"Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Free Amazons 04 - Knives" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

Knives
by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Marna shivered on the cold steps as she heard the bell jangle somewhere inside the house—this strange house which she had never expected to approach. The sign, she knew, said that this was the Guild House of the Comhi-Letzii; but Marna could spell out only a few letters. Her stepfather had told her mother that there was no point in teaching a woman to read more than enough to spell out a public placard, or sign her name to a marriage contract. Her own father had had a governess for her, insisting that she should share her brother's lessons. She swallowed hard, the pain like a knife at her throat, re­membering her father. He would have protected her, when even her mother would not. No, she told herself, she would not cry, she must not cry.
She wondered which one of them would open the door; maybe the tall one she had seen at Heathvine, riding astride like a man, her little bag of midwife's sup­plies on the saddle behind her. I could have spoken to her at Heathvine, Marna thought. But then she had been too frightened, too intimidated. Her stepfather would
surely have killed her if he had suspected She
winced, as if she could feel his hard hands on her, the knife again, sharp at her throat. He had forbidden her to speak to the Amazon midwife, and emphasized the threat with heavy pinches which had left her upper arm bruised and blue.
She looked around apprehensively, as if Ruyvil of Heathvine might come around the corner at any mo­ment. Oh, why didn't they open the door? If he found her here, he would surely kill her this time!
The door opened, and a woman stood in the doorway, scowling. She was tall and wore some sort of loose dark
garments and for a moment Mama did not recognize the midwife who had come to Heathvine. But the woman on the threshold recognized the girl.
"Is your mother ill again, Domna Mama?"
"Mother is well." Marna felt her throat close again in a sob. Oh, yes, she's well, so well that she can't risk losing that handsome young stranger she calls husband. She'd rather think her eldest daughter a liar and a slut. "And the baby, too."
"Then how may I serve you, mistress?"
Marna blurted out, "I want to come in. I want to—to join you. To stay here as one of you."
The woman lifted her eyebrows. "I think you are too young for that." Then she noticed the way Marna was looking around her, glancing back at the open plaza, the main street running up toward it, as if an assassin's knife sought her. What was the girl afraid of? "We need not stand and talk on the doorstep. Come in," she said.
Marna heard the great bronze hasp close with a shiver of relief that ran all down through her. Now she remem­bered the midwife's name. "Mestra Reva—"
"We do not accept young women here; you should go to Neskaya or Arilinn for that."
Neskaya was four days' ride away; Arilinn was away on the other side of the Kilghard Hills. She had never been to either place; the Amazon might as well have told her to go to the Wall Around the World! She swal­lowed hard and said hopelessly, "I do not know the way."
And she had no horse, and any traveler she might ask to take her there would be as bad as Dom Ruyvil, or worse....
"How old are you?" the woman asked.
"I shall be fourteen at Midwinter."
Reva n'ha Melora sighed, taking in the girl's twisting hands; fine hands which were not worn with work; the good stuff of her gown and shawl and shoes. "We are not allowed to accept the oath of any woman before she is full fifteen years old. You must go home, my dear, and come back when you are grown up. It is not an easy life here, believe me; you will work very much harder than in your mother's kitchen or weaving-rooms, and you
have obviously been brought up to luxury; you would not have that here. No, dear, you had better go home, even if your mother is harsh with you."
Mama's voice stuck in her throat. She whispered, "I—I cannot go home. Please, please don't make me go."
"We do not harbor runaways." Marna saw Reva's eyes flash like blue lightning. "Why can't you go home? No, look at me, child. What are you afraid of? Why did you come here?"
Marna knew she must tell, even if this harsh old woman did not believe her. Well, she could be no worse off; her mother had not believed her, either. "My stepfa­ther—he—" She could not make herself say the words. "My mother did not believe me. She said I was trying to make trouble for her marriage—" She swallowed again; she would not cry before the woman, she would not!
"So," said Reva at last, frowning again at the girl. Yes, she had seen, at Heathvine, how Dorilys of Heath-vine doted on her handsome young husband; Dom Ruyvil had feathered his nest well, marrying the rich widow of Heathvine. But Reva had seen, too, that the swag­gering young man cared little for his wife.
Mama blinked fiercely, trying to hold back tears. "It began while my mother was carrying little Ran—Mother wouldn't believe me when I told her!" she sobbed. "I didn't want to," she said, through the sobs. "I didn't, I really didn't. I was so afraid—he—he threatened me with a knife, then said he would tell Mother I had tried to entice him—but I never played the harlot, I didn't—" She looked down at the tiled floor, trying not to cry. She thought she felt a gentle touch on her hair, but when she looked up, Mestra Reva was striding around the room angrily.
"If what you tell me is true, Marna—"
"I swear it, by the blessed Cassilda!"
"Listen to me, Marna," the woman said. "This is the only circumstance under which we may shelter a girl not yet fifteen: when her natural parent or guardian has abused her trust. But we must be very sure, for the laws
forbid us to take in ordinary runaways. Has he made you pregnant?"
Marna felt crimson flooding her face; she had never been so ashamed in her life. "He said—he said he had not, he had done—done something to prevent it, but I don't know—I wouldn't know how to tell—"
Mestra Reva said something obscene, stamping her foot; Marna flinched.
"Not you, child. I cursed the laws which say that a man is so wholly master in his own house that his wife and womenfolk are no more protected than his horses and dogs. Such a man should be hung at the crossroads with his cuyones stuffed in his mouth! Well, stay, then," she said with a sigh. "It may make trouble, but that is why we are here. You walked all the way from Heathvine?"
"N-no," she stammered. "He came to market—he is drinking in the tavern, and I slipped away, telling him I wanted to buy some ribbons—he even gave me a few coppers—and I ran. Mother had made me come, she wanted me to choose some laces for her, and when I begged her not to send me with Ruyvil, she slapped me and said she was sick of my lies—" Marna looked down again at the floor. Ruyvil had boasted, on the ride in, that on the way back they could find the shelter of a travel-hut, and this time, he promised, she would like it and she would not need to be threatened with a knife ... That was why she had taken this desperate step, she could not bear it, not again.
Reva saw her trembling hands, the shame in her face, and did not question any further. It was obvious that the girl was telling the truth and that she was frightened. "Well, you may as well stay and have some supper. Hang your cloak in the hall." She led her along into a big stone-floored kitchen where four women were sitting at a round wooden table.
"Go and sit there, beside Gwennis, Marna," said Reva, pointing. "She is the youngest of us here, Ysabet's daughter." Gwennis was a girl of twelve or thirteen; Ysabet a dumpy, muscular-looking woman in her forties. Beside her was a tall, scrawny woman, scarred like a soldier; she was introduced as Camilla n'ha Mhari. The
last was a small gray-haired woman they called Mother Dio.
"This is Marna n'ha Dorilys," said Reva. "She is too young to take the oath here, but she will be here as foster-daughter, since her natural guardians have abused their trust; she may cut her hair and promise to live by our rules and take oath when she is fifteen." She dipped Marna a ladleful of soup from the kettle over the fire. Mother Dio, at the head of the table, cut Marna a chunk of the coarse bread and asked if she would have butter or honey. The soup was good, but Marna was too tired to eat, and too shy to answer any of the questions the girl Gwennis asked her. After supper they called her to the head of the table, and the old woman cut off her hair to the nape of the neck.
"Marna n'ha Dorilys," she said, "you are one of us, though not yet oath-bound. From this day forth, our laws forbid you to appeal to any man for house or heritage; and you must learn to appeal to none for protection, and to defend yourself. You must work as we do, and claim no privilege for noble birth; and you must promise to be a sister to every other Renunciate of the Guild, from whatever house she may come, and shelter her and care for her in good times or bad. Do you promise to live by our laws, Marna?"
"I do."
"Will you learn to defend yourself and call on no other for protection?"
"I will."
Mother Dio kissed her on the cheek. "Then you are welcome among us, and when you are old enough, you may take the Renunciate's oath."
Mama's neck felt cold and exposed, immodest; she looked at her long russet hair on the floor and wanted to cry. Ruyvil had played with her hair and fondled the nape of her neck; now no man would ever say again that she had lured him with her beauty! She looked at their coarse mannish garments, the long knives in their belts, and shivered. They all looked so strong. How could she ever learn to protect herself with a knife like that?
"Come, Marna," said Gwennis, taking her hand. "I am so glad you have come, there is no one here that I
can talk to—I am so glad to have a sister my own age! The girls in the village are not allowed to talk with me, because they say my breeches and short hair are immod­est. They call me mannish, a she-male, as if I would teach them some wickedness—you'll be my friend, won't you? I mean, you have to be my sister, it's the law of the Guild House, but will you be my friend, too?"
Mama smiled stiffly. Gwennis was not like any other girl she had ever known, and Mama's mother would not have approved of her either, but she had always obeyed her mother's rules, and much good it had done her! "Yes, I'll be your friend."
"Take her upstairs, Gwennis, and show her the house," said Reva. "Tomorrow we can find her some clothes—your old tunic and breeches will fit her, Ysabet. And tomorrow, Camilla, you can show her something of knife-play and self-protection before you are on your way back to Thendara."
"You must go to the magistrate for a report, Reva," Camilla said, "for you have been at Heathvine and you know her family. You can tell them how likely it is that Ruyvil had abused this girl as she said. I met with that fellow Ruyvil when he was still a homeless nobody; I can well imagine he might use his own step-daughter foully."