She had gone quietly to sleep; Rodvard had to rouse her with the
finger-touch behind the right ear that wakens without shock. Even then,
she tried for a moment to draw him close until he whispered; “We must
hurry.”
Beyond the window there was only cold wintry starshine and little enough
of that; but Rodvard had hoped for snow or rain. Lalette gathered her
smallest of bundles; he led along the balcony three windows down, to
where the trellis was, and stepped off backward into night, resting a
moment on each step before taking the next. Lalette’s dresses almost
made her stumble on the last steps; she sank into his arms with a little
gasp at the bottom. They had carefully worked out the matter of getting
over the garden-wall, from the barrel to the shed-roof, the shed-roof to
the wall itself.
It was too late for the bracket-torch on the back street to have
remained alight. As soon as she was down, they dodged shivering past the
plane-trees, across, around a corner and into the appointed alley.
Something jingled; the man said; “Are you the travellers?”
“Dame Domijaiek’s travellers,” said Rodvard, as agreed, and; “Here is
your horse and your let-pass,” the other.
Rodvard got up first; the man, whose features remained
indistinguishable, helped Lalette up behind and gave them a farewell in
tones not unfriendly. Rodvard had seldom followed the maze of streets
toward the northwest quarter, but it was fairly easy to maintain
direction, and there was only one gate leading to the Archer’s Highroad.
The horse walked, and Lalette felt so sleepy that it was almost agony to
keep her place.
There was no one moving on any street and hardly a light at any window.
Once a wrong turn led into a blind alley, but that did not hold them
back long, and now they were in the shadow of the gate, with a sentry
barring the path with a pike and another holding up a lantern.
“This is a fine hour to be leaving the city,” grumbled the first.
“All hours are fine when one must go,” said Rodvard, and produced his
paper; this was the moment of test.
The sentry puzzled over it a moment, looked back at them, to the paper
again, and said; “Pass friends.” As he turned back to the sentry-cachet
with his pike-bearing companion, Rodvard caught a fragment of words
“. . . won’t be too glad to see that couple,” and wondered what the
paper had said.
As they reached the far end of the bridge, where the ancient stone
leopard stands, he urged his mount to trot, but the pace was too fast
for Lalette, she had to beg him not to. They moved for a long time
through a space without figures until, like a conjurer’s trick, trees
and houses began to appear in grey outline around them, and then slowly
to take on color. The road turned leftward, and the river was beyond,
with ice on it. Lalette said; “Rodvard.”
He did not turn his head. “What will you have?”
“Can you forgive me?”
“For what?”
“Taking you away from—everything. Your new day, the work.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I had to go.”
They were silent again, and in that silence the sun grew behind streaked
clouds. Lalette was so tired and sore that she felt she must say
something about it, but just before endurance reached its limit, they
came to the famous bridge of boats at Gogau, with its inn on the
opposite bank, and Rodvard said; “Let us rest here and take
refreshment.”
He helped her down and inside to a seat, still without words, and a
round-cheeked innkeeper came to them with a good morning. After he had
gone, Rodvard said:
“No . . . I do not know quite what I wished or what I wish now; but I am
sure it is not to be compelled to use all I have in Mathurin’s
way. . . .”
He stared across the room away from her, and she (grateful that he was
not looking to read her thought with the Blue Star) said; “Do you think
he can make his regency stand?”
“I do not know, but I think not in the long run. If Prince Pavinius has
beaten the Tritulaccans so badly . . .” He touched the jacket where the
cold stone lay. “This is not me, and I’ll not be ruled by it, no more
than you by your gift of witchery.”
She shuddered slightly. “It is a gift I never wished.”
Now his face showed trouble. He stood up and paced the floor, then
turned to the inn portal, where after a moment she joined him, looking
out. The sun had daunted down the clouds, picking everything out in
winter’s white gold; beneath them the river hurried past, carrying
little pieces of ice against the black boats. At last he said;
“Somewhere I have lost the line. . . . I suppose that the most we can do
is try to use the lesser evil to overcome the greater, forgiving what we
can. . . . It is I who ask you to forgive me.”
She put an arm around his waist. “You do not need to. I think I love
you.”
For an enchanted moment they stood so. Then Rodvard’s hands went to his
neck, and with a swift motion, he drew out the Blue Star, over his head
and holding it in his hand, glanced at the stream and then at Lalette.
“Yes,” she said. It made only a small splash where it struck the water.