Page 79
Story: The Liveship Traders Trilogy
She arose nervously and paced around the kitchen, only to come back to the table.
She had set it and arranged it herself. There were two tall white candles of finest beeswax to honour her guest. The best china and her finest silver decked the table upon a cloth of heavy cream lacework.
Trays of dainty tarts vied with platters of subtly smoked oysters and fresh herbs in bitter sauce.
A fine old bottle of wine awaited as well.
The grandness of the food was to indicate how she respected her guest, while secrecy and the kitchen setting reminded them both of the old agreements to both protect and defend one another.
Nervously Ronica pushed the silver spoons into a minutely improved alignment.
Silliness. This was not the first time that she had received a delegate from the Rain Wild Traders.
Twice a year since she had been married to Ephron they had come.
It was only the first time she had received one since his death.
And the first time she had not been able to amass the full payment due.
The small but weighty casket of gold was two measures light.
Two measures. Ronica intended to admit it, to bring it up herself before embarrassing questions could be asked.
To admit it, and offer an increase in interest on the next payment.
What else, after all, could she do? Or the delegate?
A partial payment was better than none, and the River Wild folk needed her gold far more than anything else she could offer them. Or so she hoped.
Despite her anticipation, she still startled when the light tap came on the door.
‘Welcome!’ she called without moving to open the door.
Quickly she blew out the branch of candles that had illuminated the room.
She saved but one, to light the two tall beeswax tapers before she extinguished it.
Ornamental hoods of beaten brass with decorative shapes cut out of them were then carefully lowered over the tapers.
Now the room was lit only by a scattering of leaf-shaped bits of light.
Ronica nodded approval to herself at the effect, and then stepped quickly to open the door herself.
‘I bid you welcome to my home. Enter, and be at home also.’ The words were the old formality, but Ronica’s voice was warm with genuine feeling.
‘Thank you,’ the Rain Wild woman replied.
She came in, glanced about to nod her approval at the privacy and the lowered lights.
She ungloved her hands, passing the soft leather garments to Ronica and then pushed back the cowl that had sheltered her face and hair.
Ronica held herself steady, and met the woman’s eyes with her own.
She did not permit her expression to change at all.
‘I have prepared refreshment for you, after your long journey. Will you be seated at my table?’
‘Most gratefully,’ her companion replied.
The two women curtseyed to one another. ‘I, Ronica Vestrit, of the Vestrit family of the Bingtown Traders, make you welcome to my table and my home. I recall all our most ancient pledges to one another, Bingtown to Rain Wilds, and also our private agreement regarding the liveship Vivacia, the product of both our families.’
‘I, Caolwn Festrew, of the Festrew family of the Rain Wild Traders, accept your hospitality of home and table. I recall all our most ancient pledges to one another, Rain Wilds to Bingtown, and also our private agreement regarding the liveship Vivacia, the product of both our families.’
Both women straightened and Caolwn gave a mock sigh of relief that the formalities were over.
Ronica was privately relieved that the ceremony was a tradition.
Without it, she would never have recognized Caolwn.
‘It’s a lovely table you’ve set, Ronica.
But then, in all the years we have met, it has never been anything else. ’
‘Thank you, Caolwn.’ Ronica hesitated, but not to have asked would have been the false reticence of pity. ‘I had expected Nelyn this year.’
‘My daughter is no more.’ Caolwn spoke the words quietly.
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Ronica’s sympathy was genuine.
‘The Rain Wilds are hard on women. Not that they are easy on men.’
‘To outlive your daughter… that must be bitter.’
‘It is. And yet Nelyn gifted us with three children before she went. She will be long remembered for that, and long honoured.’
Ronica nodded slowly. Nelyn had been an only child.
Most Rain Wild women considered themselves lucky if they bore one child that lived.
For Nelyn to have borne three would indeed make her memory shine.
‘I had taken out the wine for Nelyn,’ Ronica said quietly.
‘You, as I recall, prefer tea. Let me put the kettle on to boil and set aside the wine for you to take back with you.’
‘That is too kind of you.’
‘No. Not at all. When it is drunk, please have all who share it remember Nelyn and how she enjoyed wine.’
Caolwn suddenly lowered her face. The sagging growths on her face bobbed as she did so, but it did not distract Ronica from the tears that shone suddenly in the other woman’s violet eyes.
Caolwn shook her head and then heaved a heavy sigh.
‘For so many, Ronica, the formalities are only that. The welcome is forced, the hospitality uncomfortable. But ever since you became a Vestrit and took on the duties of the visit, you have made us feel truly welcome. How can I thank you for that?’
Another woman might have been tempted to tell Caolwn then that the measure of the gold was short.
Another woman might not have believed in the sacredness of the old promises and pacts.
Ronica did. ‘No thanks are needed. I give you no more than is due you,’ she said, and added, because the words sounded cold, ‘but ceremony or no, pact or no, I believe we would have been friends, we two.’
‘As do I.’
‘So. Let me put on the kettle for tea, then.’ Ronica rose and instantly felt more comfortable in the homely task.
As she poured the water into the kettle and blew on the embers in the hearth, she added, ‘Do not wait for me. Tell me, what do you think of the smoked oysters? I got them from Slek, as we always have done, but he has turned the smoking over to his son this year. He was quite critical of the boy, but I believe I like them better.’
Caolwn tasted and agreed with Ronica. Ronica made the tea and brought the kettle to the table and set out two teacups.
They sat together and ate and drank and spoke in generalities.
Of simple things like their gardens and the weather, of things hard and personal like Ephron’s and Nelyn’s death, and of things that boded ill for them all, such as the current Satrap’s debaucheries and the burgeoning slave-trade that might or might not be related to his head tax on the sale of slaves.
There was long and fond reminiscence of their families, and deep discussion of Vivacia and her quickening, as if the ship were a shared grandchild.
There was quiet discussion, too, of the influx of new folk to Bingtown, and the lands they were claiming and their efforts to gain seats on the Bingtown Council.
This last threatened not only the Bingtown Traders, but the old compact between Bingtown and the Rain Wild Traders that kept them both safe.
The compact was a thing seldom spoken of.
It was not discussed, in the same way that neither breathing nor death are topics for conversation.
Such things are ever-present and inevitable.
In a similar way, Caolwn did not speak to Ronica of the way grief had lined her face and silvered her hair, nor how the years had drawn down the flesh from her high cheekbones and tissued the soft flesh of her throat.
Ronica forbore to stare at the scaly growths that threatened Caolwn’s eyesight, nor at the lumpy flesh that was visible even in the parting of her thick bronze hair.
The kindness of the dimmed candles could soften but not obscure these scars.
Like the pact, these were the visible wounds they bore simply by virtue of who they were.
They shared the steaming cups of tea and the savoury foods.
The heavy silver implements ticked against the fine china whilst outside the summer’s night breeze stirred Ronica’s wind chimes to a silvery counterpoint to their conversation.
For the space of the meal, they were neighbours sharing a genteel evening of fine food and intelligent conversation.
For this, too, was a part of the pact. Despite the miles and differences that separated the two groups of settlers, both Bingtown Traders and Rain Wild Traders would remember that they had come to the Cursed Shore together, partners and friends and kin. And so they would remain.
So it was not until the food was finished and the women were sharing the last cup of cooled tea in the pot, not until the social conversation had died to a natural silence that the time came to discuss the final purpose of Caolwn’s visit.
Caolwn took a deep breath and began the formality of the discussion.
Long ago the Bingtown Traders had discovered that this was one way to separate business from pleasure.
The change in language did not negate the friendship the women shared, but it recognized that in manners of business, different rules applied and must be observed by all.
It was a safeguard for a small society in which friends and relatives were also one’s business contacts.
‘The liveship Vivacia has quickened. Is she all that was promised?’
Despite her recent grief, Ronica felt a genuine smile rise onto her face. ‘She is all that was promised, and freely do we acknowledge that.’
‘Then we are pleased to accept that which was promised for her.’
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