All Fall Down

by Christine Pope

  “Why,” indeed. I was beginning to see that Auren was what my mother used to call “a handful.”

  Still, the girl was friendly enough, and her high spirits weren’t my concern, after all. “So what happened?” I asked.

  “I saw a wall a few miles from here—and Cloud and I cleared it, but then he put his foot wrong when we came down the other side. I fell off—which I’ve done a hundred times before—but there was an old tree stump there, and I fell against it and tore my leg open.”

  Doubtless filling the wound with splinters, dirt, and the gods knew what else. No wonder it had become infected.

  “Luckily, Cloud only sprained his ankle. Father was so angry with me—he said I could have broken Cloud’s leg, and then he would have had to be put down.” She lifted guileless eyes to mine. “At first I wasn’t sure if he was angrier that I had hurt myself or my horse.”

  “Surely you must be mistaken,” I said lightly. I was fairly certain she didn’t really mean what she said—she just wanted to see my reaction.

  A lift of the thin shoulders beneath the plain white linen of her shift. It was obvious she had dropped weight during her illness—from her frame I could tell that normally she would be a tall, well-built girl, broad-shouldered like her father. “I know he’s unhappy that the only one of his children who lived was a girl.”

  Uneasy, I ventured, “My lady, I don’t think —”

  “Oh, it’s true enough. Ask anybody.” She watched me for a moment, then said, “You probably wouldn’t, would you? You have that sort of face.”

  “What sort of face?” I asked, hoping that I might distract her from more disturbing topics of conversation.

  “The polite kind. You look like a lady. Were you?”

  I permitted myself a slight smile. “Not exactly. My father is a wool merchant in Lystare. That’s the capital of my country.”

  “I know. At least Father made sure I always had a tutor. That’s why I speak common so well.”

  “That you do,” I agreed, inwardly marveling at her volubility. Then again, it didn’t seem as if she had many people here in the castle in whom she could confide. From what I had seen over the past few days, most of the household staff was made up of slaves from my own country; Seldd’s neighbor to the east, Purth; and even a few fair-haired South Eredorians, none of whom had seemed particularly inclined to conversation in my brief meetings with them. Already I was seen as being somewhat apart from the rest of the slaves. I might not be any freer in a legal sense than the rest of them, but I slept apart, in my small tower room, and I took my meals in my chamber as well and not the large common room that adjoined the slave quarters. A few of the household staff were natives of Seldd and therefore free—Dorus and Ourrel, Lord Shaine’s personal manservant.

  “A merchant,” Auren echoed, and tilted her head to one side. “I’ve heard that merchants are rich. Are you?”

  I almost laughed at her audacity, but instead tried to look slightly disapproving. “That’s not the sort of question you ask of strangers, my lady.”

  “But you’re not a stranger, are you? After all, you’ve been living here for several days now, correct?”

  “That is true,” I admitted.

  “Father often scolds me for being too free with my tongue,” she said then, and scowled. “As if I can help it.”

  “You could, you know,” I commented. “You just have to stop and think about what you’re going to say before you say it. I often find myself in the same predicament.”

  “Really?” Auren raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You seem quite reserved.”

  Only because you’ve hardly let me get a word in edgewise, I thought, but I merely smiled. “Well, I’ve had a few more years to school myself in discretion. My father used to tell me if it was in my head it was most likely on my tongue a second later. But I’ve managed to gain a closer guard on my words as the years have passed.”

  “That doesn’t sound like very much fun,” she said, her tone sour.

  Here was where I should have made a speech about politeness and tact. But I was not her governess, and in some odd way this outspoken woman-child reminded me of myself, from not so very long ago. “No,” I admitted, “many times it isn’t. But neither is getting into arguments with people, which is often what happens if you always speak your mind with no regard for what other people might think or feel about what you’re saying.”

  She was silent for a moment, appearing to consider my words. Then she said, “How long will my leg hurt like this? It’s starting to itch.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I replied. “It means you’re healing—your muscles are knitting together as they should. But it will probably keep hurting for quite some time.”

  “So I probably shan’t be able to go riding again before winter.” Her tone was fretful.

  I had to remind myself that she was recovering from major surgery, and that this was the first time since the operation she had been able to sit up and hold a conversation. Probably she was hungry as well. Over the past few days I hadn’t been able to get anything more nourishing into her than a few spoonfuls of beef and barley broth.

  “What about some dinner?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. “You need to eat—it will help you get better more quickly.”

  “I suppose so,” she answered, not very graciously. “As long as it’s not Merime’s mutton stew. I hate that.”

  “I don’t know what they were planning for this evening’s meal,” I said. “Let me go check for you. Is there anything in particular you would like?”

  “Roast chicken, or at least chicken pie. Some bread. And cheese?” This last was said on a rising note, as if she wasn’t sure I would agree to something so rich for a convalescent.

  But I knew there was nothing I need interdict for her in terms of her food—she needed good, nourishing meals, but I saw nothing wrong with any of her choices. “I’ll see what I can do,” I replied, and rose from my chair at her bedside.

  “Thank you, Merys,” she said gravely, although I thought I caught a brief glint in her eyes. Then she added, her expression much more serious this time, “I am glad you are here.”

  Oddly enough, given my current situation, I wanted to reply that I was glad to be here as well. Instead I gave her a brief smile and left the room, my expression sobering as I made my way down the narrow steps that led into the great hall. I had heard nothing of Elissa, and as for myself…

  After all, how I could be happy to be here, when I was only a slave?

  Chapter Four

  The days began to shorten. From my vantage point in the tower, I could see the slaves take to the fields to harvest the flax that seemed to be the main crop produced on Lord Shaine’s lands. The golden sheaves appeared to my untrained eye to look much like wheat, save that after the flax was bundled, the workers laid the cut sheaves in water—to loosen the seed, Auren informed me. From here it would be taken to market in Myalme, or further still to Soren, the capital of Seldd.

  Auren was up and about much sooner than I would have liked, but my protestations that she would over-tax her injured leg fell on deaf ears. At least I was able to extract from her the promise that she would not attempt to ride again until I said it was safe, and I had to admit that being cooped up in a small chamber, no matter how comfortable, held little appeal to me and even less to a girl as lively as Auren.

  I also managed to prevail in suggesting that perhaps it was time for Auren to have her own maid. Apparently she had made a similar request to her father some months ago, and he had dismissed the idea, telling his daughter she was too young yet to have a maid waiting on her day and night. But after this latest accident he appeared to recant. Possibly he had realized that having someone watching after Auren day and night was not necessarily a bad thing.

  Elissa seemed a perfect choice, and Auren agreed readily enough when I suggested the girl to her. The fact that Elissa had no experience working as a lady’s maid did not seem to bother her in the sl
ightest.

  “After all,” she told me in confiding tones, “it’s not as if I have much practice being a lady, either. Perhaps we can learn together.”

  So Elissa was given a pallet to sleep on in my own chamber, and if I regretted the loss of my privacy, I did not regret at all saving the girl from the fields. When she came to move her meager belongings into my own tower room, she grasped my hands in hers and said in an intense whisper, “Thank you, mistress. I feared I would have to work in the fields forever.”

  “I told you I would try to help,” I replied. “I’m sorry it took as long as it did. But you seem to be safe now.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking in the sparsely furnished room we now both shared. But at least it was clean; I had seen to that first thing. No doubt I had offended both Dorus and Seyla, the chief female slave who appeared to manage the household servants, but on such matters I was inflexible. And since I kept the room clean myself, and did not add any extra burden to the household staff, I could not see why it should make a difference if I were overly fastidious about the state of my surroundings.

  Luckily, Elissa and Auren seemed to get along well enough; I often heard them chattering away in the common tongue. Elissa, to her credit, also showed an interest in learning Selddish, and I think it gave Auren great pleasure to take Elissa in her charge and teach her her native tongue. Elissa proved her worth in other ways—certainly Auren’s hair went from resembling a bramble bush to sleek and smooth, with intricate braids and coils. She began to look like a lady, and although she walked with a definite limp and would continue to do so for some time, I had no doubt that Lord Shaine would have any problems finding her a suitable husband when the time came.

  For myself, I worried I would be idle once Auren healed well enough to move about on her own, and I wondered what my fate would then be. I soon found I needn’t have plagued myself with formless fancies. A great estate such as Lord Shaine’s had its daily round of mishaps, from the slave who managed to almost slice off two fingers from his left hand while harvesting the flax to the scullery girl who somehow spilled half a kettle of scalding water down her front.

  I made my way about the estate, stitching cuts, spreading salves, even delivering a child to one of the slave women. At first I found myself silently disapproving—who on earth would be foolish enough to bring a child into such conditions? But then I realized that to deny these people even the momentary pleasure these illicit couplings produced would be to deprive them of possibly the only happiness they could achieve. Sad that a child should be born into slavery, of course, but I learned that such children actually received better treatment than their parents. A child born into slavery was not necessarily fated to be a slave forever. At the age of sixteen he could buy his freedom, if he could prove that he had worked enough in the intervening years to have earned a sum equal to his cost on the open market. It seemed, again, strange and barbaric to me, but at least it was better than having self-perpetuating generations of slaves.

  It was Ourrel who explained these things to me, in his quiet yet unflinching way. He was a tall, grave man, a native of Seldd with an impeccable sense of dignity—a far more suitable candidate for steward than dour and heavy-browed Dorus, in my opinion.

  Ourrel added, “Do not think, Mistress Merys, that we do not know what the rest of the world thinks of us. More than once I have heard his lordship say he wished he had more power to change things, and I am inclined to agree with him. However, if he were to free his slaves wholesale, word would spread quickly enough, and it would cause unrest on the estates of those who see no reason to discontinue the old ways. So we do what we can here to make the lives of those in service not quite so difficult. Perhaps you think it is not enough, but even free men cannot always do as they wish.”

  To these revelations I could only nod and murmur that I understood. Whether this was the complete truth or not, I couldn’t say, but Ourrel’s words made me think less harshly of Lord Shaine, and my respect for both men grew as a result.

  Of Lord Shaine I saw little, but I supposed that was to be expected. Once he had reassured himself Auren was well on the way to health and that there would be no relapses, I saw him very little in her tower room. His reserve troubled me somewhat, for I could not help but contrast him with my own jovial, good-natured father. However, if I had learned anything over the years, it was that the world possessed as many types of men as it did diseases to lay them low, and I could not judge Lord Shaine simply because of my own personal experience.

  It was during one of my rounds in the kitchens, a little more than a month after my arrival at the estate, that I made a disturbing discovery. Merime, the head cook, suffered from shortness of breath and chest pain. While her surest remedy would have been to shed some of the twenty-odd stone she carried about every day, I held my tongue on that matter and instead treated her with an infusion of foxglove that had worked very well in the past for patients who had heart conditions.

  But it was not Merime or her condition that troubled me. She took the medicine with good enough humor and thanked me for it. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the same young slave who had brought the water up to Auren’s chamber skulking in the corner near the hearth. He had the sort of hangdog, half-guilty expression of one who does not want to attraction attention yet at the same time desperately craves it.

  I noticed immediately the blue-black bruises on his upper arms beneath the short sleeves of the dark linen tunic he wore, a garment far too skimpy for the chilly late autumn weather, even if he spent most of his time in the considerably warmer confines of the kitchen. Then my eye was drawn to the pinched, frightened look on his face, the shadows under his eyes that were almost as black as the bruises on his arms.

  “You there!” I called, using the common tongue, for I was fairly certain he had come here as a captive, as had I. “Please come over here for a moment.”

  He looked as if he wanted to bolt but instead took a few halting steps in my direction.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, for it was obvious he would not speak unless addressed first.

  He jabbed his toe into the stone floor, staring down at the ground and avoiding my eyes.

  “You speak when you’re spoken to, boy,” scolded Merime, who had been looking on with some bemusement, as if she couldn’t comprehend why I was bothering with a young man who didn’t seem to be in any immediate need of medical attention.

  “Raifal, mistress,” he answered, looking as if he very much wished to be someplace else.

  “How did you get those bruises on your arms?” I inquired, already fairly certain of the answer…or at least the answer he would try to fob off on me.

  “I’m clumsy,” he said, his voice a dull monotone, as if repeating an oft-recited but not entirely understood lesson. “I bang into things.”

  I wanted to retort that no one was that clumsy, but I knew I would have to tread carefully here. “As a healer, I’ve seen a lot of bumps and bruises. But it seems a little odd to me that you would only have bruises on one part of your arms if you’re continually bumping into things.”

  He looked stricken then, his jaw tightening even as he glanced away from me. His gaze flickered for a second toward Merime, and he hung his head, remaining silent.

  Obviously he would say nothing else in front of the cook, and I couldn’t very well ask her to leave her own kitchen. The spacious pantry immediately behind me seemed the most convenient solution.

  I unlatched the door and indicated that he should follow me inside. Merime raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing; I had earned her goodwill by easing the pain of her heart condition, and at least at the moment she seemed inclined to trust me...which was more than I could say for Raifal. He entered the dim, herb-scented room with me, but the whites of his eyes showed in the semi-darkness, reminding me of a frightened horse about to bolt.

  Pitching my voice low, just in case Merime should decide to press an ear to the pantry door to hear what transpired within, I
asked, “Who has been hurting you, Raifal? I want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what the situation is.”

  Again that tightening of the jaw, but I could also see his lower lip tremble. He was, after all, very young, fifteen or an under-grown sixteen. “He said if I told anyone he’d kill me.”

  I willed myself to stay calm. But I had seen this kind of abuse before. The bruises on Raifal’s upper arms were just the sort left by a pair of man’s hands as they grasped an unwilling victim. Choosing my words with care, I asked, “Has he hurt you...other ways?”

  Silence, and a quick averting of his eyes, was my only reply.

  His lack of response was answer enough. Fighting the sick anger that rose in me, I then said, “Raifal, I can’t make him stop if I don’t know who it is.”

  “You can’t make him stop,” he answered, his voice thick with rage and unspent tears. “No one can.” He gave me a contemptuous look. “Who would listen to you? You’re just another slave, just like the rest of us.”

  The words were a slap in the face, but I forced myself to remember that he was angry and afraid, and had most likely suffered the very worst sort of abuse. “Yes, but I’m also the slave who healed Lord Shaine’s daughter,” I replied. “That gives me an advantage, don’t you think?”

  He said nothing, but gave a small lift of his shoulders. Not exactly encouraging, but at least it wasn’t an outright denial.

  Hardening my voice slightly, I said, “And if you say nothing, what then? Do you think he’ll ever stop?”

  The boy’s hands balled into fists, another indication of the impotent anger he must surely be feeling. Then he whispered, “No.”

  “Then let me help you. That’s what I’ve been trained to do. But I can’t do anything if I don’t know who your tormentor is.”

  “Do you—you promise if I tell, then you’ll get him to stop?”

  I took a breath as I felt the relief sweep over me. “I promise, Raifal.” Even as I said the words I worried that I might not be able to uphold my vow—but what else could I do? Without information, I was as helpless as he.