1223

Following the proceedings, Samson pulls aside Cornelius. His expression is somber; his voice, hushed. "Cornelius," he begins. "Though I have not had much need to call upon your services to guard my person, you have served this covenant well -- such as during your stalwart defense of the cathach a few years back. Now, I must release you from my service and ask that you protect that which I love more in this world than life itself," his gaze wanders the parade-grounds as he says this, settling upon that which he was seeking, "Polumeta."His gaze returns to Cornelius' own. He takes a step closer, resting a hand upon his shoulder, he is now whispering in his ear."Guard her as Marcellus did. Should I fall in battle, you must do all that you can to see her safely away. She is the best of us. She must to be protected, by any means necessary."When he is done, he releases Cornelius' shoulder and takes a step backward, awaiting a response.

Cornelius nods once. "Yes, dominus."

As a Black Cloak, Cornelius has sometimes chafed in Samson's service, since Samson seems to have so little need of him. But he understands the severity of his new task and seems proud to have it.

After the fire has burned low, but before the body is entirely reduced to ash, Marius dons a heavy glove, lifts off the shield that remains over Marcellus's body, and pries from the skull a tooth. There is a cracking noise as he separates the molar from the back of the jaw.

As Cornelius is receiving his new mandate from Samson, Marius presents the tooth to Polumeta. "Your Black Cloak will always serve you, even in death."

It is now more clear why the Black Cloaks do not allow a Christian burial: so that their spirits can still be called up and commanded by the Order, long after their bodies are dead.

Another tooth is taken and given to Victor, and the skull is removed, placed in a small wooden box, and given to Brogan with orders that it be sent to Coeris, domus magna of House Tremere, "where our fallen brother will relate all that has transpired."

The ashes are gathered and sealed in a vase with lead. Marius takes this with him when the soldiers retire for the night.

The Council Meets

When all the visitors to Uisneach leave the morning after the battle, they take their dead with them. There were about a dozen, mostly killed in the first few seconds by the Wall of Fiery Doom. A few died in the chaos that followed, trampled by horses or caught in one of the spreading fires. Dozens more were injured, but with Purification of the Festering Wounds they should recover. About a half dozen victims, too badly burnt to travel, are being tended in Aine's hospital. It will take them months to recover, and Purification of the Festering Wounds only lasts a month, so their fate is uncertain.

A few days later, the Council meets. Some of the magi are still weary from using the casting tablet. Victor has been in communication with Elk's Run, and he appraises the Council of a tentative agreement:

• Oswald, the Princeps of Elk's Run, was caught entirely by surprise by Igneous's actions. He never thought Igneous would attack Cor Draconis directly.

• Lugardis, the only other mage at Elk's Run, and a Quaesitor, has taken charge of the negotiation between the two covenants. Her hope is to negotiate a peace that keeps this whole business out of Tribunal.

• Igneous was acting alone, so Elk's Run is not directly liable for Igneous's actions.

• Elk's Run has very rich vis sources and, of course, is the home of the greatest Hermetic library in Hibernia. Victor, therefore, intends to take this out on them in the form of vis and books.

• Victor has submitted a bill to Lugardis for 56p, which is reimbursement for the vis spent to heal the five magi and custos. (Technically, Maedoc is not custos, but Victor doesn't get into that.) Lugardis has agreed to pay this amount before the next Regional Tribunal. Cor Draconis keeps whatever vis and enchanted items were on Igneous's person.

• Two magi were nearly slain. Therefore, as a sign of friendship between the two covenants, Cernunnos and Polumeta will be allowed to each select one book from the covenant's library which will be copied, bound, and illustrated by Elk's Run scriptorium. These books must be chosen within the next two years, and must be delivered by the next Regional Tribunal.

• The six grogs captured by Cor Draconis will be returned unharmed.

• Igneous's body will be preserved against decay and Redcaps will bring it back to Elk's Run.

• There will be no retribution against Elk's Run by the covenant of Cor Draconis.

If the Council approves this agreement, it will be witnessed by Alfeva and made binding.

Samson is in favor of the proposed arrangement. Having lost his ward over the matter of the six grogs, he somewhat relieved to hear the princeps taken it upon himself to resolve the matter.

However, he does propose one, additional stipulation: Elk's Run is to make monetary reparations of all property belonging to the covenant that was lost as tallied by the Factor.

He does stop shy of outright invoking the deprivation of magical power, which makes allowances for attacks upon a covenant's mundane resources, when he proposes his stipulation.

"In the spirit of continued friendship with Elk's Run," Samson says, all around him know that he has cast Aura of Ennobled Presence on himself before entering the Council Hall, "I move that we consider all property lost in the attack 'mundane assets' instead, a low crime as far as the Code of Hermes is concerned."

Blane doesn't actually have a vote, but he will be in favor of the arrangement, though he hardly thinks it's fair given the loss of life that Elk's Run gets off without any sort of legal ramifications, however he'll be silent about that given they did try and warn them, just too late. He backs Samson on the monetary reparations. This went way past a Wizard War between two people, however he's in a rather forgiving mood, all things considered.

On the whole, Sander approves of the settlement. However, it might be bad form to push for even more in damages. Elk's Run appears to be negotiating in good faith. They could just as easily deny liability and draw out proceedings with quaesitors and Tribunal proceedings. The value in vis they have agreed to already far exceeds the cost of any tents, tables, and chairs that were lost.

Sander also concurs that an Ignem summa would certainly be useful; in fact, we lack a decent level summa for quite a few Arts, and Sander will remind Cernunnos of the most deficient areas.

Victor notes that Elk's Run is not actually guilty of anything. Igneous did this all on his own. Igneous is guilty of many violations of the Code, but is of course dead. As near as Victor can ascertain, neither Lugardis nor the princeps there knew anything about this until Lugardis got a confession out of Igneous, and then she passed that on as quickly as she could.

However, Elk's Run is very vulnerable right now. They have only 2 magi and are in serious danger of collapse. They have good reason to keep Cor Draconis on their good side. So Lugardis is willing to pay what's necessary to keep this quiet.

Colin enters the council meeting trembling like a leaf. He has huge dark circles under his eyes. He looks even smaller than usual and his eyes are constantly moving, unable to rest for a moment. He slinks to a chair along the wall closest to the door. He sits down and tries to disappear. He sits quietly while the settlement is read, fear mounting, but after all the magi have weighed in, he rises, red with anger. He can't believe the magi have allowed such a weak bargain to be struck. He launches into a rant about how little Elk's Run must value Cor Draconis and the lives lost. He lapses into a lengthy list of the prices of the items lost. Finally, he finishes, "And . . . . . and how do you put a price on a life? How do we replace all the lives lost?" Rant over, the haze over Colin's eyes dissipate. A look of total terror replaces the ebbing anger and with an "eep" he bolts from the room. Seconds later, a door slams and a scraping of wood against stone is heard. He sinks into the far corner of his room, shaking and sobbing.

If Colin was able to be rational, he would probably think it was a good deal and just ask if a small portion of the vis could be exchanged for mythic pounds so he could replace the supplies lost and maybe hire some replacement workers. But alas, he's scared shitless.

Cernunnos has been sitting at the meeting, clearly listening, but saying nothing. Strangely he looks far more haunted now than ever he did while under threat from Igneous. It is easy to see, reflected in his eyes, the fires and the death and destruction they wrought.

As points are brought up and terms discussed, expressions cross his face. Anger, insult, grief, guilt... Anger at Igneous and his men for attacking his home and his friends. Insult at the attempt by Elk's Run to buy silence and peace. Grief for the lives lost and bodies broken. Guilt that he brought all this upon them. And then back to anger, no RAGE that this petty old man so flippantly took offense as a not even veiled excuse, to flaunt his power as though he were special, and not merely a magus who had been fortunate enough to live a long if wasted life.

Although his mouth opens a few times, no sound comes forth...

Alfeva rests a hand on Cernunnos' arm in sympathy, and then votes in favor of the agreement as presented.

I believe that puts four magi in favor: Victor, Alfeva, Polumeta and Sander, which is enough to carry the motion.

Sander also moves to recognize Nuala's efforts on the Hill; she stayed and helped defend the magi of Cor Draconis even when she didn't have to.

Recognition could be just an official statement, or maybe a couple of pawns of vis.

Polumeta seconds Sander's motion to recognize Nuala's efforts. She proposes the following: while Nuala is present at the hill, she should have full rights to an available and unused shield grog (if she doesn't have her own), a servant, room and board free of charge, reasonable access to the library without payment of vis (perhaps she can read anything she wants but not take them out of the building, except lab texts, which could go as far as a laboratory on site), and access to a guest laboratory if we ever set one up.

Blane thinks this is a great idea and requests that he be her personal guard while she is on the hill, should she not bring a guard of her own. He can guard her and perform his duties, and he wishes to repay her for healing him personally.

Crossing his arms, Samson mutters flippantly, "Why don't we just ask her to join the covenant while we're at it?"

Sander responds, "Perhaps because doing so might be taken as a sign of disrespect at Qui Sonant. Enemies are easy to make Hibernia, while friends are hard to find."

"While I am in agreement that acknowledgement should be extended to Nuala, the extent of what that acknowledgement must be governed," Samson responds much louder now. "After all, Lucien aided in the evacuation efforts during the initial attack, and helped tend to the wounded in the immediate aftermath; no one here is suggesting that we extend him free room & board, access to both our library and a guest laboratory whenever he happens to be about. Not to mention have the Captain of the Turb himself stand in as personal guard while she is present."

There is a pause as he takes the measure of both Sander and Sir Blane before delivering his closing argument.

"We must not allow personal entanglements to colors our judgement." There's a beat, and Samson's expression softens. "Sander, I know she is your friend... and Sir Blane's inamorata... But the needs of Cor Draconis are first and foremost. Presently, we are in no position to extend such... accommodating hospitality to any magus who is not actively working in favor of the covenant's interests on a more consistent basis.

"As outlined in our charter, the annual season of service is not merely a season spent suspending our own interests," Samson speaks louder now, taking in the entire room. "It is a sacred trust. When I spend a season not to my own benefit, but the covenant's that is me telling my brothers and sisters of the Order that I respect them, that I support them, that I will do what I can to take care of them. When you spend a season, Sander, transposing your spells and donating that to the library for all of us to read... that is you respecting us, supporting us, taking care of us. Same for when Polumeta enchants an item... Or Gustov husbands the lynxes... Or what have you.

"Through service the common good of the entire covenant is served. In exchange, the covenant provides.

"If Nuala wishes to join, to take part in this sacred trust, then she should have a place at this table, right there." He points to an imaginative chair next to Sander's own. "Until that time, I believe we should extend to her a one time allotment of vis and a more suitableshield grog whenever she comes to the covenant. And that is all."

Victor notes, "There's no tower for her to dwell in, anyway. We already gladly extend her hospitality, we don't have a spare lab to offer her, nor much vis with which to reward her, and our library is vastly inferior to her own. So the point is largely moot.

"I think we're all grateful both to Nuala and Lucien for standing by us, and our friendship with Nuala helps build ties with Qui Sonant, one of our few Hermetic allies in Hibernia. A statement of that gratitude, delivered to her covenant with a share of the vis taken from Igneous's body, seems harmless enough.

"As to a shield grog: I'm sure the Captain of the Turb will ... unofficially of course ... keep a close eye on her noble personage without sacrificing his duties."

"Of course, my duty is, as always, first priority." Blane sits back and doesn't say much more than that, but it's obvious he's uncomfortable.

Samson had been leading forward in his chair, his mouth open to speak, responding to Sander's point when Victor spoke up.

Choosing not to belabor his point, he instead rises from his chair as if to leave. "If that is all, I have a... personal engagement to attend to."

If no one objects, Samson excuses himself, leaving the Council Chamber with a determined stride for the garden. There waits Irene.

Irene's Tale

Samson marched through the corridors of Cor Draconis. His expression darkening with each step.

Recent events had left a sour taste in his mouth that sickened him to his core.

The terms laid out with Elk's Run were too diplomatic for his liking, too limited in scope. Victor was negotiating from a place of weakness, not strength -- perhaps out of shock for the events that had befallen the covenant under his watch, Samson knew not. What he did know was that Cor Draconis should have pressed their advantage here. Instead, the covenant acquiesced, becoming just another case study of a younger covenant kowtowing to the whims of an older one for fear.

Had no one else at that council table even considered that the sudden loss of a senior magus, even one as unhinged as Igneous Drake was, might have been enough to push Elk's Run into a premature winter? Elk's Run needs Cor Draconis' silence more than Cor Draconis needs their friendship. Alas, he was not princeps; it was not his place as a soldier to openly disagree with the general.

Still, Sander had succeeded in rankling him. He would have them cast as mewling sheep, seeking to offend no one -- not Elk's Run, not Qui Sonant. If his short time in Hibernia had taught Samson anything, it was better to act boldly and have others follow in your wake as each will than to constantly cater to their fancies. The frivolities of public sentiment here in the Hibernian Tribunal were of little consequence to him, but seemed to matter a great deal to Sander -- perhaps due to his status as native. I wonder if he would be so caring in his treatment were he dealing with English covenants? Probably not.

One thing was certain, Samson would not rest. He had allowed his preoccupations, his own flights of fancy to distract him for too long. Not anymore. He would use his time as Marshall to bring Cor Draconis back to a place of strength once more.

Stepping outside, his mood did lighten some. He was glad to be beneath the sun. Summer had come to Hibernia once more, and that meant that plants were in bloom. Samson approached the garden, there Irene awaited, alone, as per his request.

"Irene," he said by way of greeting. She was seated on a stone wall, the outermost boundary of the church; Samson decided not to presume anything and stood. "You have my sincerest apologies for what my... Sire has wrought upon you and your person. It would be... presumptive of me to say or do anything until I have heard, from you, your desires concerning this matter."

Irene was an attractive blonde woman, only twenty years old and clad in a simple blue dress. Rising from the wall where she was perched, she curtseyed and spoke softly to Samson in his native French.

"You are kind, my lord. But a son is not responsible for the sins of the father. Tis true, the Lord Aurele did treat me shamefully. But perhaps some good will yet come out of it?"

Samson allows himself a sad smile. "Those are perhaps the kindest words I have heard spoken all day," Samson says, heartened to have shed the dead tongue of Latin -- even if only for a little while. "Please, Rene will serve well and good." He pauses a moment, taking in the garden. "I am open to hearing good, gentle Irene. What did you have in mind?"

Irene is cautious about her choice of words. Her downcast gaze rises to meet Samson's only at the end, with temerity.

"My child will be the offspring of a lord of Normandy, and kin to wizards. Is it too much to ask that his mother no longer need cook and clean with the other servants? That perhaps her life of drudgery is over, so that she may better care for her child and raise him in a life which suits his blood?"

There is a sadness in Samson's gaze when he addresses Irene. His tone is gentle, naught more than a whisper.

"Irene, while you speak truth of your child's lineage, know that your life is in mortal peril. My Sire is a wicked man, cruel of heart and vindictive of spirit. We're he to discover this predicament, you would surely be executed and he would claim the child as another heir," he pauses as another thought occurs to him. "What's more, my brother is very much his father's son; he would surely execute your child than see a threat to his inheritance. Unlike my Sire, Josse, is cunning; he will use subterfuge to make it appear as if by accident.

"You will be safest under my protection. To that end, I will have you moved to my Sanctum. I am short a page, and it is... Unheard of that a magus of the Order is bereft of a servant. However, you, like Yanick before, will not be expected to serve me. I afforded him much autonomy; I will afford you the same.

"When you begin to show," he says at last, "there will be... Talk as to who the father is. I believe for the protection of all we let that talk play out as it will. People will assume I am the father. That I succumbed to a moment of weakness and was unfaithful. That this, this is the Lord's punishment for my transgressions. In order to protect you, Gentle Irene, and your child, my sibling, I will fully accept this... Charge until the time is right to unveil the true parentage."

Rene thinks of his love, and the pain this will bring her, the humiliation, the shame. The mere thought of which is enough to break his heart.

I must speak with her, he thinks to himself in that moment. She must know the truth!

No, another voice reasons. She must be protected, too. She above all. Even if it costs me that which is most precious in this world, and the next.

"If you agree to these terms, I will see that your life of drudgery is at an end."

Irene has a furrowed brow and puzzled expression as Samson lays out his plan.

"What? And my child will think his father, the man who is really his brother? And his father, he shall think his grandfather? That is perverse. No, never shall I consent to such a thing." She shakes her head vigorously, as if to make her point, but her inner thoughts are her own. Polumeta is loving to Samson and respectful of the other magi... but her dignity with servants is well known, as is her opinion on Christian fidelity. Irene dares not say to Samson that she fears for her life, were his betrothed to think Irene was the mother to his child; he would never believe her.

Clutching her arms round herself, she shakes her head again and pulls a strand of hair from her face. "No, if your father and your brother are as wicked as you say, and I above all women have no cause to doubt you, then the only defense is to disappear. Give me the money for a dowry, and I will change my name and find a husband who will take me and my child. The Lord Aurele will never learn of any of this, and even were he to, by that time the trail will be long cold and half a world away."

Samson considers Irene.

"All right..." he relents with a gentle, reassuring hand upon her shoulder. "Give me until sunset tonight to make the arrangements. Go to Aine, wait with her. I will speak with you again before too long."

Before she can raise a single word in protest, Samson departs. Catching the often tired, Sir Gregory in the hall, Samson ordered him to the infirmary. He was to protect Irene, but ensure that she did not leave the covenant grounds without his permission. He returns to the Marshall's Gate to consider his options.

He had spoken in haste. Irene was afraid, and not of the cruelties of Norman Lords, but of something much closer to home. She would rather place her trust in the fates than live in Cor Draconis under those terms. But why? What could possibly be so... The answer came to Samson harder than a blow from the Kinderschrecker. How could he have been so dense? "Eva..." he whispers her name. In his desire to protect Polumeta from the wrath of his sire or his brother, both of whom were now financially entangled in the affairs of the covenant thanks to him, he would have Irene risk the wrath of the woman he loved. Men have hanged to slate that wrath.

Samson takes a deep breath. His gaze meets Nemesis' own, and -- not for the first time since arriving at Hibernia -- he thinks, Life was so much simpler when all I had to do was kill things.

His plan could still work, but he would need to convince Eva of its merits, and to do that he needed one person in the covenant's help.

With a determined stride, Samson marched toward the Tower of Four Seasons.

Pounding on the door, he waits until he is brought in to speak with Alfeva. He tells her that he has need of her as Quaesitor.

If Alfeva agrees, he will bring her to Polumeta's Tower. Samson will dismiss the help. Once gone, he will lower his parma and ask that Alfeva cast Liar's Chime. "It is important -- to me -- that you know I speak honestly. What's more, what is said in this room cannot leave this room."

Samson proceeds to present to Polumeta with the situation -- sparring no details. He talks of the rape, of the child not yet born, of Irene's naïveté, of his plan. All that he spoke of to Irene, he shares with Eva. He apologies that he did not come to her earlier, but he was taken aback. This was tossed into his lap less than an hour before the covenant was attacked.

When he is done, a chime will go off. But Polumeta knows when Samson is holding back on something, she doesn't need a chime.

Samson reveals his true intent, "Polumeta... Eva... Once this child has come of age, he or she will know their true parentage. They'll know the truth. They'll know what their true father did to their mother, and of the household back in Normandy they stand to inherent. But they would have grown up here, under this roof, protected from the wickedness of my sire. He will recieve instruction from us, all of us, in what it means not to be a great man, but a good one. It's our chance to make something good come from the House de la Croix, something good and noble. Something my oncle might have been proud of.

"This is my chance, Eva, to fix my family."

Polumeta just holds her hand over her mouth in mute shock as Samson lays the tragedy out in front of her. "Oh that poor dear girl," she exclaims before holding her head to her lover's chest and holding him tight. She tries to fight back tears but ultimately fails.

Alfeva accompanies Samson to Polumeta's chambers; it's not uncommon for Quaesitors to be asked to witness testimony in case it becomes later relevant in Tribunal cases. She doesn't personally feel comfortable casting Liar's Chime on Samson, but he obviously wants it and feels better with it, so she complies.

Needless to say, this story only feeds into Alfeva's well-known hatred of Normans. But she can think of no way to make Aurele pay for what he has done, and so her rage is without direction. She paces back and forth, clenching and unclenching her fists in anger. "This isn't my business. But for what it's worth, I do think we should keep her and the baby here. But I don't like this idea of telling everyone you're the father. Frankly, that doesn't get her out of danger. You have plenty of enemies, Samson."

After crying for some time, Polumeta recovers her composure. The maga looks to Alfeva for options, then back to Samson, noting the clear anguish on his face. Her face bears much the same pain. Her anger over the deception of Fedelmid was not feigned. Now Samson was asking her to lie as well... but for a reason of nobility and kindness. The dilemma is a difficult one, but one she resolves at last.

Alright, a lie then. A lie it must be, but which one? She nods in acceptance of the reality of the situation, though those present lack access to her internal resolution.

She adopts a business face: "Perhaps we can present someone else as the father. Someone who will take her hand and claim the child as his own. If compassion over Irene's plight could not move him, I can undoubtedly find means to warm the man's heart." She considers the amount of wealth necessary to buy silence and privately deems it acceptable. She floats the name of Sir Robert, then walks to her bedside table and dumps the contents of a pouch into her hand, revealing a small collection of gems given to her by Colin as an engagement gift.Or Colin. Colin could be trusted with such a duty... and fatherhood would suit him. She verbally adds his name at the top of the list of potential suitors for Irene. "Or maybe we could convince her to name Marcellus as the father, raise the child with his name, and enjoy the comforts as a widow of one who died in our defense. No one would presume to question our generosity toward her and the child."

She continues, "In time, we can adopt the child. Be it a boy, you can take him as a squire. Be it a girl, she can be taught a trade and taken on as my god daughter. The child will want for nothing in either case."

Placing a reassuring hand on Samson's face, Polumeta asks gently but bluntly: "Oh Rene, my love. Do you wish to fix your family or your family's name? Forget the child's inheritance - if it be a boy," she urges. "Keep it from that name, which even you bear like Christ carrying the cross." Her thoughts drift to the horror that her engagement night had become. "You have asked me to join with you and be your family. I agreed because I love you desperately and I know that everything good and true in House de la Croix resides in your overburdened heart. That goodness will endure. Let it be enough." She moves her hand down to his chest for emphasis, then continues: "That child will be our kin too and we can give it a good life even while we deny it your family's name. We can spare it the wickedness of your father. That we can do without naming you the father."

As she backs a step away, looking at Samson's face for agreement, Polumeta adds: "And we must rid ourselves of our dependence on Aurele as soon as we are able. I will speak with the Exchequer and Factor to that end."

She crosses the room and hugs Alfeva, who must surely be upset and feeling out of place as witness to the conversation. Mid-hug, Polumeta whispers to her fellow maga: "Someday, maybe many years from now, but someday... we really must kill Lord Aurele."

"This is my doing," Rene admits aloud. His voice is low, laden with emotion that he dares not let loosen, not here, not in front of Alfeva. She's uncomfortable enough as is.

"I have reaped this whirlwind upon us. I invited him here -- under our roof -- and Irene was hurt as a consequence of his actions. When I wrote to him, I was not unlike the Apostle Thomas, doubting the news. What if I was not strong enough to protect my loved ones? What if I was not strong enough to protect you, Eva... and you, Alfeva... and Gustov... and all the rest...? As Marshall, it is my charge to ensure the safety of our covenant. When we were living in the Alps, I did not realize how insular our covenants were... from the outside world... from each other... It was a boon that I took for granted. That is not the case in Hibernia, and that realization gave me pause, and in that pause I allowed doubt to take root in my heart, and grow.

"Well, I say that I can no longer afford the luxury of doubt anymore. Irene's life is in danger as is her child, my brother, my sister."

As he continues to speak, Samson starts to appear once more. His stance is taller; his bearing more pronounced. He holds Polumeta all the closer to his chest, stroking her back, reassuring her physically.

"Eva, there is power in names. Hermetic Theory teaches us that to know a thing's true name is to have power over that thing.

"There is power in my family name. De la Criox... Of the Cross... Laypeople have come to believe that the name is merely a vainglorious demarcation of where our family chateau resides -- at a crossroads outside Amiens. But that is not so. The des les Croix have a long and proud tradition of service to the Lord. My great-great-grandfather, Francisque, served in the First Crusade, and before him a de la Croix gave his life at the Battle of Roncevaux Pass, and before him -- if myoncle's tales are to be believed -- the mother of all des les Croix was present at Golgotha. She watched the Crucifixion. She watched the Son of God forgive those who were crufciny him. Later, she helped Nicodemus himself in preparing Christ's person for the tomb, binding the Sacred Wounds in silk. When He arose, she was the first of us to accept him as Lord and Savior.

"There is much good in my family, Eva. Good that I have seen with my own eyes. My oncle, Robert, was a traveling monk. He gave his life in service to the Lord, aiding those less fortunate than him. That is what my house once was, that is what my house may one day become.

"Alfeva..." He affords the Quaesitors a sad smile -- the same one he used one bleak Christmas morning when discussing the all too real hardships of their chosen vocations and what that may spell out for their friendships. "I know I stray dangerously close to conspiring against the Code when I say this, but... That is what my house may one day become again, a house of service, an agent of good in a world that is beset with corruption.

"For all his faults, my father is not an unintelligent man. If word spreads that Irene is with child, he will -- at the very least -- suspect. My mother has never been the healthiest woman, and she is too old now to bare him anymore children. With his new lease on life, I suspect he will be anxious to sow his seed far and wide, using his illegitimate children as pawns to amass more power in the Norman court. As he tried to do with me and the Dawn Knight. If we assert that the father is someone else's and that child bares a resemblance to him, no matter how passing, he will assume, and rightly so, falsehood. He will muster his men, and claim that which is his.

"The child's greatest shield is a lie," Samson says the words with great reluctance. "If I accept this child as my own, both Irene and the newborn, will be protected. Let it be seen as a failing on my part, as my weakness."

Samson releases Polumeta, and takes a step back. He cups his hand underneath her chin and raises her gaze to meet his own.

"What's more, I can no sooner deny my blood than I could deny my love for you, Eva. This child -- borne of violence and the entitlements of petty lords -- may yet prove to be a gift from God."

When Polumeta pulled away from Alfeva, the other woman met her eyes steadily, but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking in response to the execution of Aurele de la Croix.

She stopped her pacing as Samson gave another of his speeches. Alfeva wasn't the audience for the speech; she became increasingly convinced the audience was Samson himself.

"Just who is this story supposed to fool?," she burst out. "Because it's certainly not going to fool your father. He knows exactly what he did to Irene." She gestured with one arm, as if she could point to Irene wherever she stood in the castle. "And now he's supposed to think that, after he had his way with her for three months, you came in and fucked her when he was done, and that's when she got pregnant?"

She actually laughed once, a short, bitter, barking sound.

"That's ridiculous. If you want to adopt the child, fine. You can at least protect him. But if the baby is staying here, your father will learn about him, and he'll know precisely who the father is. You can either hide the baby, convince everyone Irene isn't the mother, or simply acknowledge the baby as your kin and keep it close where Aurele can't hurt it. But I see no reason for the absurd claim that you're the father, except that you feel guilty and you want to make yourself pay."

Alfeva's words cut Samson to the quick. He is at once taken aback at their vehemence, but cannot help hearing their truth, either.

"What," he breathes deep, attempting to regain his bearings. His throat now constricting, he swallows hard, then pushes forward. "What was that second option? About convincing people that Irene isn't the mother...? What good would that do? She'll be showing soon enough!"

"We hide her," Alfeva says at once. "She disappears. Aurele never hears of her again. Aine delivers the baby, brings it here, and we make up whatever story we want."

At first, Samson is unable to process the simplicity of Alfeva's proposal. Perhaps he has spent too much time in the lab...

"No, it wouldn't work... The solution could not be that simple." He pauses. "Could it?" His mind begins to work through the possibilities. "If she stays in Hibernia, word will spread. What if... Ah!, what if we sent her back to the Alps? Brogan recently spent time in that region and Aine can accompany them. We can pay Irene in those precious gems, over there. The ones we were discussing could be used as a dowry. That's more than enough to purchase her a new life, free from drudgery. She gives birth, Brogan and Aine return with the child, and then... and then... what?"

Samson tuns to Polumeta, uncertain. "What do we do then?"

"Then we adopt it," Polumeta states quietly but firmly. "It will still bear the De la Croix name, even if it does not know the bond was borne through its birth. Perhaps if the future brings kinder times, we can even tell it that you are distant kin."

She takes one of Samson's hands from her chin and kisses it, gazing back at him lovingly. "Rene, my dear, if claiming you were the father was the only way to right this wrong..." She pauses as she chooses her words, fighting against her great hubris. Finally she says, "I am to be your wife. I would go anywhere you lead, no matter how dark and shameful the journey might be." More directly, she adds: "I would bend my pride to bear the weight of any lie."

"But I do not think we are forced into this corner yet," she declares in a less tender voice. "We are not devoid of options, as we are magi of the Order of Hermes. We will not be cowed and forced into shame by the machinations of any petty lord."

Her mind races to deal with the details of a plan to get them out of the bind. Polumeta shakes her head, "No. No, we need not send her as far as the Alps. That cruelty to Irene is unwarranted. Would not Sir Blane's Dalmellington not do? Could we not hide Irene in Scotland until the birth? In..." she throws her hands up in ignorance of the geography of the land, "...well, a big city there? Following the birth, Brogan could place her in Dalmellington with the tale that her husband died while bearing arms alongside Sir Somerled. Meanwhile, Brother Cormac could return with the child, labeling it an orphan and a ward of Holy Mother Church. I could ask him for the child - with you maintaining the ruse that I am being foolish and sentimental - only to relent to my insistence. Then the child could accompany the knight on every visit to Scotland, so that Irene could know him at least a little, even if largely from afar."

Alfeva has her arms crossed as she stands in the corner. "I'm not sure Scotland is such a good idea. Whitburh is famous for her spies, and she's desperate for an alliance against the English. But I agree, the Alps is half a world away, and the hardest part of the journey would be the end, when Irene would be most with child."

She turns and walks to the door of the chamber. "I'll arrange it. Irene will be on her way by morning. Aine has patients to tend, and can follow later when they've recovered and the need for her at Irene's side is more ... pronounced. By winter, she should be back here with the child, and you'll both have till then to figure out the story. Leave this part to me."

She opens the door and is departing.

Once the door is closed, it is all Samson can do not to collapse. The lack of parma was taking a personal toll that he had not appreciated until just now. Instead, he opens his arms, taking Polumeta against his chest once more. With an ideal hand he caresses her back as he lays a singular kiss upon the crown of her head before resting the weight of his cheek upon her.

"While you may follow wherever I lead, Eva, I will trust you to always point me in the right direction when I am lost."

It is the evening of the council meeting, three days after Igneous's attack. The magi have withdrawn to renew their Parma, and there is a knock on the door to Cernunnos's tower. Perdita answers, to find Alfeva there. She is in a crimson dress with a hood, covering her hair. She enters the sitting room without a moment's hesitation.

"Perdita, I must speak with your master. It is urgent."

A voice calls down from above, "Peridita, who is there?"

Alfeva's voice rises up the stairs. "It's me. Tonight I have need of the Chief of the Beast-Mages."

For a moment Gustov almost smiles, but the weight of recent events slams down on the normal lightness of his town. "I'll see if I can find him for you," comes out dry instead. He gives himself a shake and adds, "please sit, wine?"

Alfeva shakes her head. Her demeanor is very serious. She waits for Perdita to leave the two magi alone, and then she says, "Irene is with child."

She probably does not have to explain the significance of this; the blonde French woman has been attending Aurele de la Croix all winter. "Samson and Polumeta have decided to adopt the baby. But its parentage is to be concealed. Irene must depart Uisneach tonight and be hidden somewhere safe, where no one will look for her and where she will not be connected to us, until Aine can go to her and deliver the baby. Connacht, if you will help me."

"I see...Connact is not a gentle place, and the beast mages are a bit...less refined thanIrene is used to. Were she to spend her pregnancy with them, it would be wise for her to have someone to look after her. Unless you mean to entrust that in total to my charges? And, it is worth noting they are not political animals. They may not appreciate the need for discretion in this matter. All that said I will of course help however you think best."

She nods in understanding. "Ideally, one of your beast-men would house her in an isolated location, or at least some place where no one will know her. Aine will go to her, as soon as her patients allow. As to her comfort..." Alfeva waves a dismissive hand. "She will have all the comforts she desires once she has delivered the baby and been sent to her permanent home. In the meantime, she will simply have to endure."

Cernunnos nods slowly. "I think this will work. She should be safe there, and I can check on her periodically through Cassandra's eyes. Have we someone who could capture my visage and voice in order for me to explain to Fogartach? Sandor perhaps? As I don't believe a written missive will suffice."

"I think you'll need to take her," Alfeva replies. "I don't trust her to travel alone. She might try to run."

While Cernunnos made his preparations to leave, Alfeva found Irene in the female servant quarters. She was surrounded by some of the other women, all of whom looked up fearfully as Alfeva approached. With a gesture, she called Irene over and the girls dispersed, though their stolen glances continued.

"Gather anything you think important. You are going on a journey. Bring a change of clothes."

"But... M'lord Samson..."

"Has confessed everything to me and Polumeta, and all is decided. Gather your things at once and speak to no one." More than you already have, she thought ruefully.

To ensure Irene's silence, Alfeva remained in the room and kept a cold eye on all of them.Irene's imploring eyes asked for a chance to say goodbye to her friends, and after a curt nod from the maga there was an exchange of embraces. And that quickly, they were descending the stairs and heading to the stables, Irene scampering after Alfeva's long stride.

"Cernunnos will take you tonight. By tomorrow you will be safe. There you shall remain until Aine arrives to midwife and the child is born. Once that is done and you have recovered your strength, you will be granted a healthy dowry and sent back to the Greater Alps. Where, we hope, you will find a handsome and rich husband and attract no further attention from Norman lords."

This was both better and worse than Irene had suspected; she was relieved to hear she was not going to be ridden out into the woods and murdered, but to be sent from yet another country? First France, then Germany, and now Hibernia. Was she to be separated from her child, never allowed to have a home? "M'lady..."

They'd reached the stable, where Cernunnos was already waiting, chatting amiably with a pair of saddled horses while Cassandra perched on a post. Alfeva turned on her swiftly and took her elbow. "There is no discussion, Irene. This is how it will be. For your own safety, the baby's, and for Cor Draconis. Speak to no one."

The young woman trembled, and was on the verge of tears. Pity struck Alfeva's heart, and her icy demeanor, so necessary for solving problems, cracked. Impulsively, she took Ireneinto her arms and clasped her as tight as she could. "You haven't done anything wrong. Aurele used you cruelly, and you're paying the price as women always have. But in time it will be made right, and both you and your child will live on, I swear. Sometimes, that's all we can ask for."

They parted, and Cernunnos helped her on the horse with a few quiet words of encouragement. "I've told her all about your condition," he said cheerfully to Irene, "and she's promised to run as smoothly as the wind in the grass." With a final word to the horses, he guided both out the castle gate, and Alfeva watched Irene's last gaze until both were through and out of sight.

They rode the rest of the day and into the night, until Cernunnos announced they'd crossed into Connacht and it was time to make camp. Cassandra stood a tireless watch as her master slept, and Irene was too exhausted to argue. In the morning he had bacon and biscuits for her, and she managed to get her sore body back into the saddle. The ground was rougher and they spent most of the morning picking their way up forested slopes and winding through wooded valleys. The sun was high overhead when they broke through the trees to see a small pond fed by a beautiful waterfall from a rocky cliff high above. A pack of wolves lounged on the gray stones that emerged from the water, and they rose. One padded over to them as Cernunnos dismounted. "Hello, Moon! It is much more pleasant to meet you as a friend than an enemy. Please tell your master we have come. He should be expecting us."

The wolf licked Cernunnos's hand and left, loping quickly and easily along the water's edge and through the waterfall, out of sight. Cernunnos turned back to Irene, a smile on his face. "This place belongs to Fogartach, a friend of mine. He can be a little intimidating, but please, try not to worry. He'd never harm a hair on your head."

As she watched, Fogartach emerged, and she tried hard not to scream. He was naked, either the hairiest man or the skinniest, most hairless bear she had ever seen. Dark eyes smoldered out of a shaggy, bearded face, and as he closed with them, he loped once on his hands like an animal. She was honestly surprised he could speak. Her Irish was poor, but good enough for his simple manner.

"Is this her?"

Cernunnos was a bit embarrassed. "Ah, yes. Yes it is. My friend, you could have at least put on clothes for our guest."

With a jerk of his head, Fogartach indicated the waterfall, then grunted, and went back the way he had come. Irene remained on her horse; since yesterday riding was the one thing she hoped never to do again, now the only thing she wanted was to ride, ride, all the way back to Uisneach.

But Cernunnos was firm, at last, and began taking her things from the horse. "I know he frightens you. And you will be uncomfortable here. I'm sorry. Aine will come to help you, as soon as we can send her. No one will find you here. You are both hidden and well guarded. Fogartach will have food for you, and there's plenty of water." Reaching up, he took her hand and helped her dismount. "Please trust me, Irene. I would not have brought you here if I didn't trust Fogartach completely. Samson is like a brother to me, and that means the child you carry is also my kin."

Now the tears did come, and Irene rubbed them back and ducked her head, humiliated by all she had been forced to bear. "My lord, please, if you would, tell my lord Samson that I am doing everything I am commanded to do, and ask the lady Alfeva for mercy."

He was not sure what to say to that, except, "I will." He carried her things, leading the way into the cave that lay beyond the waterfall.