by D Murray
“What did you say?” Kalfinar asked him.
“I gave her a blessing from the north. It’s customary for such songs to be followed by a moment of silence. Don’t know how many in our group speak the tongue, but seems the song had the effect on them anyway.”
“It was beautiful,” Kalfinar replied as Crene placed down his cup and set his fiddle playing once again, this time a more upbeat reel. “Excuse me.” Kalfinar handed his cup to Ferdus and stepped onto the impromptu dance floor and across to where Maura sat. Her eyes followed him across the room and a small smile crossed her face. “I believe I owe you a dance, by way of thanks for that fine whisky.” He extended a hand towards her. She reached up to take it.
“Thank you.” Her voice almost sounded fragile after the richness of her singing.
Kalfinar led Maura towards the centre of the dancing space. The floor was beginning to fill up as dancers took partners and found their way into place. The male dancers to a man were made up of Kalfinar’s volunteers, with the few elderly menfolk of Grantvik’s Bay being either too far gone with whatever they were drinking, lacking in pre-requisite limbs, or responsible for the reel that now started to take form. The dancers stood in a straight line down the middle of the dancing space, men to the left, and their partners to their right.
“Here, like this,” Maura whispered, guiding Kalfinar’s right arm about her narrow waist, his hand settling on the top of her hip. Her left arm reached up and cupped his shoulder. “It’s a waltz. Can you do that?”
“Never professed to be an expert, but I can follow the music, and maybe avoid your toes.” He smiled at her.
“The girls, we normally dance with each other in the winter months, when the rest of the town has cleared off. Ready?”
“Aye.” Kalfinar widened his eyes in mock fear, and followed the steps of the dancers in front of him. It was Ferdus and another woman. “I think he knows what he’s doing more so than me, so I’ll follow him.” Kalfinar took a step to his left, followed by Maura, and then slid back to his right. They split from their grip, and she turned inward to face him, then dipped into a curtsy, followed by a bow from him in return. They re-joined in a face-to-face embrace, his arm around her back, her arm about his shoulder and one hand gripping his outstretched hand.
“Spin three times,” she whispered.
He glanced to Ferdus, and saw the bearded man grinning widely with his partner, the pair of them laughing. Kalfinar couldn’t help but smile himself. It was good to forget for a moment. He tightened his arm about Maura’s waist and leaned back a little, lifting her off her feet with a whoop. She yelped and laughed as he spun her around three times, her skirts billowing out with the motion. He placed her down and she clapped her boots twice on the floorboards. Ferdus repeated the action, and therefore so did Kalfinar. He and Maura then entered into the sideways grip as the melody repeated, and they stepped out to the left and right.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” Maura laughed as they split from their grip and turned to face one another again.
“Wasn’t really built for dancing.” Kalfinar puffed his cheeks, feeling the temperature rise in the room. Sweat beaded on his brow and he felt his cheeks flush as they curtsied and bowed in turn. They entered the embrace once more and spun around. As the room whirled around him, Kalfinar caught sight of Broden amongst the crowded dance floor. He was paired up with a woman nearly as tall as he. Her face had a hungry grin splitting it as Broden spun her about, his own face like that of a cornered deer. Kalfinar laughed aloud at the sight. “My cousin, he’s found himself a friend, I think.”
“Where?” Maura asked, her bright eyes searching. As she smiled, the small wrinkles by her eyes folded. Kalfinar found she carried them well; she must have smiled much in her life.
“The big man, with the red beard.”
Maura chuckled and looked back at Kalfinar as they broke from their spin and began to crack their heels on the floor. “That’s Hirta. She likes visitors. Lost her husband–” Maura’s voice cut off and her smile faded. “Sorry,” she said in a quiet voice as they re-joined in the sidelong grip. “I don’t mean to say that’s what this is.”
“What? Us dancing?”
She nodded as they split and slid their feet out, and back in again.
“We are just two people, enjoying a dance. Don’t fear any expectation on my part, and I’ll not seek any from you.”
She smiled at him, perhaps relieved by his words. “When I saw you across the room, I just thought you looked as though you had a sadness about you. And you looked like you had kind eyes.”
“Heard that before,” Kalfinar said, embracing her, ready for the spinning again. “The sadness, not the kind eyes.”
“You grieve?”
“Aye. I’ve grieved. I still do. And now I’ve lost someone. Someone I care very much for.”
Her eyes concerned herself deep within his, a worried frown playing across her face. “You seek her now. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Aye. It is.” Kalfinar lifted her again, smiling to break the swelling anger and pain in his breast. She grinned back down at him, her palms on his shoulder and her long black hair tickling his face. He spun her once more, and placed her down.
“You’ll find her,” she said as she clacked her heels to the floor. “I can feel it.”
“You feel much?”
“I felt when my husband slipped beneath the sea. I feel things, sometimes.”
Kalfinar stood still, others dancing about him, and stared at her.
She offered him a wan smile. “What?”
“Do you really feel something? Do you really feel I will find her?” Her brows knitted and he realised he was holding her arms tightly. He was hurting her. He released his grip. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kalfinar backed away, and then turned and walked across the room. When he turned around, he saw that Maura had followed him.
She took hold of his hands with a smile. “Do not burden yourself tonight.” She backed her way onto the dance floor, pulling him with her. “You still owe me another dance.”
Sixteen
Table Manners
The familiar lifting of the veil swam about Evelyne’s consciousness. First there was the sickening sweet smell of the cloth, a lingering, rotting chemical stench. Then came the awful pressure behind her eyes, spreading to the back of her forehead where it seemed to core through her skull. And then the jangle-clink of chains, and the sobbing. That awful sobbing.
“Selby,” Evelyne croaked out the name, a dried-out corpse of a whisper. “Selby, is that you?”
“Aye,” Selby replied, her sobbing ceasing. “You’re awake. Did they hurt you?”
Evelyne’s vision began to clear, and she could see Selby at the other end of the wagon, her arms chained above her head. Her face was marked with a swollen lip and a raw-looking graze on her chin. “No, nothing really. Are they all right?” Evelyne looked across at where Jo and Franny lay in the fresh straw of the wagon bed. They appeared to be sleeping, chests rising and falling with the gentle ease of babes.
“Franny fell asleep about an hour back. She’s been beat about a bit. She’s had worse from Grint, I reckon.”
Evelyne looked up at Selby, then back at the sleeping women.
“Sorry. Grint’s Franny’s husband. He was a prick. Used to beat on her. They killed him.”
“And Jo?”
“Jo hasn’t woken since they brought us back.” Selby’s eyes closed and her head bowed.
“What did they do to you?”
“What do you think they did to us?” Selby snapped the words, sitting up straight again, teeth clenched. The anger in her throat seemed to strangle her sorrow for a moment. “Sorry,” she said meekly, her head sagging and her form crumpling once more.
“Jo?”
“Jo tried to fight the first that came to her. She can’t use her other arm. Weren’t any use. He hit her. Now she won’t wake up.” Selby began to cry again.
; “Selby, are you hurt?” The girl kept on crying. Evelyne strained against the iron cuffs about her wrists and gritted her teeth. She wanted to take Selby in her arms, almost more than anything. But it was no use. She couldn’t reach her, or Jo. She had to sit there, and wait for whatever slim chance she would have to escape, to free the girls, too. The realisation dawned on her. Grunnxe was right. She needed to take her own life, for the good of Dajda. Deep down, she had known that all along anyway. She had to find a way–
“Weren’t all cruel to me.” Selby’s timid voice sounded again.
“What’s that?”
“The men. Weren’t that all of them were cruel to me.” Selby looked up, her eyes red rimmed and glistening from fresh tears. “One of them, the king’s page, he came to me last night.”
“Jessem?” Evelyne whispered.
“Aye, I think that was his name.” Selby forced a small smile that shaped up all lopsided thanks to her swollen lip. “He’s a nice boy. Same age as me. He just wanted to talk. He gave me some bread. Told me he misses his ma, and sisters. Said the army were the only good paying work he could get. Now he’s in service to the king.”
This is the chance. Jessem is the chance. “Do you think he’ll visit you again?” Evelyne asked, probing.
“Hope so.” Selby bowed her head again and tried to wipe her running nose against her arm. “Others weren’t so kind. Not that many beat on me, but I was just meat to them.” Her words slurred somewhat, her swollen lips working lazily as she spoke. “He was different, though. Seemed sorry for what was happening. Nice boy.” Selby’s head fell, and soft breathing could be heard. She was asleep.
The wagon had come to a stop at the onset of sunset. Cold orange rays stabbed through the few fissures in the lead-grey clouds, strobing towards the moorland in long, diagonal lines. In the three hours Evelyne had been awake, she had not felt any warmth. Despite this, she was glad the wind had not blown hard, for the meagre cloaks they had been provided with would certainly not have withstood the chill of the northern air. The wagon had come to a stop on some flat ground covered in reddish-brown grass with a small river threading its way between two steep, heather- and snow-clad mountains. All three of the other women were still asleep when Jessem came for Evelyne.
The king’s page approached with soft steps. The care with which he walked was enough to mark his movement as different to that of the soldiers who milled about the wagon, leering and grabbing at them through the bars. Jessem avoided Evelyne’s eyes when she looked up. “The king would like you to join him for dinner tonight.”
She turned her head from him and tried to hide her face behind the shoulder of her cloak.
“There’s a dress for you to change in to in his pavilion.”
A tingle of disgust flared about her whole body, causing her to shiver involuntarily.
“Lady.” Jessem stepped closer to the bars of the wagon, his voice becoming more urgent. “The king can’t be refused. You must come.”
Evelyne turned with a speed that caught Jessem off guard, causing the young man to step back. “I do not dine with murderers and rapists.” She held Jessem’s gaze for a moment, her chin stuck out in defiance. It was enough of a show of strength, and Jessem’s shoulders dropped, as did his eyes.
He stepped right up to the bars of the wagon and looked across at where Selby lay in an uncomfortable looking position of sleep. His green eyes flicked back to Evelyne, and she realised just how young he was; barely a man at all. “I didn’t do nothing to her. Just wanted to talk. To keep her safe, even for a little while.”
In the moment, she forgot she was a bound captive, and she felt sorry for the young man. “I know.” The anger had left her voice. “She told me you were kind to her. Kinder than most.”
Jessem looked back at Selby, then his eyes fell to the ground again. “It’s wrong what they’re doing.”
“It is,” Evelyne said quietly. Will you help me?
“I don’t want to put that cloth on you again, Lady,” Jessem said, an earnest look about him as he nervously fingered the chains in his hands. The sword by his side looked too heavy for his slight frame, too cruel a weapon for so gentle a boy. “Where I stand in things, I’ve got to do what I’m told. The old man is the king, after all.”
She held his gaze, feeling her stomach start to knot once again.
“It’s easier if you just do as he asks. Don’t anger him. It’ll be easier for everyone that way.”
“Easier for you?”
“Of course. But easier for you too. Easier for Selby and her friends. For the other townsfolk, and for everyone else.” Jessem looked about him, then stepped closer to the cage. Conspiracy close. “The king’s mad, and he shouldn’t be pushed.”
There we are. That’s what I’m after. “I’ll come with you, Jessem. And I’ll play Grunnxe’s games.”
A look of relief passed over the young man’s face, and he smiled at her. He unlocked the gate of the wagon and connected the chain to the space between her cuffed wrists before releasing the chain that bound her to the wagon. She stepped out from the wagon, and after Jessem locked it once again, they picked their way through the rapidly spreading city of tents, and towards Grunnxe's large pavilion. The outer tent of the old king’s palace stood above all the other temporary structures. Lit from within, it glowed warm against the cold, blue dusk. Behind the orange-lit canvas rose the dark wedge of the mountain behind, blue-lit snow appearing to coat the top like the tooth of a shark.
Must be the foothills of Hagra.
“Nice piece you’ve got there,” a ragged voice called out in the dim light.
“Aye, not fit for a slimprick like you, boy,” another voice called. The owner was a heavyset man, bearded and clad in leathers and mail. “Give her here, and I’ll show her what a real man can do.”
“She’s not a whore,” Jessem snapped back, a surprising steel to his voice. “Don’t worry, you’re fine,” he whispered to Evelyne as he led her through the tents, his hand gently gripping her arm.
“Whore or no, she’s got all I need.”
“She’s a guest of the king. Step forward a pace and he’ll hear of it.”
“Leave him be, Ralif,” the first voice said, “let little slimprick have her. We’ll get ours with that limp-armed bag of meat.”
Evelyne’s stomach lurched. Jo.
The one called Ralif laughed, a dirty sound. “Aye, right enough. I’ve more fun with the ones I can play rough with anyhow.” He raised his voice in the direction of Jessem again. “Watch how you go, boy. I like the look of you and all.”
“Just ignore them,” Jessem whispered again to Evelyne. “I hear this crap all the time, nothing ever comes of it. Just talk.”
They closed the remaining distance and entered the outer compartment of the pavilion. Jessem led Evelyne into a small changing area, where the serving girl Grunnxe had named Fork was waiting.
She presented a rich red satin dress to Evelyne.
“How am I to dress with all these chains?” Evelyne raised her wrists to Jessem and nodded towards the dark metal about her bruised wrists.
Jessem carefully undid one of the cuffs and turned his head to allow some privacy to Evelyne. When she had slipped one arm of the dress over the unchained wrist Jessem replaced the shackle and freed the other wrist, allowing her to finish dressing. He awkwardly kept his eyes on his task, avoiding even the slightest hint of a look beyond her wrists.
She couldn’t help but smile. He may be the only nice boy in this entire army. Evelyne noticed Fork was also smiling softly, silently understanding.
“Like me to brush your hair, my lady?” Fork asked.
“No thank you. Let the king have his imagination served by the dress. I don’t want him to forget what deprivations my friends and I face.”
“As you wish,” Fork said, stepping back. “She’s ready, Your Highness.”
Evelyne stood behind the curtain between where she had changed and the tented room where Grunnxe waited for he
r. She looked down at the shackles about her wrists, and to her trembling hands. The veins on the back of her hands stood out blue against her pale, cold skin. She clenched her knuckles and took a long calming breath. Play the game. She stepped through and into the room.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Grunnxe stood from his chair, a wide smile on his face and his arms outstretched as though he were greeting a loved one. He wore the same formal attire as the previous night they had dined: black trousers and doublet, laced with gold thread which twinkled in the light of the many candles. “Come, come.” He stepped about the small round table and pulled out her chair. “Please, sit.” She did her best to muster a benign smile, and sat. “I do hope you’re hungry. We’ve got quite the feast to share tonight.”
“Thank you,” Evelyne said in a quiet and deferential tone. “You are too kind.”
“Please.” Grunnxe waved away the compliment and sat down opposite her, crossing one leg over the other knee. “Fork,” he called to the serving woman. “Bring Lady Evelyne some wine.”
The serving woman hurried to Evelyne’s side from where she stood at the edge of the tented room, and poured some red wine into the goblet by Evelyne’s plate.
“I wanted us to get the chance to dine together before the hardship begins. I thought we could perhaps right some wrongs.”
Before the hardship begins. What is he talking about? “There are no wrongs on your part, Your Highness.” Evelyne’s words flowed as smooth and easy as the smile that played about her lips. “It is I who owes you an apology. I have behaved without grace and gratitude.”
Grunnxe’s grin widened, and Evelyne was almost certain she could see his eyes begin to mist. “Your words are kind. It is not often anyone has kind words to spare me.” He fingered the rim of his goblet, staring hard at his forefinger and thumb as they worked at some imagined blemish or other. “You see, I have never really been particularly well liked.” He looked up at her, his face full of genuine sadness.