. But sometimes the Ska also use magic and the Skaling is caught up!"

"I thought the Ska were ignorant of magic."

"Who knows?" asked Cyprian, extending his arms and spreading his fingers. "Magic is quite beyond my understanding. Perhaps the Ska remember their magic from the far past. There surely are not many Ska magicians: at least not to my knowledge."

"I can't believe they'd waste their time capturing escaped slaves."

"You may well be right. Why should they bother? For every slave to escape, a hundred are recaptured. Not by magicians, but by dogs."

"Don't any runaways steal horses?"

"It's been tried, but seldom with success. Ska horses obey Ska commands. When a simple Daut or an Ulf tries to ride, the horse makes no move, or backs and squats, or it runs in circles, or it throws the rider. Do you think to ride a Ska horse for your swift escape. Is that what you had in mind?"

"I have nothing in mind," said Aillas rather curtly.

Cyprian smiled his melancholy smile. "It was for me an obsession—at first. Then the years went by, and the yearning became dim, and now I know that never will I be other than what I am until my thirty years are up."

"What of Imboden? Has he not been slave thirty years?"

"Ten years ago they were up. For us Imboden poses as a free man and a Ska; the Ska consider him a high-caste Skaling. He is a bitter and lonely man; his problems have made him strange and queer."

One evening as Aillas and Yane supped on bread and soup, Aillas spoke of Cyprian's preoccupation with escape. "Whenever I talk to him the subject seems to come up."

Yane responded with a grunt of sour amusement. "That habit has been noticed elsewhere."

"Perhaps it is only wistful daydreaming, or the like."

"Possibly so. Still, if I planned to depart Castle Sank in haste, I would not first notify Cyprian."

"To do so would seem a pointless courtesy. Especially since now I know how to escape Castle Sank, despite horses, dogs and Cyprian."

Yane looked at him sidelong. "That is valuable information. Do you plan to share it?"

"In due course. What rivers flow nearby?"

"There is only one of consequence: River Malkish, about three miles south. Escapers always make for this river, but it traps them. If they try to float down to the sea, they are drowned in the cataracts. If they wade upstream, dogs search each bank of the river and in due course pick up the trail. The river is a false ally; the Ska know it better than we do."

Aillas nodded and said no more. Thereafter, in his conversations with Cyprian he spoke of escape only in terms of theory, and Cyprian presently lost interest in the subject.

Up to the age of eleven or twelve Ska girls looked and acted like boys. Thereafter they altered, inevitably and properly. Young men and maidens mingled freely, controlled by the formality which regulated all Ska conduct at least as effectively as vigilant chaperonage.

At Castle Sank on sunny afternoons the young folk resorted to the garden terrace at the south side of the castle, where, according to their mood they played chess or backgammon, ate pomegranates, bantered with each other in the careful manner which other races thought dull, or watched as one among them challenged that perverse engine known as the hurlo-thrumbo. This device, intended for the training of swordsmen, that they might learn deftness and accuracy, dealt the clumsy challenger a mighty buffet if he failed to thrust into a small swinging target. Lord Alvicx, who was vain in his swordsmanship, considered himself expert in the game of outwitting the hurlo-thrumbo, and was always ready to demonstrate his skill, especially when Lady Tatzel brought her friends out upon the terrace.

To dramatize his grace and artistry he had developed a reckless foot-stamping style of attack which he embellished with flourishes of the sword and ancient Ska war cries.

On one such afternoon two of Alvicx's friends had already been discomfited by the machine, with nothing to show for their exercise save sore heads. Shaking his own head in mockcommiseration, Lord Alvicx took a sword from the table and set upon the machine, uttering guttural cries, leaping forward and back, ducking and thrusting, reviling the machine. "Ah, you whirling devil! Strike out at me, would you? Then what about this?

And this? Oh, the treachery! Once again! In and out!" As he sprang backward he toppled a marble urn which broke into shards on the flagstones.

Tatzel called out: "Well struck, Alvicx! With your awful rump you have destroyed your victim!"

Her friends looked away and into the sky with that faint smile which served Ska in the place of laughter.

Sir Kel, the seneschal, observing the damage, notified Imboden, who instructed Cyprian. In due course Aillas was sent to remove the broken urn. He rolled a small barrow out upon the terrace, loaded aboard the marble shards, then swept up the dirt with a broom and a pan.

Alvicx once again engaged the hurlo-thrumbo with more energy than ever, and so tripped over the barrow, to fall among the shards and dirt. Aillas had gone down upon his knees to sweep up the last of the dirt. Alvicx jumped erect and kicked Aillas on the buttocks.

For a second Aillas remained rigid, then restraint dissolved.

Rising to his feet he shoved Alvicx into the hurlo-thrumbo, which caused the padded arm to swing about and deal its usual blow upon the side of Alvicx's face.

Alvicx flourished his sword in a circle. "Villain!" He thrust at Aillas, who ducked back and seized a sword from the table. He fended off Alvicx's second thrust, then countered with such ferocity that Alvicx was forced back across the terrace. The situation was unprecedented; how could a Skaling outmatch the superb and skillful Alvicx? Across the terrace they moved, Alvicx trying to attack but constantly put on the defensive by his opponent's skill. He lunged; Aillas flicked aside his blade and backed Alvicx over the balustrade with the point of his sword pressing against Alvicx's throat.

"If this were the battlefield I could have killed you—easily," spoke Aillas in a voice tense with passion. "Be grateful that now I only trifle with you."

Aillas drew back the sword, replaced it on the table. He looked around the group and his eyes met those of the Lady Tatzel. For a moment their gazes remained in contact, then Aillas turned away and, righting the barrow, once again began to load it with pieces of the marble.

Alvicx watched brooding from across the terrace. He made his decision and signaled to a Ska guard. "Take this cur out behind the stable and kill him."

From a balcony overlooking the terrace Duke Luhalcx spoke. "That command, Lord Alvicx, does you no credit, and shames both the honor of our house and the justice of our race. I suggest that you rescind it."

Alvicx stared up at his father. Slowly he turned and spoke in a wooden voice: "Guards, ignore my order."

He bowed to his sister and their various guests, who had stood by in frozen-faced fascination; then he marched from the terrace.

Aillas returned to the barrow, finished loading the shards, while Lady Tatzel and her friends conducted a muted conversation, watching him from the corner of their eyes. Aillas paid them no heed. He swept the last of the soil from the flagstones, then wheeled the barrow away.

Cyprian communicated his opinion of the affair with a single sadeyed grimace of reproach, and at supper sat pointedly alone, with his face turned to the door.

Yane spoke to Aillas in low tones. "Is it true that you stabbed Alvicx with his own sword?"

"Not at all! I fenced with him a moment or two; I touched him with my point. It was no great affair."

"Not for you. For Alvicx it is shame, and so you will suffer."

"In what way?"

Yane laughed. "He hasn't yet made up his mind."