Outside the hall it was a shock to come into bright flowers and green.
The sun was just plunging down behind the low green hills westward, the
birds singing sleep-songs and everything in perfect peace, not a leaf in
movement. Tuolén the butler tapped Rodvard on the shoulder and when they
were together in his cabinet, brought forth a bottle of Kjermanash
ceriso, held it up to contemplate the ruby glow against the falling
light and poured into goblets of crystal.
“You found it diverting, Ser Bergelin? His Grace is very astute.”
Rodvard, sipping, perceived that a reply was asked. “Did he convince
them, then?”
“Where were your eyes? Ah, over your papers. But surely you saw enough
to know that conviction was beyond His Grace’s purpose? The lords
episcopal will never be convinced; the lords militant are convinced
already. Did you watch Brunivar when Cleudi accused him of being a
follower of Pavinius, whether as Prince or Prophet?”
“No, I was writing.”
“It would have been worth your trouble. There was that something like a
golden flash which always comes when a man discovers that what he has
said in innocency may be taken as the product of a guilty mind.”
“Guilty?” Rodvard’s surprise broke through the guard he had set on his
thought. “I am new to this Blue Star, but saw no guilt, only an honest
man who would help others.”
The butler’s permanent smile came up out of his crystal. “Honest?
Honest? I imagine Brunivar may answer to that. A tradesman’s quality at
best; I look for it in dealers who furnish the court with pork. But in
high policy, that type will hardly gain one more than a length of cold
ground—which it will now do for Brunivar.”
Rodvard looked down. “Then—then His Grace was playing a game with
Brunivar, to—”
“To make this public confession that he is either an Amorosian or a
follower of the Prince. As you clearly discovered. The episcopals can
never let that fall. They can no more have a man of such opinions as
regent-apparent than they could have Pavinius for king. So now there
will be an accusation and a trial and Brunivar walking the walk to meet
the throat-cutter on the scaffold, for I doubt they can afford
banishment. Not while Her Majesty insists on carrying through the old
King’s will that makes Brunivar regent-apparent for his honesty if the
throne falls vacant. But mark the astuteness of His Grace, who at the
same time destroys the popular party by taking off its best leader. But
I do not think more will be until after the spring festival, since to
condemn Brunivar now would give him the cancellation of punishments
which the festival entails.”
He gave a grunting laugh, drained his ceriso, refilled his own goblet
and brought Rodvard’s up to the brim, while the latter’s thoughts
whirled wildly, to cover which he asked; “The short man, always smiling,
though he spoke so sourly, was the Duke of Aggermans?”
“Yes. One to watch. I have caught him thinking of schemes by which he
may one day reach the Chancellor’s seat. That is why he opposes
Cleudi. . . . Ser, why are you so deep in turmoil of mind?”
“I—I suppose it must have something to do with Baron Brunivar,” said
Rodvard (not daring to try to conceal). “I have always heard him well
spoke of as a man who thinks of the benefit of others than himself.”
The steady smile became a chuckle. “So he does. These are the most
dangerous kind in politic. The next step beyond thinking on the good of
others is deciding what that good will be. A privilege reserved to God.
But is not His Grace astute?”
“Yet it seems to me shocking that a man who has done no wrong—”
“Ah, I see where you lead. Ser Bergelin, wrong is not in acts alone, or
else every soldier would be a criminal, but in the thoughts with which
they are done.” He tapped the jacket just over his heart, where the Blue
Star would hang, and for the first time the smile left his face. “When
you have borne one of these baubles as long as I, you will learn
something—namely, that few of us are different from the rest. I saw a
man in a dungeon once, a murderer, whose thoughts were better than those
of the deacon who gave him consolation. To my mind, that is. You or
another might take those same thoughts for hideous. Take now your Baron
Brunivar, who seems so lofty to you because on one range of topic his
desires chime with your own. Yet you are not his identical; watch him, I
say, and you will find his gold more than half brass in another light.
Wrong? Right? I do not know what value they have to one who wears the
Blue Star.”