Carefully he said, "My lady, you offer too much."
"There is no limit to the aspirations of an ambitious man."
"Aspirations, perhaps, but execution? How will all this be achieved?"
He felt her relax, confident that he had been won. Casually he lifted his hands, gripped her own, and lowered them to her side. With his cheek still pressed to her own he whispered, "We must talk again. In a safe place without attendants. If you could obtain the use of a raft… ?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Oh, yes. In the woods, where there will be none to spy. Earl, my darling, how long have I waited for a man like you. A real man who will give me the strength I need."
"The raft," he said again. "When?"
"Soon. I promise. Soon."
He stepped back a little, releasing her hands, knowing he had done all that was possible for the moment. If she would provide the raft, it could go to the field as easily as anywhere else, and with luck, a ship might be waiting, escape possible before guards could prevent it A thin chance, but, he thought grimly, better than none.
Wine stood on a table. As she poured and returned with filled glasses, he said casually, "My lady, do you know why I am being kept here?"
"As a guest, Earl, what else?" Smiling, she handed him a goblet. "And now let us drink to us, to the future, and to a happy life."
Raising the glass, he touched his lips to the wine, making a pretense of drinking. Beyond the woman stood the window, and he looked at it, seeing a pane on the opposite side of the courtyard suddenly become bright with a ruby glow. Against it a shadow moved, a tall, cowled figure turning, vanishing as draperies were pulled.
Frowning, he said, "Is the monk also a guest?"
"Perhaps."
"Don't you know?"
"Does it matter?" She was uninterested. "Who can tell what motivates the mind of Chan Parect? Maybe he intends to amuse himself further with the man. And he was amusing, was he not? How can anyone spend their lives dedicated to the service of others? To live unwillingly in such poverty? And those he claims to help, what do they really think of him? Do they laugh behind his back? I think they must. The insane are always objects of mirth."
"Of pity, my lady."
"Pity?" She frowned. "That is a form of weakness, Earl. I do not think you are weak."
"There is strength in compassion."
"So I have been told." She shrugged, setting down her goblet. "As an intellectual exercise, the concept is intriguing, but in the real world, it can be fatal. A fact of which you must be aware. Only a fool spares the life of an enemy."
"True," he admitted, "but first define what you mean by an enemy."
"If they are not with us, they are against us."
"Which must include a lot of people," he said dryly. "Does Aihult Chan Parect operate on that principle?"
"Naturally, Earl. What else?"
There were other ways, and far less dangerous than the one that led to inevitable paranoia. Delusions of grandeur coupled with a persecution complex that led to a total inability to trust a living soul. The reason for Parect's subtle behavior, his deviousness. The cause of his sudden, maniacal rage at the very hint of a threat to his ordered world. And other things, each small, but all adding to the inescapable conclusion.
Had he sent the woman to him?
It was possible, and Dumarest had considered it from the first. The blatant suggestion that he should take power, a willing tool to be used in a game of violence, to be tested and trapped, perhaps, revealed for a potential assassin. And yet the woman had held her own motivations, using the order for her own ends, as devious in her own way as her master. A prison, thought Dumarest, not just of walls of stone and watchful guards, but a mental conditioning which held everyone in a mesh of conflicting emotions.
A deliberate state induced by Chan Parect to ensure his own safety. When none could trust another, rebellion was impossible.
"Earl!" Lisa Conenda moved toward him, purposeful, her breasts rising prominently beneath the thin fabric of her gown. "Earl!"
Another test? A man in passion was careless of his tongue, and ambition, once aroused, demanded an outlet. Or was she merely succumbing to the emotion he had sensed, the intensity of natural passion? In this place of madness who could be sure?
He said quietly, "I think it best that you leave now, my lady."
"What?" She stared her disbelief.
"I am being cautious. It would not be wise for us to be so intimate."
"You are concerned with my reputation?" Her laughter was deep, rich, genuine. "Have no fears, Earl. We shall not be disturbed. And I have no jealous lover and no husband who might call you to account. And if they should exist and show hostility, what then? You could take care of them, of that I am sure."
"Even so…" He broke off as sounds came from beyond the door. A girl's voice, the deeper tones of a man. In three strides he had reached the panel and jerked it open. Zenya Yamaipan stood outside.
She was not alone. A guard stood beside her, tall, neat in his serpent-blazoned tunic, a dagger at his waist and a staff in his hands. He said plaintively, "My lady, please understand. My orders-"
"To hell with your orders!" She glared at him, head thrown back, red patches on her cheeks, dusty beneath the bronze of her skin. "How dare you bar my way? Me, a blood noble of the Aihult! How dare you!"
Dumarest said sharply, "Don't blame the man for obeying his orders. Why are you here?"
"To see you, Earl." She turned to face him, her anger evaporating. "I must talk to you. That monk, the one who came to dinner, he wants to see you."
* * *
Brother Eland sat in a small room Just within the main gate, a bleak place more like a cell than anything else, a place, Dumarest guessed, where uninvited visitors were housed until a decision had been made as to their disposition. He rose as they entered, staggering a little and leaning his weight against a wall.
To the girl he said, "My lady, you are most kind."
Dumarest caught the thin arm, forced the monk back to his seat. "What is wrong, brother? Are you hurt?"
"Bruised, but the ache will pass."
"What happened?"
"I ate here, as you know and also, as you heard, was refused a place at the field. On my return, I found desolation. Brother Wen had been attacked by men wearing the symbol of a grasping hand. Others waited."
"The Leruk," Zenya whispered.
"They had questioned Brother Wen as to his standing, and accused him of having no place in this society. He had no money and belonged to no clan." The thin hand touched the homespun robe. "They refused to accept this as a sign of our allegiance. They had destroyed all we possessed, and then they beat me with staves. And then they left me."
An old man, without resources or known friends, hurt and alone. Dumarest drew in his breath.
"Why?"
"The Leruk," said the girl, as if that explained everything. "It is their task. Beggars are not allowed; you heard my grandfather talking. Without money, what else could the monk be?"
Without looking at her, Dumarest said, "What will happen to him?"
"He will be sold at auction. If he has skills, he will get a good price. If not, then he will end as a worker in the fields or in a factory." She added wonderingly, "I can't understand why they let this man go free. Logically, they should have taken him also."
Dumarest could guess why they hadn't. To the monk he said, "You asked for me, brother. How can I help?"
"You are a traveler, brother, and known to the church. As I said, all we possessed has been destroyed. The church is nothing, poles and thin coverings, easily replaced, but the benediction light is another matter. That we cannot replace. If you would carry word to another world, we would be grateful. Just relay the message to any monk you may happen to meet. Tell him what has happened here; he will do the rest."
Using the hybeam radio concealed in every benediction light to pass on the word. Dumarest knew of the secret, knew too of the close-knit mesh of communications binding all monks together and to the great seminary on Hope, the heart and center of the Universal Brotherhood.