“You just said it. I am a wizard, madam. I know things. It will rain.”
“Then tell me, sir, how many children did I birth?”
Suddenly he simply knew. “You birthed five children, madam, but only one survived—Sir Thomas de Gay, a fine man I once met.”
It was difficult to tell if her eyes looked startled, but he believed they did. She said at last, “Your answer is correct. All those dead babes. It seems that more babes die than survive in this bitter world.”
“I am sorry, madam. Now, would you tell me about this curse?”
She yawned in his face. Her breath wasn’t sweet, nor was it foul. It was simply old and faded, nearly sheer, like an ancient whisper. “I don’t think so. I am vastly tired.” She waved her hand, then let it fall to her side, as if it had a will of its own, as if the rings were so heavy she couldn’t keep the hand up.
She said, “I have met you and I have given you warning. Mayhap you are a wizard. You knew about my children, and that surprised me. You said it will rain. But you are not as strong as the curse. Leave now, Sir Bishop of Lythe. Rain, it is a wondrous thing. I long to see curtains of rain, to feel it against my skin. Rain tastes good on a tongue. All this is very curious.”
She turned slowly and walked toward the door of the small chamber. He watched her gown pick up more dust from the stone floor. She paused at the door, looked over her shoulder at him, cocked her head, then whispered in that parchment-thin voice,
“The enemy will die who comes by sea.
The enemy by land will cease to be.
The enemy will fail who uses the key.
Doubt this not,
This land is blessed for eternity.
“Maiden’s heart pure as fire
Maiden’s eyes, green as desire
Maiden’s hair, a wicked red
Any who force her will soon be dead.”
When she finished, she smiled at him. “The Penwyth curse is a good curse. It is strong. It has meat and gristle and bone. It will last a very long time. Aye, something you don’t know, my beautiful boy. My mother was a Witch of Byrne. She knew of the curse when I wedded with Lord Vellan, told me it would protect my home even after I was long dead. Then she whispered that she didn’t know if I would ever die.”
“Did your mother the Witch of Byrne die?”
“My father slew her,” she said, “and buried her heart away from her body.” She gave him a vague smile and left the steward’s chamber.
Bishop stared at the closed door, stared at it for a very long time. He felt cold.
He wondered if Merryn was a witch, like her great-grandmother. He was still alive in the early evening when the servants brought in bread and cheese and ale to feed the forty people, only twenty of them soldiers to guard the keep, and six wolfhounds that sat on their haunches in a straight line, jowls quivering.
Bishop saw a very old serving woman carry a heavy wooden platter to Lord Vellan. It was piled high with stark white bones that had been boiled clean.
Lord Vellan picked up the biggest bone and tossed it to the first wolfhound in the line. He caught it in midair. The other dogs didn’t move. One by one, each caught his own bone and fell to.
Only then did the rest of the company begin their meal.
“The hounds are well trained,” Bishop said to Lord Vellan.
Lord Vellan looked over his shoulder, saw that the first wolfhound was back on his haunches, and threw him another big bone.
“Aye, those that aren’t stay in the bailey.”
“I met your lady wife, sir. She came upon me in the steward’s chamber.”
Lord Vellan threw more bones, then smiled at Bishop. “Poor Ranlief. My steward hasn’t stopped his complaining. He has three blankets, what more could he want? Ah, my wife. Twisted you up, did she, lad?”