“Only reason anybody ever invented them, I think,” Dirk agreed, and bowed as a maid stepped up to take Magda’s helmet. “In an hour, then, my lady?”
“An hour will do,” she agreed. “Till then, my guests.”
She turned away, and a footman stepped up to lead the men to the tub. They followed him, Gar muttering, “She is pretty, isn’t she?”
“Hm?” Dirk looked up at him, startled. “Sorry—I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”
“Nothing worth hearing. Do you suppose they’ll have clean clothes for us?”
“I sure hope so!” Dirk said. Then his gaze drifted.
Cort smiled and said, “If they don’t give us fresh clothing, there’s not much point in our bathing, is there?”
“Oh, Dirk won’t mind.” Gar glanced at his friend with a smile. “Right now, I don’t think he’d even notice.”
The conversation during dinner was quite lively, Cort and Dirk trying to outdo one other in wit and sparkle. Magda simply sat back and enjoyed it with the air of a woman to whom this was familiar, but who hadn’t experienced it in a long time. After dinner, though, she offered her guests a tour of the gardens.
“Why, that sounds—” Cort broke off, gritting his teeth; Gar’s boot had caught him on the shins.
Gar said, “I thank you, but I’m rather weary from the day’s events—and the night’s.”
Cort forced a smile. “Yes, that sounds just the way I feel! If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I’ll retire.” He dug an elbow into Sergeant Otto’s ribs.
The sergeant said a bright “Oof!” then, “I’m afraid I’m tired, too, my lady. Will you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Magda said graciously, and rose. The men shoved themselves to their feet, too. “Who wouldn’t be tired, after a day of fighting and retreating?” their hostess asked. “But you, Sergeant Dirk, will you see my gardens?”
“I’d love to, my lady.”
“Thank you, sergeant. Then good night, gentlemen.”
The other three chorused “Good night,” inclining their heads in bows, then turned away to follow a footman back to their rooms. Magda led Dirk through the screens passage. “You flatter me in choosing my company over that of Sleep, sergeant, when you must be as tired as your companions.”
“Oddly, I don’t feel the weariness when I’m in your company.” After all, if she already knew he was flattering her, why not lay it on thicker?
Magda gave a low, musical laugh and led him out into the garden. Moonlight made it a magical place, old trees bending low over glittering flower beds, pale marble benches standing beside a glimmering pool. Roses filled the night with perfume. She led him toward the water, then sat on the bench. Dirk stood beside her, looking about him, enthralled by the moment of peace and enchantment in which he had suddenly become embedded, then realized that the garden’s illusion of serenity and beauty was Magda’s doing. He opened himself to the enchantment, letting the thrill build within him, partly the beauty of the garden, but more the beauty of the woman.
“You are silent,” she murmured.
“Only enjoying one of the rare moments of bliss that life brings, my lady,” Dirk said, “a moment that comes from beauty twice experienced.”
Magda let out an audible breath, but before she could tell him his flattery was too thick, he changed topics. “I’m very impressed with the quality of life you give your people, my lady.”
“Do you criticize my hospitality, sergeant?” she asked, but there was a teasing note in her voice. “Not at all, though I notice you don’t live in anywhere nearly as much luxury as you could. Instead, you seem to be doing all you can to improve the lot of your yeomen and their families.”
Magda nodded. “It isn’t enough simply to live as rightly as we can, doing our best to be in harmony with the living world about us, and expect our people to imitate us. We must help them to live as closely to our standard as we can, hoping that the more prosperous they become, the more rightly they shall live, for they’ll have less reason to do otherwise.”
Dirk turned back to her, frowning. “I thought it was the job of your sages to teach right living.”
“It’s everyone’s job, each doing as much as he or she can. Squires must try to follow the sages in selflessness and not needing things. We enjoy such luxuries as we have, but try not to depend on them, the proof of that being that we’re willing to share them with our people—and most of them seem to do the same.” But the teasing note was gone, and her brows puckered.
“You seem worried,” Dirk ventured.
Magda sighed. “There’s always the problem of explaining the well-being of the yeomen to my brother, whenever he returns home. I tell him that our strength is the love and loyalty of our people, who will be our shield against our enemies, but he sees only a waste of money. He has been out among the bullies and the bosses, and in his mind, if the yeomen have decent clothing and even sandals instead of wads of rags, they are no doubt using money that could be spent on a new suit of armor.”
“Well, taking the statement literally, it’s true,” Dirk said, “but you have to ask if the new armor is really needed.”
“I wouldn’t dare!”
Dirk smiled, unable to imagine even a brother managing to be angry with this woman—at least, not for long. “One must also ask if the yeomen produce more when they’re happier.”
“Why, that’s true!” Magda turned to him, eyes wide. “They do raise more grain and fruit than the bosses’ slaves, don’t they? Surely more than they spend, with something left over toward that new suit of armor!”
“Probably,” Dirk qualified. “You’d have to sit down and compare the production of your fields against those of an equal number of common people on a boss’s estate, then subtract the cost of living of your yeomen and their families—but I think you’d find that there’s almost as much left toward, shall we say, improvements in the war budget your way, as with gouging the serfs for every copper you can get.”
“ ‘Gouging’—a very vivid term indeed!” Magda smiled. “What a font of ideas you are, Sergeant Dirk! Might I guess that you haven’t always been a sergeant?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve been an officer, the answer is yes,” Dirk said. “Whenever I travel a long distance, though, I have to start all over again and work my way up through the ranks.”
“Surely.” Magda frowned. “Why do you travel so often and so far?”
“Looking for the right woman,” Dirk said, gazing straight into her eyes.
She stared back at him, paling, frozen for a moment.
Then she turned away, blushing. “I wish you joy of your search, sir. My own is done, my goal both gained and failed.”
Dirk realized he was being given a warning. He sat beside her, asking, “How could it be both?”
“I’m a widow,” she said simply. “You are quite valiant to seek my company, sir.”
“When the widow is as beautiful as yourself, there’s no valor about it, only self-indulgence.” She smiled, lips trembling, and her eyes glistened with moisture as she leaned toward him. For a moment, he hoped those lips would part for a kiss—but she only said, her voice low, “My husband died without an heir. I hadn’t borne him a baby, and wasn’t with child, either.”
She said it with such a tragic tone that Dirk’s heart went out to her; he had to stifle the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her. “How desolate! To have nothing left of him!”
“Yes,” she said slowly, but frowned a little, searching his face. “This is another one of our ways that you don’t know, I see. Learn, sir, that by the customs of our people, I can’t remarry.”