Again a pall fell across dinner. But finally Borel said, “I hear you play echecs, Camille. If so, then I challenge you to a game.”
“ ’Ware, my Sister,” said Celeste. “Borel is the best of us.”
“Then I shall just have to be on my guard,” said Camille, grinning. Oh, my, she called me her ‘sister.’
“You were right, Alain,” said Borel, as he turned his king on its side. “She is quite good at this.” Then he looked at Camille. “I thought to win by dash and bold, but you out-bolded me.”
Camille turned up a hand. “Playing with Alain has sharpened my skills, for he has taught me much.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” quipped Liaze, casting a jaunty eye at Alain.
At Camille’s blush, Liaze broke into quite infectious laughter, and all joined in but Camille, though she did grin.
That evening in bed, Alain said, “Pay them no heed, my love, for they do mean no harm.”
“I know, Alain. Yet I seem to be the one who puts my foot in my mouth.”
“Just one of the things I adore about you, for innocence becomes you, my dear.”
“Innocent? Me? Come here, love, and we’ll just see who is the innocent.”
The next eve, it was Seer Malgan who rode away, his shoulders slumped in defeat, his retainers in his wake.
As Camille watched him go, she whispered to herself, “Well, whatever it is he tried, dear Bear, wherever you are, at least he didn’t frighten you.”
“Wands, cups, pentacles, swords, and trumps,” said Celeste. “We shuffle and deal a card to each person about the table, and continue to deal the cards until they are all dealt out. Then we each look only at our own cards and estimate how many tricks we can capture-”
“Tricks?” asked Camille.
“How many other cards we can capture,” interjected Liaze.
“How does one go about capturing cards?” asked Camille.
“Each person ’round the table in turn plays a card, until all have played one, and the highest card wins that trick, wins all those cards just played, that is.”
“I see,” said Camille.
“Now here is the best part,” said Celeste. “The highest bidder has a secret partner, one she may not know about, but a partner nonetheless.”
“How so?”
“The highest bidder names a king-the king of cups, or the king of swords, or of wands, or pentacles-and whoever has that king is the secret partner, none else knowing who might be the secret partner, not even the high bidder, until that particular king is played.”
“But what if the high bidder has all four kings?”
“Then he or she simply names one of the kings and plays alone.”
They sat in the game room, the five of them, at the taroc table, as Celeste explained the game to Camille. The others chimed in with advice at odd moments, all but Alain, who, behind his scarlet mask, seemed morosely quiet this eve. Still, Camille managed to concentrate on what Celeste was saying, for she hoped that the game would break Alain’s glum demeanor.
Finally, the dealing and bidding and play began, and slowly Alain did become somewhat more cheerful.
After many hands were played-Camille being the secret partner but once, and that with Liaze-Borel reached the winning tally and took the first game.
Again they played, and again Borel won, and then the third game as well, though Celeste was close on his heels.
“Argh!” said Alain, and he took up a particular trump and held it to face Borel. “I think you must have Dame Chance on your side, brother mine, for never have I seen the cards run so one-sided.”
Borel feigned nonchalance. “ ’Tis simply my due, dear fellow.”
Liaze grinned and said, “Mayhap, dear Brother, you keep a card or two up those floppy lace cuffs of yours.”
As the others laughed, Borel feigned outrage, and thumped his elbows onto the table, his wrists upright, and the pearl-grey lace flopped down all ’round to reveal nothing hidden therein.
Alain tossed Dame Chance onto the table. “Shall we have another go?”
As they gathered the cards for the next game, Camille took one up-the one called the Naif-and considered it, then held it out for the others to see. “These trumps-the choices of names and their depictions-are quite strange, one might even say arcane.”
Celeste smiled faintly. “Arcane indeed, Camille, for ’tis said that one can see the future through the use of these cards, though not clearly.”
Camille raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Celeste pursed her lips and shook her head. “I am not certain, yet I believe one lays out the cards in a special arrangement and interprets each fall of a card, for by its suit and rank, its orientation, where it stands in the array, and other such signs it is said the future can be divined.”
“Sounds like a mage art,” said Liaze.
“Or the trick of a mountebank,” said Borel, then gestured at the card Camille held, “or the belief of a naif.”
Camille dropped the trump onto the pile and frowned. “If a simple spread of cards can portend what is to come, would that not mean all is predetermined, that all that has ever been and will ever be is already set in stone?”
Celeste held up a finger. “Mayhap the fall of the cards simply shows a possible future, one that is potential.”
Alain said, “I am not at all certain that I would like to know the future, predetermined, potential, or no.”
“Why not?” asked Liaze, puzzlement in her amber gaze.
Alain pushed forth a hand, palm out. “For then I would perhaps try to change the outcome and make things even worse.”
“How so, Brother?” asked Borel.
“Well, if one knew what the future held, say, defeat or even victory, would he try less hard, or instead more so, depending on what he knew? And if he changed his conduct because of knowing, and thereby changed the outcome, would he not thwart Destiny, and thus perhaps upset the balance of all?” Alain fell silent and looked ’round the table at pondering faces. Then he reached out and laid his hand atop Camille’s and grinned, saying, “Besides, instead of knowing the future, I’d much rather be surprised.”
Camille felt her face flush, though she knew not why. As she reddened, Borel laughed, and Liaze tapped him on the wrist with her closed, yellow fan, though she, too, smiled. “Pay these crude men no heed, Sister mine. And you, Borel, shut up and deal.”
After dinner that night, to teach Camille a new dance they had Lanval gather up enough men and women of the household to make it more complete. The dance was called the Rade; it had much hand-to-hand, two-by-two graceful skipping and prancing about the floor in paired columns, as if travelling ahorse side by side, the women in one line, the men in another, hands between palm to palm. But they halted now and again, as if stopping to rest or water or feed the horses, or to take a meal of their own, or perhaps merely to stretch their legs, or simply to stop for pleasure, and here they stepped about in small circles in groups of four, two men and two women in each group, with much circling and bowing and curtseying involved. And the hall was filled with music and gaiety, for not often did such entertainment come.
That night in bed, Alain simply held Camille closely. “There is one more attempt on the morrow,” he whispered. “That of Hradian the witch.”
He said no more, and Camille did not ask.
The next afternoon, Hradian rode away, her shoulders sagging down.
The following day, in early morn, so did Celeste and Liaze and Borel go, setting out for their respective demesnes: they embraced Camille and whispered their farewells and then rode forth, defeat in their postures also. Whatever they had come for, whatever they had hoped for, it had not occurred, for all had said good-bye to Alain the eve before, unshed tears glittering in their eyes.
With the Bear at her side, Camille stood on the portico and watched as they made their way up the slope and beyond. And when she could see them no longer, she sighed and briefly hugged the Bear, then turned and went within, and Lanval closed the door behind. The Bear stood a long while after, looking at the far hill where they had gone. Finally he, too, took in a deep breath and let it out, then turned and went away toward the maze.