Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [90]
When she took over the demesne, some of her vassals grumbled about having a woman for overlord, even though it was right under the laws and, though rare, far from unknown. Once Rhodry was empowered to succeed, the grumblers could take comfort in knowing just which man would be ruling them in what was bound to be only a few years. After all, Lovyan was not immortal; at forty-eight, she was already old in a world where most women died in their thirties, worn out by childbearing. Soon enough, her vassals would have a man for tieryn if they’d only wait. Even so, however, some were refusing to wait.
Just at the time for the evening meal, a visitor came to the dun, Lord Sligyn, who held land in fealty to Lovyan about ten miles to the east. Possible rebellion, it seemed, was very much on his mind. During dinner Sligyn could say nothing with so many eavesdroppers around, but Lovyan knew he was troubled simply because he was the sort of man who showed his thoughts on his face. Lovyan sincerely liked him, a stout, red-faced man in his early thirties, with a thick blond mustache and shrewd blue eyes. To honor him, she had taken his son Caradoc into her hall as a page. That night, Carro waited upon them at table, poured the mead perfectly, and carved the beef with skill. When the lad was out of earshot, Sligyn admitted that he was pleased with his son.
“And speaking of sons,” Sligyn said with a nod at Rhodry’s empty chair, “Where’s your lad?”
“Probably eating whatever he can beg from the cook out in the kitchen. He doesn’t care to face me at the moment.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Sired a bastard on a common-born lass.”
Sligyn sighed and drained his goblet.
“Bound to happen sooner or later, giving young Rhodry’s ways with the lasses. My wife and I would count ourselves honored to foster the child for you.”
“My sincere thanks. If the baby’s born alive, I’ll send it and the wet nurse to you straightaway. I’m most pleased to find I have such a loyal man.”
“Unlike some, eh?” He paused significantly. “Well, if I can have a private word with Your Grace later?”
“You may, and as soon as we’re finished here.”
Just as Lovyan suspected, Rhodry never joined them for the meal. As soon as they were done eating, she took Sligyn up to her reception chamber. She already knew that the chief grumbler against her rule was Lord Corbyn of Bruddlyn, and that he’d been putting out feelers to see how many lords would ally themselves with him in rebellion.
“They know better than to approach me,” Sligyn said. “But I hear things in my own way. Now Nowec’s gone over to them, and that truly aches my heart. I thought he was a better man than this.”
“So did I.”
“Huh, I wonder how these dolts think they can pull this chestnut out of the coals. What have they done, forgotten that the gwerbret with jurisdiction over the tierynrhyn also happens to be your own son?”
“They may have some reason for thinking that Rhys might not exercise his right of intervention. It’s the coin, I suppose. Matters of loyalty so often come down to the dues and taxes.”
“That’s a cynical little remark, Your Grace.”
“Well,” Lovyan said with a toss of her head, “I knew that I was making a hard choice when I made Rhodry my heir. The lords of the rhan already pay one set of dues to the Maelwaedd clan because Rhys is gwerbret. Then they pay a second set to the Clw Coc through me. When I die, they feel that they’ll be paying both to the Maelwaedds, because they’ll always see Rhodry as a Maelwaedd, no matter how many of my cousins vouched for his adoption. I’ve no doubt that it rankles them.”
Sligyn snorted like an angry mule.
“I see. And if they carry on this rebellion long enough to make Rhys rule in their favor, he’ll, add your lands to the gwerbretal demesne, and there’ll only be one set of taxes to pay. By every god and his wife, would Rhys really dispossess his own mother just for the wretched