by Anna Kendall
I recognized all that because it was what I had felt about leaving Maggie and Jee.
Lying upon the straw in the wagon bed, I thought about Maggie. I remembered so many small things: the way her fair curls fell over her forehead as she stirred a savoury stew in the big pot over the hearth fire. Her strong arms kneading bread. Her laugh as we sat at day's end over tankards of ale at the trestle table in the inn. And her body moving under mine on the sunlit hillside, the last day I had seen her. Somehow, my father's story had brought Maggie sharp again into my mind. It made no sense, but there it was.
‘ Ven tek fraghir! Klen!'
A horse neighed. The wagon jolted as the traces were put on. More shouting in the savages' tongue. Then we were moving, the iron wheels rolling noisily across the cobbled stableyard and not stopping. The wagon sides were high enough that I could not see over the sides unless I stood. The length of my chain permitted that, but I was not about to do so. Already more people than I'd expected had recognized me, and many in the city had reason to hate me. So I lay flat in the wagon, and again all I saw of the palace as we rolled through it were sky and the single grey thrust of the stone tower flying its meaningless banner of purple. Stephanie may have been crowned, but she did not rule here.
A halt to open the palace gates, and then the wagon moved through Glory, a city gone curiously silent. Eventually the sound of the horses' hooves changed to a steady ringing clop. We were crossing one of the great stone bridges spanning the River Thymar. On the other bank, all silence was gone. Cautiously I stood and peered over the side of the wagon.
Three great groups spread across the plain by the river. Furthest from me was the bulk of the savage army, in perfect formation twelve abreast, armoured and ready to march. The land was dense with them, as with a plague of furry locusts. Next came a convoy such as The Queendom had never witnessed. Six brightly painted caravans were being hitched to draught horses. Each caravan had been constructed on a long wagon bed, with walls and roofs and curtained windows. They were garish colours – apple red, glaring yellow, the poisonous green of a haft-snake. The workmen of the palace, who had painted and tiled its subtle courtyards in soft blues and delicate purples, must have hated using the flat lurid colours. In each caravan closed curtains matched the paint. Iron wheels shone brightly, and the horses stamped in their leather-and-wood harnesses.
The savages did not ride. I had never seen a savage soldier on a horse. Beside each caravan stood soldiers, six on each side. But mounted soldiers of the Purple, some so young and slight that they must have been couriers or scouts, rode before and after the caravans. Other palace folk milled through the noisy chaos, amid the flocks of sheep that would be slaughtered to feed the army on its march home, the supply wagons holding crates of squawking chickens, casks of ale, bags of flour, and me.
The plain rang with cackles, bleats and shouts in the guttural savage tongue. A drum sounded, and then, from the third group, the rearguard of soldiers, the voice of a savage singer, powerful and strong.
Everything began to move. The Young Chieftain's army was leaving The Queendom.
Why would he go after invading and conquering us? A moment's thought brought the answer. The savages did not have a large enough army in The Queendom to hold it indefinitely. This was but a very large raiding party, sent to capture the princess and me. But after I had taught the Young Chieftain to become a ‘witch', as my father had said was the savage leader's intention, all would be altered. The Young Chieftain could then return over the mountains in a year or two at the head of an army of the Dead, invincible and infinitely renewable. There were always more Dead. Tarek could retake The Queendom with no losses to his own men, and rule through his child wife. Or so he thought.
And the entire insane plan depended on me.
For a moment, caravans, soldiers, sheep, wagons all blurred as vertigo took me. When my vision cleared, I saw that people had begun to appear on the ramparts of the city. They were too far away for me to see their faces, but I knew they would be weeping. For their dead lost to the savages, for their six-year-old princess being taken away from her heritage, for the traitors among them who had chosen to throw in their lot with the conquerors and so made conquest possible. And then, my eyes practically leaping from my head, I saw something I had never expected to see again.
Tom Jenkins.
Impossible, yet there he was, dodging lumbering wagons and marching cooks and stray sheep, one of which he nearly tripped over. A soldier of the Purple grabbed for him, but he knocked the man down and kept weaving and shouting, frantically searching for something. For me?
‘Tom!' I called, but there was no way he could hear me over the din. All at once the back of my wagon, which had started forward, was jerked open and a soldier leaped in. I braced myself for a blow, which did not come. The savage muttered something I did not catch, unlocked the chain that held me to the wagon and leaped back to the ground. Urgently he motioned me to get out. No savage had motioned to me before; they had grabbed and shoved and pulled. I stared at him, uncertain, and then, even as the wagon pulled away from him, he bent his head and knelt.
I swivelled my head, looking for the Young Chieftain. He was not there. The soldier was kneeling to me.
When I gazed at him in stupefaction, all the while being borne away on the moving wagon, he jumped to his feet, ran after me and again gestured for me to get out. He did not touch me. His face creased in anxiety. He was young, blue-eyed as were all of them, heavily armed, and I would have sworn he was embarrassed. None of this made sense.
Tom saw me standing in the open wagon bed and ran towards me, shouting something I could not distinguish over the noise.
I climbed down from the wagon, which kept on moving. Relief flooded the young savage's face. He pointed in the direction I was to go. Tom was seized by a savage soldier, with whom he immediately began to fight.
‘Tom! No!' I ran towards them, expecting to be grabbed in turn. But my guard – captor, guide, whatever he was – did not touch me. Tom was bigger than the savage, but the savage was not only superbly trained but also armed. If Tom pulled a knife—
He did. The savage leaped backward, graceful as a court dancer, and pulled his own wickedly curved blade. I screamed, ‘ Ka! Ka! Aleyk ka flul! Ka!'
Nobody paid me the least attention. Tom and the savage circled each other, the soldier faintly smiling. Then another voice cut through the din, repeating what I had said in a commanding tone that would have made wild boars obey. ‘ Ka. Alyek ka flul.' ‘No. Do not attack.'
The soldier circling Tom did not look up but immediately shifted his stance to one that even I could recognize as defence only. Tom whooped and dived forward. His knife was expertly parried and a moment later he was disarmed and lying flat on his back, blinking up at the sky.
I tried to say to the captain in his own language, ‘Please do not hurt him,' and hoped I hadn't said something entirely different.
‘He is yours, antek?'
I didn't know what antek meant, and Tom was most certainly not mine, but I nodded. Tom tried to get up. The soldier put a boot on his chest and pointed his gun at him.
The captain scowled and had a rapid exchange with the soldier. I understood none of it except one word: nel. Again Tom began to get up.
I said, ‘Don't move. They'll kill you, you stupid oaf! They think you're my servant. Just lie still!' And for a wonder, he actually did.
The captain stared at me, hatred in his blue eyes. They all hated me, of course they did, these soldiers whose high lord I had defeated two and a half years ago. But the captain, like the rest, was too disciplined to disobey Tarek's orders. He spoke curtly to his men. Both savages, the one who had released me from the wagon and the one with his boot on Tom's chest, gave their clenched-fist salute. The captain strode off. The boot was removed. Tom scrambled up.
I said, ‘Don't move quickly, don't do anything stupid, don't say anything, just follow me!'
He nodded. My guide gestured me forward
. I went and Tom followed, although I had no idea to what.
We were led towards a yellow caravan. One of the savages opened the door in the back and pointed. I peered in, desperately trying to make out whatever or whoever was inside. As far as my sun-blinded eyes could see, the caravan was empty of people, and of almost everything else. Knowing I had no real choice, I climbed the one step to the open door.
‘Wait!' Tom cried. ‘We can't go in there!'
‘ Tom—'
‘No, wait, we can't! She can't find us in there!'
‘Who?' Both savages frowned, and the gestures of my guide grew stronger. Get in, get in. The other five caravans began to move forward. ‘Tom, if you don't get in now—'
‘I can't! You can't! She won't be able to find us!'
‘ Who?'
Tom glared at me. ‘Maggie. She's here.'
33
I stood on the step at the back of the caravan; the caravan moved slowly forward; all else stopped. Time, thought, meaning – all stopped. Maggie. Here.
Both Tom and my savage guide trotted forward, the savage trying to get me into the yellow caravan so he could close the door, Tom trying to – what? Make me understand. I could not understand, not anything.
‘Maggie? Here? But how—'
‘I told her not to come!' Tom said furiously. ‘But have you ever tried to argue with that woman? By damn, make this stupid caravan stop!'
But it did not stop; it picked up speed. The horses trotted over the level plain, following the marching army. The savage still did not dare touch me, yet another thing I did not understand. Tom had no such scruples. He grabbed my good arm and yanked me off the caravan steps. We both tumbled into the dust. The savage howled and drew his knife.
‘ Nel! ' I screamed. ‘ Nel, nel! He's my piss-pot damn nel! Ka!'
The soldier, his short supply of patience evidently used up, picked me up, trotted after the caravan and shoved me inside. Then he looked around fearfully to see who had observed him. Tom sped after us and jumped in. A second later the door slammed and I heard a key turn in the lock. Instantly Tom threw himself against the door and bawled, ‘Let us out! Damn you!'
‘Stop,' I said and seized him. ‘What about Maggie? Why is she here? Why are you here? How—'
‘Let me go, Peter, or you'll wish you had!' Tom glared down at me from his great height, fists clenched and face almost purple with rage. I let him go.
He stood there, panting and glaring and clenching, for several moments longer. Finally he said, ‘This is flimsy wood. I can tear this caravan apart! Four to one odds that I can!'
‘Yes, but don't. If you can do it now, you can do it later, and I want some answers first. Please, Tom. I need your help!'
That calmed him, as it always had. Tom was born to help, however ineptly. The rage drained from his face. ‘Well, I need answers too, but meanwhile we're getting further and further away from Maggie!'
‘Where is she?'
‘Hidden, don't worry about that. I got a cottager to take her in overnight. Said she was my widowed sister. The savages aren't molesting cottagers, they just want to leave The Queendom. You're right, Peter, I can tear this place apart and go get Maggie just as well in half an hour. Do you have anything to eat? Why aren't you in a dungeon someplace? Or dead?'
I wasn't in a dungeon, I wasn't dead, and – equally surprising – I did have something to eat. This caravan was much smaller than the other five, furnished with only a low table and, against the far wall, a few rugs obviously stolen from the palace and still rolled up. On the table were a basket of fruit, two loaves of bread, a wheel of yellow cheese and a few bottles of wine. Tom collapsed onto the floor, grabbed an apple and began to munch, eyeing the wine.
‘Tom,' I said, and heard the desperation in my voice, ‘please tell me what happened. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out.'
‘Much the best way,' he agreed. The apple disappeared in three bites. He uncorked a bottle of wine, drained it in two gulps, and tore off a hunk of bread. ‘Well, after the savages knocked me out and carried you off, your grandmother nursed—'
‘My what?'
‘Your grandmother,' Tom said patiently. ‘Are you all right, Peter? She'd just found you at the top of the cliff above that little beach and you two were talking when the savage soldiers arrived – remember?'
Mother Chilton. She who'd somehow turned herself so old and dithering that the soldiers had dismissed her as not worth bothering with. Later she'd gone back for Tom and told him she was my grandmother.
‘I ... I remember now,' I got out.
‘Good. For a minute there I thought something was wrong with your brain, that the bastards had tortured you or something. They didn't torture you, did they? Why not? I thought that savage whose face got messed up by Shadow wanted to—'
‘Tom, I said desperately, ‘please just tell me your story. I'll tell you mine afterwards.'
‘Except,' he said with one of his sudden disconcerting flashes of shrewdness, ‘you won't tell me all of it, will you? You never do. All right, your grandmother bandaged my head and gave me some herbs to chew and they healed me very well. That's a useful grandmother to have, Peter. I wonder you ain't never mentioned her sooner. Your cousin George told me—'
‘My ... my ...'
‘Didn't you tell me to say my story straight through?' Tom said reasonably. ‘Then don't interrupt so much. Your grandmother and I stayed in that cabin above the cliffs that night while I got healed. I ain't never slept so well or so long. Not even when Fia ... well. When I woke up, George was there, and between 'em they explained to me—'
‘What did George look like?'
Tom stared at me. ‘Don't you know what your own cousin looks like?'
‘I ... I haven't seen him in a long time.'
‘Oh. Well then, I'm sorry to tell you he's aged a great deal. He looks old enough to be your father. Grey hair, green eyes. But still strong as a mountain. In fact, I was wondering if he could take me in a fair fight, and I really wanted to find out, but it ain't good to fight people who are helping you. Anyway, George and your grandmother explained to me that the savages wanted you because they believe you can cross over to the Country of the Dead. Well, they're savages; they'll believe anything, not that a lot of women in Almsbury don't believe the same nonsense! George also explained to me that the rebellion against the savages is real, and you told me it ain't, just to protect me. You shouldn't of done that, Peter. I can take care of myself.'
He scowled at me and then devoured an entire loaf of bread. I was speechless.
‘George told me the best thing I could do right now was go find your wife and ... Why didn't you never tell me that you are married, Peter? I wouldn't have devilled you about Fia – not that the lying bitch turned out to be worth it after all, and when I think how sodden I was about her for a while ... This is damn good bread. Want some of the other loaf?'
‘No.'
‘All right. George wanted me to go to where you left your wife at Haryllbury and stay to take care of her, but what kind of task is that for a man when there's a rebellion going on? Still, I thought I might just go there first, and then I could take you word of her. But when I told her about you, she threw a pot at my head, and then she cried, and then she swore she was coming with me. And even though I tried to sneak out in the middle of the night, she heard me and she came. Her and your little brother. Women!'
My ‘little brother'. Jee. I could picture it all: Maggie's fury, Tom's high-minded consternation, Jee's stubborn determination to go wherever Maggie went. My head whirled.
‘Although I will say this for that boy – he's useful. He laid snares and caught nearly as much game as ol' Shep ever did – what happened to Shep?'
‘He ran off.'
‘Oh. Too bad. Good ol' Shep. So do you think we should bust out of here now?'
I pulled my wits around me. It was not an easy task; Tom had effectively tattered them. I said, ‘No. No, Tom, listen to me. George didn't tell yo
u everything because he didn't know everything. I'm not going to bust out of here. George was right about why the Young Chieftain wants me – he believes I can cross over to the Country of the Dead. He wants me to teach him how. Eventually he'll send for me. I think I'm the only one who can get that close to him, do you see?'
‘Yes!' Tom glanced around the caravan, bounded to my side and whispered in my ear, ‘You'll get close to him and then you'll be able to kill him! Good plan! Only they'll disarm you, won't they? And ...' He trailed off, pulled away and gazed meaningfully at the stump of my wrist.
I leaned close to his ear and breathed, ‘My grandmother's herbs.'
‘Ahhh.' He nodded and smiled.
Poison made sense to him, at least if it came from a woman. Women used herbs and women believed in superstitions and women were to bed, not marry. Men used knives and men joined rebellions and this was a great adventure, thrilling and important. We were going to kill the Young Chieftain, Tom and I. His impulsive brain did not think what would happen next if we actually succeeded in such an impossible plan. Tom did not look as far ahead as the punishment, or the consequences for The Queendom, or the subsequent fate of little Princess Stephanie. He lived moment to moment, inventing reality as he went along.
Yet, was I so very different? I did not know either what would happen on this journey to the Young Chieftain's homeland. All I had were the orders of my father – who may or may not have been the man posing as my ‘cousin George' – to go along with the idea that I could teach witchcraft to the Young Chieftain. My orders were—
‘The only thing is,' Tom said, his face clouding, ‘what about Maggie?'