by Guy Antibes
The curve of the blade was slight, but Bellia perceived the angle was right for a cutting action as the sword descended on an enemy.
“Anything else, Menna?” Private Will said.
“No that’s about it.”
They all shook hands. As Menna left, she called over her shoulder, “Remember, girl, Northwood.”
Pock looked at Bellia. “What’d did she say?” He furrowed his brow as he said it.
“Oh, that? She tried to recruit me, that’s all. Wants another poor soul she can stick between her and the enemy, I suppose.”
Pock laid the blade on a table. “So what do you think the best way to make this is?”
~
Bellia lay on her bunk, thinking of her first attempt at the saber in her hand and what kind of power it had. They’d been making hundreds of swords and she’d never really examined their work. She ran her hand along the blade and could detect the tiniest hint of magic. Could they be making enchanted swords? What did the essence mean? Strength? Flexibility? Was it her or was it Pock that put a little power into the sword? She groaned when she heard scratching at her door.
“Not tonight, Hella. I’m afraid not any night.” As soon as she heard the words come out of her mouth, Bellia knew she said the wrong thing.
She heard fabric tearing and then a loud scream. Was Hella being attacked? She bolted out of her bed and opened the door. Hella fell into her arms. She ripped her dress down the front showing a great deal more of her flesh than Bellia was accustomed to seeing. She couldn’t help but gawk in this awkward situation.
Pock ran into the shop, lighting up the scene with the lantern he carried.
“Rape! Rape!” Hella screamed. “She’s so much bigger than me and tried to take advantage!”
Bellia let Hella drop to the floor. She raised her hands. “I didn’t touch her.” She looked down at Pock’s niece trying to cover herself.
“How do I know that? I know she’s been soft on you and that ain’t natural in my book. But Bellia, I can’t let this pass. She’s just a slip of thing and you are…”
“Look I did nothing to your niece. Nothing.” Bellia looked at Pock’s hard expression in shock. He seemed chiseled out of unfriendly granite. “But I’ll leave. She’ll never see me again.”
Hella looked at Bellia in horror. “Horrible! All this time, Uncle. We ate with her. She could’ve killed us or stolen us blind.”
“Out, Hella.” Pock’s visage softened as he lowered his head. “I guess you know I can’t have you around any more.” He raised a hand to keep Bellia from saying anything. “And I know you didn’t try raping my Hella. But I can’t have her running around doing this. I’ve suffered from women enough. You can stay for a few more days. I need a bit more of your advice on that sample you made. We can split the money and you can be off tomorrow afternoon. I guess the army will take you.”
Pock just stood there, making circles with one of his bare feet in the ground.
“Pock. I’m sorry. I’ve been telling her to leave me alone for days.”
Pock raised a hand. “Stop. We’ll talk tomorrow morning. I’ll bring breakfast in here. You’ll not set foot in the house again.”
Bellia watched the blacksmith walk out; shoulders slumped as he carried his lantern. The confrontation left her weak. Her life was a wreck again in just minutes. She had no idea what to do except become a soldier. Menna said ten leagues to the south. Maybe the army needed a blacksmith. Bellia could make horseshoes, repair garden implements, and make swords as well as anybody.
She sat on her bed and couldn’t keep the tears from staining her face. How could Hella do such a thing? Bellia knew and felt absolutely terrible about Hella and Pock. Her life would shift again as a result of Hella’s outburst. The thought only increased her sorrow.
~
A knock woke Bellia. She had fallen asleep in her clothes. She wiped her face and opened the door to Pock who looked just as miserable as Bellia felt.
“It’s time, lass,” Pock said. Bellia heard the sadness in his voice.
In a few moments, they stood looking at the saber. Bellia took another bite out of a piece of bread. “The trick is in the curve. You’ll need a template so they’re all the same.”
Pock nodded. “Put in the angle as it gets pounded out?”
“Yeah. I don’t think you’ll need as many layers, either. This took me a single day.”
And so the conversation went until they had nothing more to say.
Bellia eyed the pouch of coins sitting on the table. “Pock?”
Pock looked at Bellia knowing it was time.
“Could you keep this for me?” Bellia cleared her throat. “If you need some investment money, I wouldn’t mind. I’ve got more than enough to interest a thief in my bag. Right now it’s only extra weight. I can always come back for it, can’t I?”
“You know you can.” Pock’s eyes watered and he managed a smile while he put his big arms around Bellia, who responded with a hug of her own. They stood wrapped around each other.
Pock unclenched. “Once Hella’s gone, you can come back and we can work side by side again.”
Bellia nodded. “Side by side.” She gave her friend a smile. “I don’t know when I’ll return, but I’ll never forget you taking in a scared fourteen old girl who had no other place to go.”
“I won’t either.” Pock rose from his bench and kissed Bellia on her cheek. “You’ve been like one of my own children, almost.” Pock let out a sob. “Write out a journeyman’s certificate. You’ve more than earned it, Bellia.”
Bellia pursed her lips and lifted up her bag. “Find yourself an honorable woman, Pock. You deserve a good female at your side.” That was all Bellia was going to say about Pock’s wife and niece.
Two days later, Bellia stood on the same spot when she first decided to enter into Pock’s service. It’s time to head south, the voice said. Bellia nodded and took one last look at Pock’s business and that was that. Another new life awaited her.
~~~
Chapter Three
You’re in the Army, Now
~
After spending three years rooted in one place, in some ways, Bellia quite enjoyed the walk south towards the army. It was mid-spring. She realized she hadn’t done anything or gone anywhere in all that time. She didn’t regret her retreat from the world. Pock had taught her a useful skill and his smithy was the refuge she had hoped for. Bellia hadn’t made any friends, except for Hella. She snorted at the thought.
She lamented that her youth sort of passed her by. She didn’t even have a dress that fit to her name or ribbons or ornaments of any kind. With a little binding here and there, she’d look like a tall sixteen-year-old boy and be just as strong. Maybe she could pass for a man in the Menna’s group.
Now looking at blossoms fluttering in the light spring breeze and new pale green leaves sprouting from buds, she couldn’t help wondering what kind of life the army would be. A new life to match the new spring?
Bellia possessed no illusions about army life. In some ways she was headed into a pit of darkness. The horrors of war, as portrayed by her father, filled her with dread when she was younger. The last few years consisted of honest and clean work, excepting for the other women in Pock’s life making things difficult. The next years only promised training for war and then making it. Bellia didn’t look forward to that.
The sun was just over the treetops. It had given as much energy to the world as it was going to today. The traffic on the road began to increase as she left the mix of woods and farms. Tall skinny trees lined the road as the terrain flattened into a broad plain. On both sides, Bellia noticed row after row of crops. She’d never seen farming on such a scale in person.
In the distance, Bellia saw a haze on the horizon. As she trudged closer, she could see lots of smoke columns snaking up to the sky creating a vaporous roof over what must have been the army camp.
The road to the camp branched off. The surface was rutted and uneven.
Bellia walked off to the side as horses and wagons threaded their way through the foot traffic.
“I’d like to join the army,” Bellia said to a sentry at one side of the gate cut out of a high wall of logs.
The guard grunted. “Just around the corner to your left.”
Bellia joined a line of twenty or so recruits. The sun was setting as she walked up to the table.
“Name”
“Bellia”
He looked her up and down and then squinted. “You a woman?”
Bellia could only nod, embarrassed that he had to ask the question.
“Place of Birth”
Bellia paused.
“Place of Birth. Don’t you know where you were born?”
Bellia realized his parents never told her, but she always thought she was born in the House. “I’ve moved around a lot. Why don’t you put down Greenwell?”
The “man grunted. “Special talents?”
Bellia looked at her fingers. Not a wizard in Rollack’s army. “Blacksmith.”
The recruiter paused this time and looked up. “Blacksmith? A woman blacksmith? You’re a valuable lass. Sign here, if you know how to write. If you don’t just make your mark or an ‘x’.”
“What am I signing up for?”
“Two years in King Rollack’s army. Pay based on what you do. Lowest rate is a guilder a month and it goes up from there. A blacksmith, if you’re any good, is worth a guilder a week.” The man looked up at Bellia with the kind of look that said ‘ask no more questions’.
Bellia bent over and signed her name.
The recruiter made the notation of blacksmith. “All the way to the back of the camp. You are to report to Sergeant Master Noller. Give him this, Private Bellia.”
That was a long wait for a short sign-up, Bellia thought, as she made her way through the camp. All of the activity stunned her. There were thousands of men and hundreds of women camped here. She thought to make her way back on the side of the camp, but she found out that the animals were stabled on one side and the jakes and garbage heaps on the other. The stink alone drove her into the broad busy avenue that ran from the front of the camp to the back, right in the middle.
Tents faced into courtyards. Quartermaster carts fought for space in the wide avenue distributing loads of food to each courtyard. Lanes ran perpendicular to the avenue with more tents and more courtyards. The camp reminded her of a little city.
“Blacksmith!” Bellia heard a voice in the din. She paused and looked towards the voice. It was Menna, the soldier. “Here.” The woman beckoned Bellia over. “Took my advice, I see.”
“It wasn’t you, but I guess the reason doesn’t matter. I’ve just signed up,” Bellia said. She opened the note. “Do you know Sergeant Master Noller?”
“Noller, eh? You signed up as a blacksmith, then. Good move. You’ll make more money, but there’s no action other than the rear guard.”
“Rear guard?”
“Sure, cooks, quartermasters, stablemen, blacksmiths. They aren’t part of the fighting. Always behind the lines. When we go to battle, they stay in the rear and protect us from anyone trying to circle around and attack from behind. Safe duty.”
“I don’t get to fight?”
“Naw. You work harder, though.” Menna grinned. “If you ever want be at the point of the spear, we are the Blue Scorpions.”
“And what are the Blue Scorpions?”
“Technically we are the Seventh Squad, Third Division, Fourth Battalion. Each squad has its own nickname. We are the best female squad in the army.” Menna stretched out her arms at the tent courtyard.
“Lot’s of squads,” Bellia said. It was time she got going. “Where can I find Sergeant Noller?”
“You’ll find him at the back of the camp. See you around, blacksmith.”
Bellia gave Menna a wave and continued down the avenue. She was about two-thirds down the lane. The further she walked towards the back, the less traffic on the avenue.
She finally reached the back of the camp and stopped a soldier. “I’m to report to Sergeant Master Noller?”
“Are you asking me?” the man said.
Bellia nodded. “I’m new here. The man at the sign-up table sent me to Sergeant Master Noller.” Bellia clamped his lips tight.
“Ok. See that big man standing over there by that open tent?”
“By the forge?”
“Yep. That’s your man.”
Bellia thanked him and walked over to Noller.
“Sergeant Master Noller? I’m Bellia. I just signed up this afternoon.” Bellia gave her slip of paper to the man.
“Blacksmith, eh? What can you do?”
“My master and I made swords for the army.”
“What was your master’s mark?”
“A square with a circular dot inside. His name was Pock, so he always joked the circle was a Pock-mark.”
Noller walked inside the forge and picked up a sword. “This one of yours?”
“Yes sir. Pock’s wife did the wrappings on the hilt, I recognize her style.”
“This is a very nice sword. No officer’s sword with its gold filigree and fancy guard is as good as one of these. Wonderful balance and supple for a fighter’s blade. I don’t believe you that you made it.”
“It may have my mark. Look for two rows of four dots up by the point.”
Noller looked up at the tip and spied the mark. He grumbled a bit and peered at Bellia as if she was out of focus. “What else can you do?”
“General repairs.”
“I’ve got lots of repair smiths. But sword repair? This will be your station. You will share it with Laxall. He’s got seniority over you, but all he’s really good at is sharpening. So learn how he sharpens. He’s the best. Teach him how to make swords.”
“Yes sir. I’ve never been in the army before. I don’t know where to go or sleep or—”
Noller laughed. “Let’s go over to your new squad and they can get you situated. Come on, Bellia.”
The blacksmith courtyard was a mess compared to Menna’s. The tents sagged and a general feeling of disorder hung in the air.
“Sergeant’s here,” a man called out. The pace in the courtyard increased.
“In here.” Noller disappeared into a tent. Bellia followed.
Four bunks, two along the back and one on each side, lined the tent. The side went up about five feet and peaked about eight feet at the top. One man lay in his bunk in his small clothes. Two other bunks looked like the dirty bedclothes were stirred up. One bunk in the back looked empty. The entire tent smelled of stale sweat and other unmentionable odors.
“Laxall. Your new partner is here.”
The man in the bunk raised his head and blinked his eyes. When he realized the sergeant stood in his tent, he sat up and gave a weak version of a salute.
“Find Bellia here a uniform and show her around. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“You take that bunk and find a sheet or something to use as a divider to keep the men’s eyes off of you.” Noller laughed. “I’ll leave you to it, Private Bellia.”
As soon as the sergeant left, Laxall collapsed back down on the bunk like a marionette that just had their strings cut.
Bellia walked over to the bunk and tested both of the mattresses. It was no better or no worse than the bed she’d slept on for the past few years. She put her gear on the bed and looked over at Laxall.
“Could you help me get situated?” Bellia asked, trying to start a conversation.
He hardly heard a grunt, when a gangly youth walked in.
“Sergeant Noller said there was a new man?” He looked at Bellia again. “New woman? Sorry. I’m Private Astun, quartermaster’s aide.”
“Private Bellia, blacksmith.” She got up and shook hands with Astun.
“Do you think you could help me get situated?” Bellia looked over at the snoring Laxall.
“Sure. Need some kind of a partition, a uniform, I suppose and a mes
s kit and a weapon. Come with me. Bring that bag on your bunk.”
Bellia grabbed her bag and followed Astun.
“We don’t like personal possessions in the tents. Too many thieves in the army. We quartermasters store it all. By the King’s decree, if any one steals from the quartermaster’s storage, they hang. Simple as that. Not that soldiers have a lot to steal. The King has made it clear there won’t be any looting in his army—another capital offense. Uniform first.”
Astun ducked into a large tent. There weren’t any tent courtyards in this part of the camp. A long counter stretched across three quarters of its width.
“Urt! We have a new recruit here.”
Urt walked up. He was bald, fat and short, but his smile was radiant. “Astun, how’re you doing?” Urt looked Bellia up and down. “I’ll find something pretty quick. She’s a tall one so, so…” his voice disappeared down an aisle of wooden shelves.
Bellia noticed she stood on a wooden floor.
“Ever been in the army?”
Bellia shook his head. “I’m only seventeen.”
Astun’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell anyone that. Minimum age is eighteen. You’re so, uh, well developed.” He reddened and gulped. “I mean you don’t look like seventeen and you certainly seem tall and strong for a woman. I, on the other hand,” Astun put his outstretched fingers on his chest, “am twenty and I have to have a written message from my own sergeant so I can go into a tavern and drink with the boys.” Astun grinned. He looked kind of goofy with his curly carrot red hair and pimples, but perhaps Bellia found someone friendly to relate to in this vast sea of new experiences.
Urt returned with a sack of clothes. “Two shirts, two pants, four socks, four sets of female small clothes, one pair of boots, one tunic. You are rear guard?”
“Blacksmith.”
Urt nodded. “I think I can manage a leather apron.”
“Thanks, Urt,” Bellia said as she made to walk out of the room.
“Stop right there. I get your civilian clothes.”
Bellia blinked. “You do?” He looked at a nodding Astun.
“King’s orders. Only uniforms. Less deserters that way.”