Benne gave a curt nod, and waited.
“Yes,” Taudde repeated. He studied the other man. “Was it Miennes, then, who cut your tongue?”
Benne hesitated, then nodded again. He extracted a second leaf of paper from the packet and wrote quickly, then offered the paper to Taudde. It read, Lord Miennes desired a servant before whom men would speak freely. He bought me from the stone yards and had me taught to read and write. When I had nothing, Lord Miennes gave me everything. Then he told me why he had purchased me. He offered me a choice: to have the cut made in my tongue or to return to the stone yards.
“A hard choice.” And a cruel one. Taudde absently tossed this paper after the other and wondered how many big, simple-looking men had been offered the choice Benne described before Miennes had found one who chose as he desired. And whether any of the ones who had chosen to return whole to the stone yards had actually survived their choice. And further, considering the hidden cleverness in the man before him, whether Benne, too, might have guessed that his only real choice most likely lay between mutilated life as Miennes’s servant and death. He asked, “And Nala?”
Benne gave an emphatic shake of his head.
“No?” If Benne had been able to speak, Taudde might have listened for truth or deceit in the tones of his voice. Miennes had made a better spy than he had probably realized with that mutilating knife. Even so, Taudde believed the man was telling him the truth. He asked curiously, “What is she to you?”
Not by so much as a flicker of the eyes did Benne reveal the calculations that passed through his mind as he wrote his response: What answer did Taudde expect? What would be the best answer for Nala, or for Benne himself? But the subtle shift of the big man’s breathing suggested to Taudde that those calculations were there.
He took the paper Benne held out to him and read, Nala is just as she seems: a woman hired to keep the house in order. Lord Miennes has had woman spies, but Nala never even knew that the house was his. She has been a friend to me. I beg my lord will not harm her. I swear she does not know the truth about me. Nor the truth about you.
“Well, I think that is probably true,” Taudde allowed, looking up. He watched a little of the tension leave the man before him. In fact, he thought Benne had not tried to deceive him, not at any moment since Taudde had made his accusation, which spoke well of his courage. Or at least his sense.
“What would you do now that Miennes is dead,” Taudde asked him, “if I opened my hand at this moment?” Then he answered his own question: “You would go immediately to Mage Ankennes, or to the Laodd—that might even be more likely. You could inform some lord there of the bardic sorcerer who had the effrontery to come into Lirionne. Into Lonne itself, no less. You would surely be well-rewarded for that information. You would gain the favor of a powerful man—most likely a place in his household—”
A forceful jerk of the head denied this scenario. Benne wrote quickly and offered the paper to Taudde with a sharp gesture. The note read, I swear I would not. I know what place any great lord would give me: He would make me again into a spy. I would sooner find a place with a scribe in the Paliante. Or down by the docks, where the ships come in from the islands. I understand the speech of Erhlianne, of Samenne, of the outer islands, I write those languages, I could find a place with a reputable scribe. I beg my lord will permit me to seek such a place. I swear I will not reveal you to anyone.
On consideration, it did indeed seem possible that Benne would prefer the role of scribe to spy. It even seemed likely. Taudde thought about what the big man’s life had been since his tongue had been cut: Able to write but forbidden to reveal this skill, he was twice separated from the normal discourse of men. By Lord Miennes’s order. Surely he could not have loved his master. Could he? Taudde said slowly, “A man under threat will make any claim. From what you tell me, you served Miennes for years. Would you wish me to believe you would not desire vengeance for his death?”
Benne’s wide mouth crooked a little at this. He shook his head and made a deliberate gesture of negation, of denial. Taking another leaf of paper from the packet, he wrote briefly. The words, when Taudde took the note, were very clear: To Lord Miennes, I was a tool to be fashioned as he wished. His death frees me. I beg my lord will free me also. I swear I will not trouble you again.
Taudde crumpled this paper, too, and dropped it into the surf after the others. Then, absently, he ran the smooth length of his flute through his hands, fingering its stops and frets. He said slowly, “Bardic sorcery is not without its limitations. But the limitations of sorcery are not the same as those of magecraft. You say you wish to find a place with a scribe? I offer you better: You may accompany me to Kalches, if you wish. Where we shall see whether sorcery will stretch so far as to restore your voice.”