Cranky Ladies of History

by Tehani Wessely

  “Please, my lady. I am only saying what others believe.”

  “You are all stupid creatures.” She moved towards the door. “I am taking my niece home. I will be sending a servant to care for these girls. If she writes to tell me they are ill-treated, expect to see me again.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And remember, Grigor might be the best warrior in all of Albania, but he will never be more clever or cunning than me.” Besjana swept from the room and back to the freezing waters of the Bojana River where her oarsmen waited.

  ◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊

  “Nora!” Besjana’s voice bounced off the rocks where the girl was playing beside one of the mountain streams that flowed in the forest around their home.

  Nora caught the dragonfly between her thumb and finger and yelped in excitement. “I caught it!” She jumped up from her perch and dashed across the stream to where her aunt waited in the shadows of the trees.

  “Quiet, Nora. We have company.”

  “But I caught the dragonfly in my fingers.”

  “That is very good, but do you remember what I told you about visitors?”

  “What visitors?” Nora was more interested in the dragonfly.

  “My brother has come with two of his men.”

  “I have an uncle?” The child’s eyes widened and she made to run towards the cottage.

  “Nora, no.” Besjana grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards.

  “I want to see him.” The dragonfly escaped from the child’s grip.

  “Do you remember what you must do if we have a visitor to the cottage?” Besjana knelt to peer into Nora’s face.

  “I must pretend I am a boy?”

  “Yes, very good, Nora.” Besjana’s shoulders relaxed.

  “But, I’m really a girl like you, aren’t I?” Nora’s forehead creased as she looked up into her aunt’s face.

  “You are, but no one can know that. We must pretend you are a boy until you are old enough to protect yourself. Do you understand, Nora?”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt me?” The child laughed.

  “This is not a game, Nora.” Besjana shook the child. “Your uncle must never know you are a girl. He must only know you as my son, understand?”

  “But Nora is a girl’s name. You should have given me a boy’s name instead.”

  “Very true. You can choose a new name for yourself.”

  Nora’s face lit up. “Can I be called Kreshnik?”

  “You want your name to be ‘Knight’?”

  “I’d like to be either a knight or a zana, a mountain fairy. Both are strong and fierce, but Zana is a girl’s name.”

  “Kreshnik it will have to be then.” Besjana ruffled the girl’s long chestnut hair that fell in waves to her waist. “Now you must go around the back to the stable and cut off your hair.”

  “Cut off my hair?” Nora’s voice was hollow.

  “It is too beautiful to belong to a knight, Nora. I shouldn’t have allowed you to grow it. Imagine if your uncle had found you out here running about?”

  “Must I dress like a boy too?”

  “Yes. See that the stable boy gives you some of his clothes to wear. Your uncle must not suspect who you are, Nora. Your safety depends on it.”

  After watching the waif-like figure disappear between the trees, Besjana wound her way back through the forest and into the cottage where her brother was downing another glass of raki.

  “Easy, Grigor. I’ve only got a few bottles left.” She frowned at him as she entered.

  “How can you live up here alone with only a few bottles of raki, woman? If I lived this deep in the woods I would drink all day.”

  “I have better things to do than drink; I have my work.” Besjana looked at the spinning wheel that sat in the corner.

  “You gave up the life of a noble woman to come up here and spin wool?” Grigor curled his top lip and then took another swig.

  “I make clothes as well and care for my flock.”

  “Ha—goats and sheep, your only company.” He turned to the two Knights who stood by the front door and the three whooped in laughter.

  “That’s where you are wrong. I have someone I want you to meet,” Besjana told her brother as he downed another glass of raki

  “You haven’t got a man living up here with you?” All traces of mirth disappeared from Grigor’s face.

  “I have a son.” Besjana’s chin lifted proudly.

  “You have a son.” He almost laughed.

  “Yes.”

  “How in God’s kingdom did you get a son, sister? You’ve never married.”

  “I’m not claiming a virgin birth, Grigor. The boy’s father is dead and I shall speak not another word about him, so do not ask me.” She rearranged the fur that was draped around her shoulders. She needed more wood for the fire but she didn’t dare ask the men to go out and get it until Nora was safely disguised. What was taking the child so long?

  “If he wasn’t dead I would kill him myself!” He banged on the wooden table with both his fists. “How dare any man touch my sister without my permission! What were you thinking?” His face flushed an ugly red.

  “Have another drink, Grigor.” Besjana got up and pulled another bottle of raki from the cupboard.

  “You are an unnatural woman! You could have had any knight in Malsia.” He pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spat it across the table at her.

  “I didn’t want a knight of Malsia. I’ve seen the way knights treat their ladies. I was there when your wife died, remember?” She threw the cork back at him.

  A shadow passed over Grigor’s face and he took a long swig of his drink. “I will not speak of your past if you do not speak of mine.” It was as close to an admittance of regret as she would ever get from him.

  “Agreed. Now, here is my son.” Besjana stood as the door was pushed inwards. “Come, Kreshnik. Come, meet your uncle.”

  Nora hesitated for a second in the doorway, casting wary glances at the armed men who flanked the entrance, but the strange light in Grigor’s eyes drew her towards him. “Uncle.” She scratched at her close-cropped hair.

  “Your name is Kreshnik?” Grigor looked the child up and down.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, little knight, it is time you met a real kreshnik.” A rare smile cracked his face.

  “You are a real knight?” Nora couldn’t hide her excitement.

  “The most famous in this land; your mother has not told you of me?” Grigor cast a disapproving glance as his sister.

  “Only that she doesn’t like you much.” Nora shrugged.

  “Nor–Kreshnik!” Besjana shook her head.

  “You are not afraid of me, boy?” Delight shone in Grigor’s eyes.

  “I’m not afraid of anyone.”

  “Fearless and quick. How old are you, boy?”

  “He is five,” Besjana lied. Nora had recently turned six.

  “You are tall for a five year old but too skinny to join my knights yet. You’re mother must be a terrible cook.”

  “And not beyond poisoning unwanted guests,” Besjana sneered as she moved over to the pot she was making goat and bean stew in.

  “Lucky I have brought my men to taste-test for me,” Grigor laughed. “I have missed your fire, sister.”

  “How did you find me?” Besjana gave him a guarded stare.

  “We were tracking some Ottoman spies in a nearby village when we heard a story of a beautiful woman living alone on the mountaintop. My men were eager to catch a glimpse of this zana, but instead we found you and your son.”

  “The villagers are simpler people than I thought if they cannot tell the difference between me and a zana.”

  “Well you are still beautiful enough to mesmerise my men here, so they weren’t too wrong.” Grigor looked her up and down. “You must marry.”

  “I will do no such thing!” She turned on him with her spoon.

  “Be sensible, woman, you c
annot raise this boy on your own. What will you teach him, to weave cloth and braid his hair?” The knights by the door laughed.

  “I climb trees and catch animals and ride the horses,” Nora interrupted.

  “Hush, Kreshnik.” Besjana pushed Nora behind her. “I will not return with you to Kelmendi.”

  “You would rob the child of the chance to train as one of my knights?” Grigor’s brow creased.

  “I could be one of your knights?” Nora ran around Besjana to stand before Grigor again.

  “Out of the question.” Besjana pulled Nora backwards into her arms. “Kreshnik cannot train with you.”

  “Why ever not? The boy wants to become a knight. I am in need of more knights to fight the Ottomans. If we do not continue to train and fight, even your remote home up here will soon be overrun by the Turkish vermin.”

  Besjana could not tell Grigor the real reason she didn’t want Kreshnik to train with him. What would happen when Nora’s body could no longer be disguised as that of a skinny boy? Short hair and a stable boy’s clothes would not disguise the female figure she would one day have.

  On the other hand, Nora had rare dexterity and strength. If she was trained as a Kelmendi knight, she may be able to protect herself when her true identity was revealed. Besjana knew of herbs she could give the child to delay the changes of womanhood for a few years more.

  “Very well.” Besjana released Nora.

  “You changed your mind?” Grigor was taken aback.

  “If you want to train my son I will allow it. But the child sleeps in my room and will always be within my sight, understand?”

  “Knights do not have their mothers hold their hands on the battlefield, Besjana.”

  “None of your knights ever had me as a mother.”

  “So I can really do it, I can really train to become a knight?” Nora’s face was suffused with ecstasy.

  “Yes, you can,” Grigor slapped the child on the back. “And your first task as a knight is to start eating. We need some meat on those bones if you’re going to be able to carry your armour.”

  ◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊

  “How much further to Shokdra?” Nora called after her uncle. “My mother is not feeling well.”

  “That is the bridge ahead of us, and just behind it the castle. I told your mother this was no trip for a woman to make; this is a tournament. Go tell the old crone to stop her whining.” Grigor playfully shooed Nora away from the band of Kelmendi knights where he sat in full armour astride his warhorse.

  “You know she will never leave my side until one of us is dead.” Nora laughed as she expertly turned her horse and galloped back to her place in the cavalcade.

  In the ten years since Grigor had taken her and Besjana from their forest home, never once had he guessed that little ‘Kreshnik’ was in fact ‘Nora’. Besjana had done well in delaying the onset of womanhood with herbs, but it could not be delayed forever. Nora, now sixteen, had to bandage her chest tightly each morning and go on solo reconnaissance missions into the mountains at least once every few months; she thanked the saints that she wasn’t as regular as other girls. There would be problems explaining more frequent withdrawals from Kelmendi.

  Despite Grigor’s gruff manner, Nora had come to love and respect her ‘uncle’. She had not wasted a minute with him over the years, learning how to fight, hunt and ride as well as any of his men. There might be stronger knights in the ranks, but her cleverness, her speed and her dexterity with a sword had drawn the notice of everyone in Malsia. Nora had learned that brute strength could never win over clever planning and intuition. She had saved her little band from many a scrape with the Ottomans over the last few years using guile rather than brawn. The heavy-footed Turks were no match for the Kelmendi who could disappear into the mountain fog as fast as the fairies they were reported to have descended from.

  So it was that this band of revered knights had been invited down for a ‘friendly’ tournament at Rozafa Castle, in Shkoder, currently home to Vutsi Pasha, the Ottoman Pasha whose task it was to take the highlands for the Turks.

  Nora had never been this close to Shkoder before. She had worried this truce was a trap, but if it was, she would take many Ottoman heads with her as she escaped. The lure of demonstrating her skill at the tournament was too great. She was famous throughout the villages of the highlands but Nora would not be happy until the entire empire flinched at the sound of her name: Kreshnik.

  Nora had little time to think on it further as they cantered up the hillside, through the gates and into the ward. Nora felt her back stiffen as she looked up at where the green crescent flags of the Ottomans whipped around atop the keep and ramparts. She wanted the invaders gone from these lands as much as her uncle ever had. Albania had seen a long procession of invaders; Greeks, Macedonians, Romans, Bulgarians and now the Turks. This was her chance to take a few of them out. She felt the adrenaline dance along her veins. Grigor and his knights dismounted and were led forward to where the pasha sat, swathed in cloaks, upon a raised platform erected before the keep. He wore the giant white turban of the Ottomans but was no native Turk; his face was very white and his eyes icy blue like the snow and rivers of his Bosnian homeland just beyond the neighbouring land of Montenegro. One of his men, a janissary from the same Balkan land as his master, stepped forward to welcome them.

  “In the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful. We bear witness that there is no god in any land save he and that Muhammad, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him, is his final messenger. Our most honourable leader, friend of Sultan Murad IV and slave of Allah, Vutsi Pasha, welcomes you here to Rozafa castle. If Allah wills it we invite you to renounce your false religion and convert to Islam, the one true religion, so that you may be availed of Allah’s mercy before it is too late.” The janissary dipped his head.

  Grigor puffed his chest out and laughed heartily. “I prefer my religion to slavery at the hands of the Turks. Does your master not have his own tongue?” Grigor hadn’t gotten his reputation as the Lion of the mountains for nothing.

  “If you wish to keep your tongue, infidel, I suggest you do not insult my master again.” The janissary pulled his yatagan a few inches from its sheath.

  “Mjaft.” The use of the Albanian word drew smiles from all the Kelmendi as the pasha came down the stairs to stand before Grigor. Vutsi Pasha was a good two foot taller than his Albanian foe, but this did not deter Grigor.

  “You’ve learned our language?” Grigor did not hide his approval.

  “A good pasha learns the ways of his people.”

  “We are not your people. The Kelmendi belong to no one but themselves.”

  “For now.” The pasha smiled enigmatically.

  “You wanted a tournament, Ottoman. Let us not disappoint the crowd. Shall the two of us begin and end it here this day?”

  “You have spent too long in the mountains with the beasts, my friend. This is not how we run things in the world of men. There are rules and traditions to be observed.”

  “Like kidnapping our sons so you can turn them into your janissaries?”

  “What you call kidnapping, I call tribute.”

  “Spoken like a true silver-tongued Turk. Do they tell you what to say as well as how to scrape your forehead across the ground?”

  Vutsi Pasha smiled. “You Albanians have fire but you lack delicacy.”

  “My deepest apologies, great pasha, but mountain lions have no need for delicacy when they are ripping apart their prey.”

  Nora had watched this exchange with growing impatience. “What are the rules?” The words were out of her mouth before she realised.

  An angry red flush suffused Grigor’s cheeks. The pasha’s face remained blank as he studied her carefully.

  “How dare you speak directly to the pasha!” the janissary who still hovered closely behind his master snarled at her.

  “Fall back, Kreshnik!” Grigor glared at her before angling his body between her and the jan
issary.

  “Kreshnik? Is that your name, boy?” The pasha moved forward to where Nora stood flanked by two other Kelmendi knights. Besjana immediately pushed her way through the throng and hovered just behind Nora’s shoulder. “You are well protected, Kreshnik. And who is this lovely woman with you?”

  “She is my mother, Besjana Kelmendi, my lord.” Nora answered as she turned to glare at Besjana. It did her no favours to be publicly coddled.

  “The cub does not stray far from its mother.” The pasha smiled as he turned back to his janissary behind him.

  “I am no cub, my lord!” Nora’s voice shook with anger.

  “No?” The pasha turned back to her. “But you are very comely for a boy.” He peered into her face. “Do you have talents other than that little growl?”

  Nora held his gaze without flinching. “You won’t think me so attractive when I have three of your men’s heads hanging from my belt.”

  “Pretty and fierce.” The pasha erupted into laughter. “I shall enjoy watching you fight, Kreshnik. You will go first.” The pasha smiled before returning to his seat.

  “You can’t let Kreshnik fight one of their champions, Grigor, he’s not ready.”

  “Of course I am ready!” Nora protested Besjana’s words.

  “There is nothing I can do now, Besjana. Your son is as wilful as you. He will never be happy until he has his chance to outshine us all or be killed in the process—so here it is, boy.”

  “I’m not dying today, Uncle,” Nora laughed in his face. “Not until I take out a dozen of these lounging Turks, anyway.”

  “Kreshnik, you are young. You have never fought in open combat like this.” Besjana grabbed Nora’s shoulders and tried to communicate a thousand other things with her eyes.

  “This is my chance.” Nora would not be stopped.

  “Chance for what?”

  Nora bent her head forward to speak for Besjana’s ears only. “To prove I am as worthy as any son.”

  “You are better than any son could be.” Besjana gripped Nora’s shoulders tightly but had to let go as Nora was led away by the janissary to prepare for the opening bout.