Knights of the Black and White Book One. Jack Whyte

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      “They know about it,” Godfrey muttered. “They’ve been talking about it, discussing and comparing their ideas, and they came right out and asked us about it, about what we do at the Gatherings.”

      “In God’s name …” Hugh was barely able to speak, so profound was his shock. “What have you two done? How could you forget your oaths like that? Were they not awful enough, the dreadful penalties you undertook to suffer for betraying them?”

      “We have done nothing, Hugh. We forgot nothing and we have said nothing. Neither one of us has as much as breathed a single word to anyone outside our Lodge. Believe me, we have asked each other everything there is to ask since we learned of this, and neither one of us has as much as whispered a word of anything to do with the Order.”

      “Yet your wives know of it.” He waited, seeing only misery in their faces. “When did you discover this? How long ago did they ask you about it?”

      “Today,” Godfrey said, meeting Hugh’s eye directly. “This afternoon, no more than an hour ago. We came to you immediately.”

      “And what exactly did they ask you?”

      Payn looked bewildered. “I … I don’t know … I can’t remember. I felt such horror when I realized what they were saying that I was struck dumb. All I can remember thinking is, They know. How could they know?”

      “I felt the same way.” Godfrey was shaking his head, gazing into nowhere and frowning. “I didn’t think about anything else once I had recognized what Louise was saying … and I don’t really remember now exactly what she did say.”

      “Then let’s approach this from another side. What did you tell them in the first place?”

      “Tell them? Have you not heard a word we said? We didn’t tell them anything, Hugh. I certainly didn’t, and I believe Payn when he says he didn’t. But that’s not important—even although it is. What we need to know is what we should do now.”

      His head still reeling, Hugh looked from one to the other of them, his lips pursed. “Well, at least that’s easy to answer. We go to my father and ask him what’s to be done. He will know, and he’ll know what to do about the two of you, too. But we had better go now … Did it occur to either one of you to warn your wives to say no more of this, to anyone?”

      “Of course it did,” Godfrey snapped. “We were appalled, but we were not rendered completely witless. They won’t talk of it to anyone else, because we commanded them to say no more and they know how angry we are.”

      “Very well then, now let’s make my father angry, too. Fortunately he is here. I saw him less than an hour ago, just about the time your wives were questioning you. Come on, then, let’s go and find him.”

      Baron Hugo was in the smithy when they found him, supervising the shoeing of his favorite saddle horse. The beast was in its prime, but it had fallen on a treacherous slope the previous month, injuring its front right fetlock, and had been under the farriers’ care ever since. It had been judged able only that morning to return to its full roster of duties, and when Hugh and his friends arrived they saw immediately that the Baron’s attention was all for the horse and its new set of shoes, and he could barely conceal his impatience at their interruption, so that when he stumped off to a corner where they could speak with him in private, they followed him with unconcealed apprehension.

      He listened to the first part of what his son had to say and then held up a hand, demanding silence. He looked at each of the three young knights in turn, then beckoned them to follow as he led them across the cobbled courtyard to his own chambers, where he dismissed the majordomo and his cleaning staff, then closed the doors securely behind them before waving to the three younger men to be seated. When they were all sitting, looking distinctly uncomfortable, the Baron cleared his throat and hooked a stool with his foot, dragging it closer to where he could sit on it, looking down at them.

      “So,” he said, after a silence that seemed endless to the three, “if I am correct in my understanding of what you have told me, your wives asked you about what you do at the Gatherings, but you do not recollect exactly what it was that they asked you?” The Baron’s demeanor was remarkably calm, Hugh thought, for a man who had just discovered betrayal among his own family, and he admired his father’s control even as he tried to gauge the fury that must be simmering and bubbling beneath that calm exterior. From the corner of his eye he saw his two friends nodding their heads.

      “And you are both convinced that they are aware of, or that they at least suspect, the existence of our Order. You also believe absolutely that neither one of you said anything to either of them, at any time, that might have been intemperate, or ill considered, careless, or indiscreet?” Again both men shook their heads. “Well then,” Hugo continued, “if neither one of you said anything you should not have said—and I believe you when you say you did not—how, then, could your wives have come by whatever information they have? Can you tell me?” He swung to look at his son. “Can you?”

      “No, Father.”

      The Baron grunted. “Then I will tell you,” he growled. “Because I know where their information probably sprang from. Your mother probably told them.”

      Hugh was aware that his jaw had dropped and he was sitting gaping, and he closed his mouth as his father said, “Think about it now, all of you, and think with your minds this time, not with your guts. Think about it logically and reasonably, and then accept what your intelligence tells you it means. The truth is there, right under your noses, and you are going to have to accept it and learn to live with it. I had to come to terms with it when I was your age. All of us have to, at one time or another, and for some men it is very difficult.” He looked from face to face, but none of his listeners stirred. They sat stunned, and he spoke into the silence, aware that they would hear him now as never before.

      “Our way of life teaches us to believe that women are less than we are in most things. They exist to bear our sons and to make our lives more comfortable and more pleasant. Is that not true? Of course it is, if you are a man. Women, however, tend to see things differently, through eyes and from strange viewpoints that men can never know. They believe they are more clever and more humane than men are, and from their point of view, they may have reason on their side to a great extent. They are certainly clever, in their own obscure ways, and they have little patience with our ways. They think of us, without exaggeration, as children who never grow up and never mature, despite the grayness in our beards and the wrinkles on our faces.

      “Here is the truth, gentlemen, and whether you like it or not, you cannot change it: very few of our confraternity are wed to stupid women, and fewer yet are married to women who do not spring from the Friendly Families. And the Friendly Families, according to the Lore of our ancient Order of Rebirth, have been holding regular Gatherings for more than fifty generations. Fifty generations, my young friends, not merely fifty years. Can any of you truly believe that, in all that time, our women, our wives and mothers, sisters and cousins, have been unaware that their men are involved in something to which they are not privy? They know all about the secrecy surrounding what we do, and about the dedication and effort brought into being around the time of the Gatherings. They see, even if they do not acknowledge, the changes being wrought in their sons’ lives and activities as they approach the age of eighteen. Any man who believes that a son’s activities can be completely hidden from his mother is a fool. The most important knowledge they possess, however, is that whatever is involved, it is a thing for men, ancient beyond antiquity, in which women have no place and no involvement. They know that, and they accept it. Some accept it more easily and readily than others, СКАЧАТЬ