Chance Read Online Free Page B

out to her, and I wanted nothing more than that she should confide in me. More than once I asked her in all gentleness what was wrong, and she would make no reply, only look at me and weep. After a while I grew annoyed with weeping.”
    Chance said nothing. He knew Roddarc, or so he thought. Heartfelt gentleness was painful for the lord to sustain; annoyance, far easier. But perhaps, after he had vented his spleen, gentleness would return.
    â€œIf only she had spoken with me,” Roddarc railed, “trusted me, I could have forgiven her. Even though her foolishness means the disgrace of us both. But she was afraid to tell me. Afraid! I, who do not practice torture even on felons and traitors, what was I likely to do to her? I, who do not use the lash even on my horses and dogs?”
    â€œLady Halimeda is no coward,” Chance protested, but Roddarc seemed not to hear him.
    â€œChild and youth, when I had done wrong I had to stand before my father and endure his wrath—”
    â€œWhich was visited on my body!”
    So that the lord need feel no constraint. It was wonder, Chance thought, that he had not been killed entirely. A hard edge of anger nudged somewhere inside him, edge which had never been there before, or not for more years than he could number on the fingers of both hands. And without clearly knowing why, he began to remember things he had not thought of since he had been a man.
    Starting with the day Roddarc had scanted his courtesy before his lordly father’s seat of honor.
    Not so great an offense, merely a stripling’s newfound arrogance. The two lads, Rod and Chance, had just turned thirteen. But it was not in Riol to humor anyone’s arrogance but his own. Not even that of a stripling, not even his noble son. His face flushed bloody red with rage, and he darted out a long hand and snatched Chance by the arm as he made his own proper obeisance, jerking him forward and landing a blow on his head that sent him sprawling, all within the moment.
    â€œAgain!” he thundered at Roddarc.
    Roddarc was very thin at that age. His limbs looked as if they might be broken by two fingers of his warrior father’s heavy hand. But there was a look on his fine-boned face as of something that refused to be broken. He made a sweeping parody of a courtly bow.
    â€œStrip!” Riol roared at Chance, tapping at the tops of his high leathern boots with the whip that was always in his hand.
    Strip, before all those present in the great hall. But it was not so uncommon an occurrence, and Chance stolidly did as he was told. To do otherwise was unthinkable. Powers of hell only knew what his punishment would have been if he, himself, had ever scanted a bow. But looking back, with a flare of fury and anguish he wondered if little Halimeda had been there to see his humiliation. Belike not. Belike she was yet too young to eat in the great hall, or a nurse had taken her away so that she would not be frightened. Though he seemed to remember a child’s crying.…
    Riol had lifted the whip, a sort of rod covered with knotted leather, meant for the disciplining of hounds. With it he had commenced to scourge Chance’s legs and buttocks.
    This, also, was an occurrence all too common. Riol was easily angered, no matter how Roddarc tried to please him. Eyes narrowed with pain, Chance stole a glance at his foster brother’s face, expecting the more inward, bittersweet pain that sustained him through these times. Roddarc would be starting to weep. In a moment, he would begin to plead with his father for Chance’s sake. It would take much pleading to satisfy Riol, much begging before the flogging would be ended. But for days thereafter Roddarc would do whatever his father wished.…
    The young lord’s face was hard and dry.
    â€œBow,” Riol commanded his son.
    Roddarc stood without moving, jaw set, chin raised at a stubborn angle.
    â€œBow!” Riol roared, and he beat