Only at the end did Henary give him something to think about. He was off to Willdon, he said. The seventh Festivity of Thenald...
After a few days, Chang left to investigate. He was lucky; after a day, a passing cart gave him a lift most of the way, exchanging the journey for company. The driver, whose name was Callan, was on his way back home.
‘Tell me about this place.’
Willdon, Callan assured him, was the best, most beautiful, most fertile spot in the world. The trees were greener, the crops healthier, the birds fatter, than anywhere else. Only when the subject of the Lord of the domain came up did his face darken. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Thenald’s a proud man. I suppose he has something to be proud of.’
‘Perhaps he will die of old age?’
‘Not him. Young and healthy, built like an ox.’
‘Mellowed by children?’
‘May such blessings be given him, but he’s been married a year and no sign as yet. A lovely woman, cleverer than he is, I reckon.’
Chang pondered this as he slept on the floor of the soldier’s hut that evening. What to do? The opportunity to go back would appear on the fifth day of the fifth year of the ruler of Willdon, that was what Angela said, and the current ruler was already in his seventh year and would remain in office until he died. So did he have to wait until then, then wait another five years after that? What if this Thenald lived for another twenty years?
He considered it some more when he first saw Thenald from a distance and realised how strong and healthy he was. He sat and meditated on his options, revolted by one, despairing at the other.
43
The Abasement had been particular to Willdon, and it was both impressive and strangely moving. Other places had similar things, of course, but none were so complete, brutal even, in their display. Henary stood lost in thought as the little party disappeared into the woods, and, though he knew perfectly well why they had left, he still allowed himself a flicker of frustration. Couldn’t it have waited a day? Or even a few hours until they established what had happened to Rosalind? Well, no. It had to be on the precise day, at the precise hour, that Lady Catherine had ascended into her position as ruler of Willdon. Saying it wasn’t convenient, that there were more important things, would have been noted and resented. It would have sapped her power, undermined her position.
At least, before she vanished into the forest, she had set in motion a thorough search. Her retainers and servants were scouring the grounds but Henary had few hopes that they would find anything. The ancient manuscript told him. The girl had fallen in love, and he was certain she had gone after the man whose affections she sought. She had not been coerced or forced. She had not been kidnapped. He almost wished she had been.
Would searching accomplish anything? The manuscript did not say. The fragments he had translated spoke of her; the rest was too difficult for him.
What to do now? He had no right to interfere in the affairs of Willdon; now she was stripped of her authority, Catherine’s power lay in the hands of her Chamberlain. Until she returned, she was as good as dead, and her return would be greeted as a rebirth. But that would be in two days’ time.
Henary had only spoken to the Chamberlain once or twice and had found him too — even. Too careful to say exactly what was required. Efficient, and loyal, no doubt; the nephew of Gontal, who was, in turn, the man who was most likely to inherit the domain if she did die.
‘How is authority?’ Henary asked as he walked back to the main house with him after the ceremony.
‘I do as I am bidden,’ was his only reply. ‘As we all must do who serve.’
Witty conversation was not his strong point. ‘Well, if you need any assistance. The disappearance of this girl...’
‘Is a matter for Willdon. Not for visitors. Scholars must keep their minds on higher things, I’m sure you agree. I will endeavour to ensure that your thoughts are undisturbed.’
Mind your own business, in other words.
‘You have the Story Hall at your complete disposal. Now, I must attend to domain business. Do excuse me...’
With a bow he walked off, giving Henary his due as a scholar by taking the first few steps backwards, but with an empty expression which undermined any pretence of deference. The Chamberlain did not want him there. Well, perhaps he had a point, Henary reflected as he turned obediently to go to work.
At least the suggestion that he keep out of the way was a good one. Henary spent the next few hours doing what he loved most in the world, which was reading, slowly trying to decipher the document which was his obsession. He had many other things to look at; in the bag he had brought with him were the papers concerning Etheran which he had taken from the Story Hall and copied down, and the book which Jay had brought from Hooke. They were all, in their way, rebukes; they were all taunts, reminding him how flimsy his knowledge was. For the ones he could read made no sense, and the rest he could not read. But even ignorance and perplexity have their own peace.
On the next two mornings, Henary arose later than usual and ate quietly as he prepared himself for work. He had an empty time ahead of him until the return of Catherine and Jay, when life would get back to its normal course. There would be a ceremony to welcome her back — a blessedly short one this time, he hoped — and Catherine would be installed once more by acclaim. What else was taking place eluded him; there was no sign of the missing girl, or, if some news had been discovered, then it had been kept from him.
So he worked peacefully, if fruitlessly, until the time came to go down again to the point where garden and forest met, to await her return. A small party gathered and a larger group of servants and labourers, their families and friends, came together at a discreet distance, where they would watch the arrival, thrill to the sound of the trumpets and then take their share of wine and cake.
‘Should be any moment now,’ Henary said to the Chamberlain.
‘Indeed, scholar,’ he replied. ‘A stickler for detail is Lady Catherine. If she were so much as a second late I would be worried. But I must say I would be just as surprised if she were a second early.’
‘I suppose we are not allowed to eat or drink anything until she does appear?’ Henary asked. He had worked long and hard, and was hungry.
‘Oh, certainly. Go and help yourself. You are merely an observer. By all means, eat and drink your fill.’
So Henary passed the few remaining moments with a fine cake of nuts and honey in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. But no one came. Still, he thought, noon is a hazy notion. A few moments either way. It must be difficult to be precise when you are surrounded by trees.
After a while he walked back to the Chamberlain. ‘Should they not be here by now?’
‘I’m sure there is an explanation. Don’t worry.’
‘I am not. But you are. I can see it on your face.’
‘No, no. Is that...?’
But it wasn’t; just a breath of wind blowing through the undergrowth.
The minutes passed. Then, when still nothing had happened, Henary spoke again. ‘And now?’
‘In theory or in practice?’
‘Both.’
‘In practice, we keep on waiting until she returns to us. In theory... Well, that is a little more serious.’
‘How so?’
‘The ceremony fills the vacancy in the lordship. Lady Catherine arrives, and I ask if she wishes to have the post. She signals her assent. I ask if any challenge her. There should be silence. Then I declare her Lord and Lady of Willdon both by acclaim. If she is not here, then by midnight at the very latest I have to ask the question nonetheless. If none answer, then we must proceed to the person closest in blood to the family, and invite them to present themselves.’