The Quailor managed to remove the twisted ox from the yoke, which did much to calm the other three. Butchers pulled the ox out of the way, slit the throat of the suffering beast, and soon were busy cutting it up and dividing it while other farmers righted the wagon. Quailor boys quickly set to reloading and packing the wagon of its spilled contents. By now, several of the Hickoryan Wagoneers had arrived, and their curiosity was peaked. Once they assessed the situation, they dove in to help clear the road of the cut brush.
“Well, there is one thing I wish to know,” Willard said. “These Hickoryans, where do they hail from?”
“They are one of many bands who originate from the lands southward of Hormah and stretch from just north of the Potomac River to the Taxus Bay. These free-folk have been migrating from the South Lands in droves by reason of the tightening grip the Pitters are exerting all over the South Lands. Many refuse to join the Pitters and utterly reject the Dominiker rule they’ve been placed under. Most come to one of their outposts at Redmond where they maintain a fairly large settlement. This particular group is from a region called Tensee, but most we have dealt with come from the same area in the Firginias that the Herewardi originated.”
Willard nodded, “Why are they all called Hickoryan if they all come from different regions?”
“As I understand it, the Hickoryans took that name as emblematic of the strength and resilience of the hickory tree. It is a tree of particularly deep root, like the ancient culture from which they derive. It represents their will to stand against the tyranny of the Pitter Empire. Some of their tribes were forced to capitulate, some mimicked capitulation, and still others continue to flee westward as the new emperor’s grip increasingly tightens beyond bearance. They wish to get away from the might of the soul crushing Empire of Hrye Seath and his intrusive Black Brotherhood.”
“Well, their leader, Margot, is a handful, isn’t she?” Willard winked.
“She certainly is a spicy girl,” Sur Sceaf said. “I think I shall like her very much. Our spies and the merchants tell us the Blacks have fallen under the new program of ‘Homogenization’ the Pitters are now enforcing. They have decreed that a Black must marry a white mate. No marrying of their own kind is permitted anymore. Anyone who refuses, is separated by sex into labor camps to prevent them from marrying and having offspring.”
Rip shifted his gaze to the Hickoryans who had jumped in to assist the Quailor. “In other words, the Pitter Dogs want to extinguish them out of the earth.”
“I believe that is their plan. Yes, or at least to breed the Blacks out of existence. The Pitters have little tolerance for differences and are constantly striving for what they term, the Supreme Monoculture.”
“I very much doubt the Pitters would ever be able to yoke Margot,” Rip said.
Heber declared, “The way they speak English makes it difficult to understand them until you get used to it.”
Sur Sceaf smiled, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Willard said, “It’s certainly different. But I suspect they might feel the same way about how we speak.”
Rip added, “So far, every Rogue Tribe we’ve encountered has its own brand of English. But even though the Idoans claim to speak English, they cannot be understood by hearing. It has to be written to understand them.”
Willard added, “The Pitters we’ve captured speak the queerest brand of whining English I’ve ever heard.”
Sur Sceaf explained, “The Pitters claim that tongue came from their god, Angrar, and is the way English is supposed to be spoken.” He blew air forcefully out his nostrils. “The lore masters find that most preposterous.”
The lowing of an ox was heard in the wood a few seconds before two Quailor boys appeared leading a red, long horned bovine down the slope and to the wagon which was now securely packed. Assured that the situation had been successfully dealt with. Sur Sceaf said, “Well, done, Elijah. As soon as you’re up and ready to move, send word to the front and I’ll get the wagon train rolling again.”
In less than a half-hour, Sur Sceaf had returned to the front of the line with Rip riding at his side. “Yeoh Wah!” He gave the call for the train to move on. “Yeoh Wah!” echoed down the caravan.
* * *
It was late morning of the eighth day in the Holy Moonth. Paloma and her bride-covey were in a prayer circle with Redith when a green beetle arrived with a message from Mahallah. It was an invitation for Paloma and her covey to come for tea and entertainment on the morrow at noon in the Swan Chamber. The beetle added, “My lady wishes me to convey that the king will be meeting with Rabbi Amschel and the Roufytrof in the morning before the rabbi takes his leave back to the coast. The queen asks that you gather in her apartment shortly before noon.”
Paloma smiled, “Please, tell the queen, we accept her invitation with pleasure and gratitude.”
The beetle saluted and was about to depart when Shining Moon waylaid him with a question. “Did she happen to mention what the entertainment is to be?”
“Yes, she said it was a choral and poetry troupe from Maiden’s Head on the coast.”
The next morning, shortly before the sun dial registered high noon, Paloma and her bride-troupe arrived in Namen Jewell. Making their way along the Swan Promanade beneath the towering magnolia trees, they encountered Clotilde outside the inn. She was barking orders at the ostlers who were busy loading and securing her numerous carpet bags, trunks, and hat boxes into the boot of the carriage. She gave them extra prodding with the tip of her parasol. As soon as she noticed Paloma and the others passing the Inn, she assumed the haughty air of an aristocrat deigning to glance at some lowly beggar. Paloma refused to even acknowledge the pretentious schemer, knowing full well, the woman would gloat over Sur Sceaf’s fall from grace and she was not about to let her provoke another scene for toad-faced Hoth to write about.
As soon as they were beyond Clotilde’s hearing, Swan Hilde turned to Redith, “I wish you would scry for what evil end that devil woman will come to.”
Redith declared, “Believe me, it is tempting, but the gods forbid looking into the stones to consume it on our own lusts. Such fates are best left covered. Otherwise you might take pity on her and I’m sure you are in no mood for that.”
Paloma conceded with a nod.
As they crossed the courtyard, Swan Hilde declared, “By Great Baldur’s Ghost, people are still mulling around the courtyard as if all they have to do is party and gossip. Doesn’t anyone work anymore?”
Milkchild revealed, “I recognize a lot of these men as Jywds. They are from Urford and must have come in the company with the Rabbi and will likely be leaving with him.”
Faechild said, “Yes, some of the men, but I see some of the culls from Charly’s Harbor here and none too few gossips from the Burger Class over at Hrusburg.”
“Ignore them,” Paloma ordered. She nodded hello to the tall fierce red-haired and red-coated captain of the guard.
Captain Scylding saluted before greeting her with a warm smile. They were about to help Redith to climb the stair when there was a disturbance in the crowd. Paloma turned around to see a rough looking corsair pushing and plowing his way through the throng. The guards moved to intercept him, “Is the Lord Sur Spear here? Am I too late? Answer me please. Am I too damned late?”
The fyrd guards arrested his progress with their lances. The captain of the guard, demanded, “Who goes there?”
“Bo Miller, if you don’t mind, kind sir. I be here on the most urgent bidness. My buddy is injured and bade me hail here on wings of lightning to fetch his bride for ‘im before she falls in disfavor from her condition.”
Captain Scylding stepped forward. Paloma and her covey froze and became all ears. “What makes you think your friend’s bride is here?”
The corsair pulled back his soiled, grimy coat and struggled to feel for the contents of his pocket. Finally, withdrawing a crumpled sheet of yellow paper. “Sezs right chere in this yallo sheet of Hoth’s that Gal Fawkes is to
have one’m er hearings wif a judge and a jury bout havin’ a baby of someone named Sur Sceaf. That can’t be, on account of, she’s sposed to marry my friend, Jig. If that baby be anyone’s, it belongs to Jig.”
A gasp went up from the crowd as they pressed in close enough that two other guards came to offer their lances.
“Captain Scylding, let the man pass, and please send someone to fetch the king.” Mahallah stood atop the stair on the edge of the porch. As the guard went off to fetch the king, Mahallah held up her hands for silence. “I call upon all here to bear witness to the testimony of this man. Another man is calling Gal Fawkes his bride, and most likely we have discovered the true father of the child.”
Paloma and her bride-troupe were elated. “Praise the gods and all the Holy Elves. Our prayers have been heard!”
Before Paloma could say another word, Swan Hilde darted through the crowd and raced toward the Inn in a matter of seconds. Paloma and the crowd looked on as she had some sort of interaction with Clotilde. Suddenly Clotilde snapped open her parasol issued something of an order to a carriage driver who took off down the street, to the livery. Turning on her heels, Clotilde marched to the Shepherd Hall, while Swan Hilde made her way back to the lodge.
At the same time Sur Spear came out the door of the lodge with the Rabbi and his son, Bnnimin at their side. Sur Spear beckoned Captain Scylding to escort the corsair up the stairs. The corsair smoothed the crumpled paper and handed it to Sur Spear. The crowd went silent, straining to hear as the corsair placed a finger on the yellow sheet. “Says right chere that the baby be one Sur Sceaf’s. Only that ain’t true. That baby be Jigs.”
When the man was finished, the Rabbi said to his son, “Bnnimin, fetch my papers and satchel from our buggy, please.”
The boy raced to the side of the lodge where the Rabbi’s black buggy sat parked. Unable to conceal the joy in his face, the Rabbi declared, “It looks like we need to reconvene Sur Sceaf’s trial, my lord.”
An hour later, all the parties to the trial had been found and were now assembled in the Shepherd Hall. It seemed to Paloma the Hall was bursting with spectators, as was her heart with anticipation. By the time the Rabbi struck the gong to reconvene the trial she was ready to scream from expectation.
The Rabbi said, “The trial had not been adjourned, but had been recessed, awaiting the testimony of Sur Sceaf. But now we are here reconvened to hear testimony of a newly arrived witness, one who claims to have new facts that could possibly affect the final verdict.”
All eyes turned toward the seafaring man seated self-consciously in the witness chair. A buzz went around the chamber before the ringing of the gong invoked silence. People hung on the edge of their booths.
“We await your testimony. Will you proceed, Mr. Miller.”
The big man stood awkwardly, twisting his cap in his hand. “I am Bo Miller, and I know the true father of Gal Fawkes’ baby and he ain’t no Sur Sceaf. No siree, he is a good friend of mine in the fishin’ trade at Charly’s Harbor. My lord, Melyngoch, can attest to my good character if Your Honor wishes.” He looked over at Melyngoch who nodded. Paloma knew Clotilde and Gal had been staying at the Inn until the Rabbi was to leave, mostly in hopes of gloating over the mud slung at Sur Sceaf. But now the tables had turned, and Clotilde’s carefully guarded face was red under her swooping feathered hat.
“Please continue.” The Rabbi said, “I should welcome any further enlightenment as to why you think this Jig is the father of Gal’s baby.”
The Rogue fisherman brushed his mustache as if to quell an itch, then said, “Jig Peck, my fishin’ buddy, and I were out fishin’ the coast on the vessel known as the Blue Oyster, under Capt’n Scroggins, and had ported as far off as Syra-Coos in the Sand Wand Islands with our catch. Upon our return journey, we encountered the foulest weather any seaman had ever laid eyes on. The Sea raged and raised up squirming sea monsters, dark tempests, Wael fish, and foul slimy squids. The winds howled and tore at us until the sails ripped like they were torn by the claws of the Kraken. The wind was so stiff that the mast of our ship snapped from its force and tug sending it down upon me friend, Jig. Struck him clean to the deck amidst snapping jaws of sharks, niccors, and sea serpents. He lay there on the deck, broken across the back like a snapped walking stick til I pulled ‘em out. He was unable to return wif us. We laid him up in a place called Skweem, and there it was he bade me swear an oath that I would locate Miss Gal Fawkes and let her to know, his intentions are all good and that he pledges his love to her, which he did give her in the Mud Moonth of last winter. And that be my whole bidness here, good sirs.”
Seated next to Clotilde, Gal broke down in tears. Clotilde shook her. “You fool, do you know how rich Surrey is? Now be silent. You don’t have to say a thing.”
The girl sobbed and ignored Clotilde’s counsel, stood up and confessed. “Bo, I thought Jig had left me for good when I didn’t hear back from him--. There I was, getting bigger by the day with a babe kickin’ at my ribs, and my parents sayin they were going to kick me out of the home unless I found the father and made him marry me. Then Madam Clotilde said, I need not fear for she would swear that she saw the father of the baby, as did her son and she could surely save my name if I would swear to the same. Clotilde said, this man, Surrey, was known to be a seducer of women and that he had it a comin. Said he was a powerfully rich man who would provide a good livin for me and my baby. What else was I to do? Be homeless and disgraced? Watch my baby starve and be neglected, causin I can’t earn that much keep, young as I am.”
A look of disdain crossed Bo’s face. “You shoulda told the truth rather than bear false witness agin an innocent man, Gal. Jig meant to return fer you followin the trade of our catch just like he promised you. No way of tellin’ an accident at Sea would send him bedridden for many months. It wasn’t foreseeable. The squall came out of no where. I come as soon as I could, no one knew of you when I asked about yer whereabouts in Charly’s Harbor. Then I saw this here yallo flier called Hoth’s Kat Sheet, wif yer name plastered all over it and how you were wif child by a Lord, and I knew it weren’t true and somebody was up to some God awful lie. Said there was a trial here. I thought maybe that Lord was tryin to press you into marriage, and I weren’t havin’ none of that. I rushed here to claim you for Jig’s sake. Girl, why’d you lie? What was you thinkin’?”
Paloma felt limp with relief. Bless this honest sailor for his bonds of friendship. He was proof of Sur Sceaf’s innocence and those who knew him knew it all along. This forlorn girl was merely the puppet in Clotilde’s hand. Clotilde was pulling all the strings for a vendetta and for her own self-aggrandizement in the promotion of her son. In an instant, the heart sickness that had laid like a pall over every action, had finally been lifted. Her bride-sisters clustered around her with smiles instead of tears as they discussed the obvious.
Across the room, Melyngoch stared at his mother with his mouth agape. Clotilde was trying to mollify him with a touch, but he threw her hands off his shoulders and stormed out the door in a huff.
The roar of the assembly overrode the striking of the gong.
Swan Hilde was euphoric. “Didn’t I tell you that little bitch was a phony from the start? She was trying to cuckoo her way into our nest.”
Faechild smiled as she burped her baby. “Inasmuch as she did this to Sur Sceaf, she might as well have done it to me. It still hurts that this Rule of Law process nearly dealt a blemish to our family’s character. It bothers me we have given too much power to strangers, outlanders, and foreigners in all our affairs. I fear we shall rue ever blending this much with these mongrels.”
Milkchild shook her head. “It has certainly made me to question the wisdom of my father in having recommended it to the Roufytrof. But in a way I see it will work for good among the outlander tribes to show them that there is one law for all. Perhaps, it will cause them to trust us more.”
“Trust us more,” Faechild uttered. “I thought they were guests in our house. I t
hought they were the ones fleeing to us for safety. How dare they come into our house and treat us like this. Don’t they know every freedom they enjoy is because of us, because of the sacrifice of our longfathers for these freedoms? None of them could have founded a land as free and civil as ours.”
Shining Moon bounced her baby. “Indeed it has tried our souls, but our faith in our man is now unshakable, yet what was it Hrusilde was saying about Sur Sceaf choosing a Sharaka maiden to wife? Do you suppose it’s my friend, Meny?”
Faechild ventured, “I won’t worry about such rumors unless I hear the word straight out of Sur Sceaf’s mouth. This much I know, Sur Sceaf is not seeking another wife. He said he needed all his energies to be focused on his commission and when he fixes his mind, nothing short of the gods intervening can take him off trail.”
Paloma smiled. “When I get home, I’m sending a letter out with Long Swan to Sur Sceaf. I want him to know the slander Clotilde tried to heap up against our good name. Never once did I have even a pinch of doubt in the worth of our man. The greatest satisfaction that comes to me at this moment, is that that damned toad-faced Hoth has already returned to Charly’s Harbor to print his twisted version and we get to shoot it full of holes with the truth. I’d give anything to see his face when the town criers announce Sur Sceaf’s innocence before his constituents.”
Swan Hilde smiled. “There will be some crow to eat. That’s for sure. But I take great satisfaction that the entire world now knows that Clotilde’s conniving caused all this brouhaha and that she will now have no place in Herewardi society to spread her malicious gossip anymore.”
The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2) Page 25