“What was your great-uncle’s name?” the watchman asked. Bess was well prepared for that question—indeed, well prepared for any question having to do with her fictitious family. “Raymond, sir. Of Milorga.”
The watchman shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know the name, and I’ve lived here all my life. We can ask, but I doubt that anyone will recognize it. I think you’d better come to the courthouse, young woman, and see if young Magistrate Kerren will consent to look in his record book for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bess said, and sighed. “I didn’t really expect to find his family here. I am hoping for some hint of their whereabouts, though.”
“It is likely to be a long search, through many villages,” the watchman said with sympathy. “Come, maiden. Let me take you to our magistrate.”
Bess went willingly—very willingly indeed. She didn’t have to marry the young magistrate, of course—Miles had made it clear that he wouldn’t ask that of any woman. But if he wasn’t too repugnant, and if she could bring herself to marry without love, she could do a great deal of good for the cause. He had been quick to remind her that, since she came to it by assignment, it didn’t need to last any longer than any magistrate’s marriage—and between the Guardian and the knowledge Dirk had taught them all, she knew quite well how to keep from becoming pregnant.
Unless she wanted to, of course.
Bess was more than willing. What else did life hold for her, now that the Wizard had waked her from her lovely dream? For a moment, she felt a lash of savage anger at him, for tearing away her sweet insanity—but she let it pass, knowing that holding to her anger, treasuring it, would only undo her. She was restored to real life and had to make the best of it—and she wouldn’t be the first woman to marry for reasons other than love. She was no virgin—the affairs and love-games of the deluded court had been real enough in that respect, and she had joined in with a will.
Still, the thought of marriage was exciting, though also frightening. Besides, the magistrate was young. She intended to be his first wife, and if the revolution succeeded, perhaps his only wife.
If he was desirable.
Spring had come around again. The trees around the Greenthorpe courthouse were heavy with blossoms, and the people of the village wore their brightest clothing as they filed in through the open gates, to take up their places all around the doorway. Musicians played—viol, gamba, and lute, with a flute, a hautboy, and a bassoon giving the music richer accents with their wooden instruments.
The bailiff and the most prominent merchants stood to the left of the courthouse door, richly clad. At the right stood the masters of the trade guilds, more soberly dressed, but with their chains of office making them every bit as grand as the merchants.
The orchestra paused, then played more loudly, a solemn march, as Orgoru came out of the courthouse door in his most formal velvet robes, his own chain of office dimming all others by its luster. The crowd murmured in anticipation as the march picked up tempo, remaining stately but with a more joyous tune. The people in the gateway parted, and six village girls came walking down the path dressed in light pastel gowns with flower wreaths in their hair. After them came Gilda, clothed in white, a crown of flowers holding the veil that covered her face.
The bridesmaids parted, stepping to either side. Gilda paced between them, and if there were a few glares of jealousy and, here and there, a muttered remark that would have been more fitting for a cat than for a village matron, surely they may be excused. After all, every woman between the ages of fifteen and fifty had secretly been hoping to wed the new magistrate, and for an outsider to walk off with the prize was certainly reason for bitterness.
Orgoru stepped forward, hand outstretched, and Gilda stepped up to the broad threshold beside him.
The music ended with a bright flourish, and the bailiff stepped forward, cleared his throat, and thumped his staff for silence. “Friends and neighbors! Hark and hear! It is the office of the magistrate to perform weddings, but when the magistrate himself is being married, his bailiff has the honor of conducting the ceremony—and so I do!”
He turned to face Orgoru and Gilda, beginning the long sequence of questions that made it as sure as anything could that the two people before him knew what they were getting into, and were braced for the worst as well as expecting the best. Nothing could really guarantee a happy marriage, of course, and there was nothing to stop a couple of youngsters from simply memorizing the questions and the answers without stopping to think what they meant—but the challenges the bailiff read off would at least give all but the worst hotheads time for second thoughts.
In the case of marriages the magistrate himself ordered, of course, the ceremony was much shorter.
Finally the questions were done; finally the bailiff called out, “I now pronounce you man and wife!” and Orgoru lifted Gilda’s veil to kiss her. The crowd cheered, and if among them was a vagabond with his lute slung across his back and his pouch at his side, why, the more shouts that praised the happy couple, the luckier their union would be.
The orchestra broke into a triumphant wedding march as their magistrate and his new wife turned to wave at the crowd, then led the way down the path toward the gates, and the tables that had been set up outside, filled with food, and the kegs of wine and beer that stood beside them. They shook hands with each of their guests, which included the whole village and most of the surrounding farm families.
As the vagabond came through, one or two of the villagers may have noticed the bride giving the vagabond a quick peck on the cheek, and the magistrate leaning forward to whisper in the vagabond’s ear as he shook his hand. “Thank you for coming, Miles! It’s so good to see you here!”
“I had to come to wish you well, Orgoru,” the secret chief of the rebels whispered back, “and I do, with all my heart!” He gave Orgoru’s hand a last pump, and moved on. The magistrate smiled after him a moment.
“What is it, husband?” Gilda said, low-voiced and blushing. “I think Ciletha may have become closer to our friend Miles than we knew,” he murmured back, then turned to shake the next hand, while Gilda glanced at Miles’s back, her eyes glowing with shared happiness.
The little orchestra took up dance tunes, and when they tired, a farmer stepped forward with his bagpipes. The celebration lasted until the sun went down, and no one begrudged the vagabond a bite or a glass of wine, especially since he began to play his lute when the other musicians tired. When they caught their breath and began to play again, he danced with the village girls, and only he seemed to be surprised at the strange woman who stepped from the crowd to dance with him.
So Orgoru and Gilda were married, and Miles and Ciletha danced at their wedding, and though the revolution might be long in coming, they certainly seemed to be enjoying the waiting.
After the wedding, Orgoru closed the bedroom door on the last of the well-wishers, took Gilda in his arms, and kissed her. Then he stepped a little away and said, “Remember, we don’t have to make love if you don’t want.”
“Of course I want to,” she said, “and you yourself are the sweet reason why. But if you need any other reason, remember that without your children, I’ll have no claim on the Protector’s living after you’re reassigned. Worse, everyone will think I’m barren, and I’ll be sent to the frontier farms—though, truth to tell, I’d resigned myself to spinsterhood before I came to Greenthorpe.”
Confused, Orgoru said, “But we’re going to overthrow the system and be able to stay together for life!” Or die trying, he thought, though he didn’t mention that out loud.