Point of Hopes

De Mailhac turned to Denizard and Eslingen. “And how is Hanselin? We never get to see him here, only when I travel to the court at Astreiant.”

“He’s well enough, maseigne, though, as I said, troubled by the silence and, more importantly, the lack of any deliveries from Mailhac,” Denizard said. Her voice was pleasant enough, but there were teeth behind the words. “He is not a man to cross, maseigne, I do beg you to believe that. And the two of you have an agreement, an oath of honor between you, that he should regret deeply were it to be broken.” The magist lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug.

De Mailhac glanced almost involuntarily at Timenard, and the round man leaned forward.

“Oh, dear, yes, that is fully understood, and very distressing it must be for Master Caiazzo to find his plans delayed. But…” Timenard spread his hands. “He must understand, the mines here at Mailhac are virtually played out. I have been doing everything in my power to help maseigne eke out what we can, but it’s barely enough to support the estate itself, let alone such grand merchant plans as Caiazzo must have in train.”

“Ah. And why not just tell Hanse that?” Denizard asked, still pleasantly. “I’m sure–something–could be worked out.”

“But the people he sent… we sent them back to him with just that message, begging his patience and understanding. Are you saying he never received word?” Timenard blinked at her in what looked like genuine puzzlement.

Denizard turned a crust of bread between her fingers. “No,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Not precisely. As I told the maseigne when we arrived, only one messenger returned to Astreiant, and he was attacked and nearly killed on the road south.”

De Mailhac and Timenard exchanged looks, and the magist laid his hand briefly on the noble’s where it lay on the tablecloth. Rathe, watching closely, couldn’t be sure if the magist meant to comfort or to warn her.

“But that’s–dreadful,” Timenard said. “What must he think of us, of matters here? He must surely think maseigne is trying to renege on–as you say–a pledge of honor, and that is not to be borne.”

“After last summer…” Denizard said, and let the words hang in the air. “You can understand our concern.”

Eslingen cleared his throat. “We understood that the mines did well enough for you to have spent the Spring Balance at court, maseigne. And that’s not a cheap proposition.”

Timenard’s face flushed pink, his bright blue eyes wide and a little angry, and de Mailhac’s eyes fell. The old magist frowned at her, and looked at Eslingen.

“I’m delighted Master Caiazzo’s people are so well informed, but they don’t, perhaps, know everything.”

De Mailhac stirred, seemed about to speak, and Timenard turned to her, continuing earnestly, “Please, maseigne, you must let me explain to them, it’s likely the only thing that will satisfy your associate.”

De Mailhac lifted a hand in permission–or was it acquiescence? Rathe wondered–and Timenard gave her a half bow, turned to speak to Denizard. “As I said, we fully understand the constraints the lack of gold must place on Master Caiazzo, but, also as I said, it has been completely unavoidable. Yes, maseigne visited the court at the Spring Balance, but the reason will, I hope, appease you and Master Caiazzo.”

Denizard inclined her head. “I hope so, too, Magist Timenard. I most sincerely hope so.”

“Maseigne understands the obligation she is under to Caiazzo, rest assured of that, and it was because of this obligation that she attended the queen this spring past. There is, just to the east of this land, an open parcel on which, it is likely, are further deposits, enough to satisfy both Caiazzo and the requirements of managing an estate such as Mailhac. Maseigne petitioned the queen to extend Mailhac’s seigneurial rights to that parcel.”

“I see.” Denizard sounded almost suspiciously demure. “And did Her Majesty grant this petition?”

“It’s still under advisement,” Timenard conceded, a trifle stiffly. “We expect a decision by the Fall Balance.”

“That’s rather late for the trading season, surely,” Eslingen murmured in a tone of silken menace, and Rathe, despite himself, hid a smile. This was a very different Eslingen from the one who had been Devynck’s knife.

“Entirely too late for bankers’ comfort,” b’Estorr agreed.

“But there seems to be little or nothing either Maseigne de Mailhac or Magist Timenard are capable of doing about it,” Denizard said, and managed to make it a mild rebuke.

De Mailhac spread her hands. “I wish there were something I could do, Aicelin, truly. I know Hanselin to be an honorable man, and I have appreciated his forbearing these few months. If there were any way I could supply his needs–and my obligation–then please believe I would.”

Denizard smiled gravely. “I have to, maseigne, and will certainly take your word to Caiazzo, though I’m sure you’ll be willing to show me your plans in more detail–perhaps a visit to the mine, or to this new land, would be in order.” This time, Rathe was sure he saw fear flare in the landame’s eyes, but Denizard continued without hesitation. “In any case, I know he’ll be relieved to hear of the possibility of redress.”

“The mine itself is always dangerous ground, no one goes there,” de Mailhac began, and Timenard cut her off, his voice riding over whatever else she would have said.

“But the miners are competent, maseigne. I’m sure something can be arranged.”

De Mailhac’s smile looked forced, but she murmured something that was obviously meant for’agreement. The rest of the di

Once the servant had left, the four gathered again in Denizard’s room, and Rathe prodded moodily at the dying fire. Outside the shuttered window, the wind was rising, soughing through the trees above the manor house.

“Someone’s lying, in a big way,” Denizard said after a moment, and b’Estorr nodded. He crossed to the window and pulled the shutters aside, staring out into the half light. The weather was breaking, Rathe saw over the other man’s shoulder, the clouds were shredding to reveal patches of sky and what was left of the winter‑sun’s light. It was another hour or two to the second sunset, he thought, and realized with some surprise that he hadn’t seen a clock in any of the rooms.

“Obviously, but they said so much, and so little, where’s the exact lie?” Eslingen asked. “I don’t believe the mines are played out, not the way that table was set and provisioned, not with gold about the only means of support for an estate like this–does this look like good farmland to any of you?”

“Well, one thing they’re lying about,” Rathe said, “is her stay at court. Or the reason for it.” He got up, went to join b’Estorr at the window. “Look, I served the Judge‑Advocate Foucquet when I was a boy, I’ve seen cases like this. There is no way either the law, or the queen, for that matter, would permit a petty Ile’nord ladyling”–his voice was savage–“to extend her rights to free land. And even if the law permitted it, Her Majesty wouldn’t countenance it.” He remembered standing behind Foucquet in the great hall of the Tour, watching the queen with adolescent awe. She was a tall woman anyway, and her anger at a southern noble who was seeking much the same kind of extension de Mailhac said she sought had only seemed to make her taller. Nobles, she said, could learn to live within their means, certainly within their lands. She would set no potential strife in motion by increasing holdings that had been sufficient and more than sufficient for generations. Free land was just that, and would remain so, for the use of people who farmed or herded for themselves alone, or their families.