Elizabeth of Starland (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 1)

by Alma Boykin

  She left before the official morning service, following her nose to the kitchen. Just like the hunting lodge, Starheart provided a small second hearth for people on night watch or who needed to be out at odd hours, and Elizabeth got bread, cheese, and a bowl of what looked like a grain soup. She inspected the mush in her spoon and nibbled carefully. Someone had cooked a flat grain with milk, dried fruit, and warm spices and Elizabeth devoured the sweet concoction, then helped herself to a second bowl. Some of the servants gave her curious looks but apparently word had spread that she was not to be harassed. After eating she went back to her room, where she found a note from Capt. Destefani “asking” her to come to the arms’ room.

  When she found it, Elizabeth thought she’d walked into paradise. Books and maps lined one wall, while arms, armor, and other tools of war covered two walls. “Captain Destefani?”

  “Over here, Lady Elizabeth,” and she found him at a map table. “The Hunter Hills are here,” and he swept his hand over the area. “Here’s the trade road, and Starheart is here,” to the north and east. “Show me what happened, please, my lady.”

  Yet again Elizabeth described the attack. Destefani frowned as she pointed to the rocks where the second group of attackers had been waiting. Before he could say anything, a young man bounced into the room. “Ho, Captain! What’s this about a raid inside the, oh. I beg your pardon,” the black-haired youth spluttered. “I did not know you were —”

  “That I was debriefing a soldier? Yes, I am, and you need to listen, Lord Matthew,” Destefani told him, his voice ice cold. “Lady Sarmas, if you would continue, please?”

  “Certainly, Captain,” and she finished her version of the story.

  After she finished, Matthew sauntered up to the map and studied it. “When did you know there would be an ambush, Lady Sarmas?”

  She shook her head. “I did not know, but I began feeling concerned, oh, back here somewhere. There was no good reason why, since the woods sounded and smelled fine, but something bothered me. Then I heard a crossbow fire and a horse scream, here. Two hours later? I do not know precisely.”

  “I’ve spoken with George and read his grace’s letter, my lady. My compliments on doing so well in your first battle,” Destefani told her, bowing slightly. “His grace says you need to continue working on riding astride and need to learn how to use firearms.”

  Matthew choked at the captain’s words. “But she’s a woman!”

  “So is Lady Ann, and without these women, his grace your father might well have ridden into the ambush as well, or worse. At best we would have lost the horses and a season’s worth of ingwer root and leather.” Destefani folded his arms and looked stern. “If you have no other plans, my lady, I think it best to begin in an hour. You and Lord Matthew are of a size and you can use his old tack.”

  She also ended up borrowing two pairs of trousers, which she wore under one of Lady Ann’s worn-out riding aprons. By mid-afternoon, Elizabeth’s shoulders and arms ached, she had two pulled muscles, and had earned the acceptance of Starheart’s guardsmen. She also smelled of horse and sweat yet again. As she groomed the nondescript gelding that she’d been riding, Elizabeth wondered how she could adapt a sidesaddle for fighting. It came down to hands: she needed one hand for the riding stick, unless the horse or mule would respond to neck rein. Maybe she could find a longer riding stick, one that reached the horse’s hip without her needing to release the reins?

  Lost in thought, Elizabeth almost crashed into Rowena, who found Elizabeth just outside of her room, pitcher in hand. “Ah, perfect. Rowena, where can I get wash water?”

  Rowena grabbed the pitcher and fled, returning with two pitchers of hot water. “Miss, do you have any other clothes?”

  “No. I fled with what I could carry in my saddle bags.” Elizabeth took off her coat. “If you have material and someone who can cut it to pattern, I can do the sewing. As long as it is not leather or fancy pull-work,” she added quickly. The servant hesitated, upset by something, and Elizabeth asked, “What is the matter?”

  “We were told that you were gentle born, miss, but no gentlewoman makes her own clothes or rides with the men.”

  Elizabeth stopped unfastening her blouse and folded her arms. “Rowena, I am gentle born. My uncle is the Duke of Sarmas; my cousin is the acting duke. My mother was a member of King Laurence IV’s court after my father’s death. I was raised in a noble household. I was also a postulant of Godown, and as such made my own habits and tended my own needs. I ride with the men because I must,” and because that seems to be my vocation from Godown, she whispered silently. “I am not familiar with the customs and manners of Starland and the Empire, Rowena, and will need instruction in the eastern versions of the womanly arts.”

  She thought the servant was going to faint. “Ah, miss, ah, yes miss. May I take these to use for size?”

  “Yes, please do, but tell your cutter that I am thinner at the moment than I am accustomed to being.”

  “Yes, miss,” and the woman hurried away, carrying Elizabeth’s old skirt and blouse.

  Elizabeth managed to keep her temper until she knew no one else was around. “Blast it!” She wanted to storm up to Lady Marie’s chambers and demand to be treated as her rank required. She outranked everyone but Starland’s family. She should have had her own lady’s maid, hot water waiting when she finished her work, a place at the duke’s table, and a much nicer chamber with a seamstress to make her clothing. “I am Elizabeth von Sarmas, not some bit of skirt that washed up in the spring flood.” However, she also needed to stay in the duke’s good graces. And if she made a scene, Lady Marie had every right to throw Elizabeth out on her ear, or at least she did if Imperial laws were at all similar to Frankonian laws. “Very well,” she growled under her breath as she washed. “I will stay out of sight, do my work, and act as if I am perfectly delighted to be treated like an unwanted stray.” Which was not exactly true, she forced herself to admit. An unwanted stray would not have a room to herself, no matter how small and dark that room was: unless that room happened to be a cell.

  The next day Elizabeth did as she had the day before. When she returned from learning how to fire a pistol and musket, she found a bundle of fabric and a sewing basket in her room. “Oh good!” The pile included wool flannel for an underskirt, along with other material for two blouses, a jacket, and a nightdress. She got supper from the small hearth again, then sewed until her head ached and the candle had almost burned out.

  The third and fourth days after her arrival followed the same pattern. The fifth day was Godown’s Day, and Elizabeth found a space at the back of the chapel, squeezing in with a few of the oldest servants. The ritual flowed as she remembered, even though the homily and some hymns were in a dialect Elizabeth had trouble following. Tears flowed as she watched the blessing of the sacraments. Oh, how she’d longed for Godown’s peace without even knowing it! The officiant treated her just as he treated all others, touching her forehead with blessed oil and allowing her to take the bread of fellowship.

  After the service, Elizabeth intended to do more sewing before reading and reviewing her notes. Instead Capt. Destefani stopped her. “Lady Sarmas, even though today is a day of rest, we study tactics and history after the noon meal. Would you please join us?”

  “I’d be delighted to, Captain, provided it causes no offense.”

  Matthew Starland, standing beside Destefani, laughed quietly. “Too late for that, Sarmas. I’ll explain later,” and he followed his mother and sister to the family quarters. Elizabeth shrugged to herself and retreated to her room to collect her book and notes.

  She spent a delightful afternoon poring over maps, listening to the soldiers discuss old battles, including several that she had never heard of, and soaking up information. By now the men treated her with respect but did not hold back their own thoughts. The conversations grew heated at times and Destefani or Matthew stepped in three times, calming things down and redirecting the topic.

  �
�True, but how else could you break a siege,” one of the men snapped an hour later. “Rajtan Tayyip’s army is larger, they have artillery that we do not, and if there are enough priests and chosen acolytes, they will have stripped the entire region of men and supplies. The only way is to force a battle is from within the city walls.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward, frowning. “Please remind me where our forces are?” They used symbols that she had not quite memorized.

  “Our main body of troops is here, my lady,” and he pointed to the blue square. “Our cavalry, such as is left of it, is up here, and we are supposed to have irregulars over here, but we all know how reliable the Magvi are.”

  “Why not use these hills, here?” She asked.

  Matthew tipped his head to the side. “Use them for what?”

  “Use them to cover our approach. Swing the troops around here, then use the irregulars to draw part of the Rajtan’s forces this way,” she moved half the orange game pieces west, away from the city. “Have the infantry come from the northern end of the hills, the cavalry from the south to form the hammer to the infantry anvil, and gunners in the woods or otherwise hidden on the hill. Then the troops in the city can attack with a prayer of success.”

  “Because that’s not how the Rajtan’s troops fight,” Matthew told her.

  “Then we find a way to use their style against them.” She frowned. “The very fact that they have set up a siege and pitched battle like this shows that they are using our techniques. If they’ve borrowed our siegecraft, what else of ours are they using and how can we make that an advantage for us?”

  The soldiers, even Destefani and Matthew, had no good answer. The call for guard change and supper ended the discussion for the day, leaving Elizabeth with lots of questions. How did the Turkowi fight and why did they do it that way? What were their goals, besides conquest? And why were there no Poloki troops in the field, despite the alliance between the Babenburgs and the princes? Assuming that the alliance really existed and was not a figment of Laurence V’s paranoia, Elizabeth reminded herself as she checked on Snowy. “You need exercise,” she told him. He didn’t argue. Instead he dropped horse apples as she tried to look at his back legs. “You really are a mule,” she fumed.

  Early the next morning, after checking with Martin and one of the guards, Elizabeth rode Snowy out. She did not go far, content to ride around the base of Starheart and look at the lay of the ground. The stone wall fascinated her. She could not imagine liquid rock coming out of the ground and making a wall as high and thick as those of the fortress. She also studied the town tucked against the northwest side of the natural stone. It made sense: the staff had to live somewhere, as did the people who farmed the land around Starheart. Snowy huffed and puffed, so she did not try and visit the settlement. Instead she rode along the roads and tracks through the field, working Snowy through his paces until he’d settled down.

  Because she’d been on the behind the fortress hill, so to speak, Elizabeth missed his grace’s and Lady Ann’s arrival. She did not miss the results, however, although she heard them second hand. One of the stable men, Kaspar, noticed when she returned and helped her dismount. “You picked a good time to be gone, Lady Elizabeth,” he told her. “Her grace did not take kindly to Lady Ann asking after you and your training.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that my presence caused a problem,” she replied, trying to be respectful and diplomatic.

  “Not a problem, quite, but then the storm has been a brewing ever since Lord Matthew came of age, Lady Elizabeth,” George explained from Snowy’s other side. The mule jerked his head and George thumped him. “Quit. You know better.” Snowy subsided and Elizabeth petted his nose. “I’m not at liberty to say more.”

  “No, George, but thank you. I can guess her concerns. And thank you, Kaspar. If you’ll take care of my tack I’ll see to Snowy.”

  Since he’d already made acquaintance with Snowy’s legendary teeth, Kaspar was delighted to clean and store Elizabeth’s saddle and other tack.

  She returned to her room and found more clothing, along with a note from Lady Ann and one from Aquila. “Elizabeth, you need to be fitted for trousers and new boots. A—” The other requested her presence at breakfast the next morning, to dine with the family. Well, she decided, trousers came first.

  The woman in charge of the sewing rooms tutted as she measured Elizabeth. “My lady, have you never worn trousers?”

  “No. Only men or,” she blushed faintly, “loose women wear trousers in Frankonia.”

  “Oh, goodness, my lady. And I suppose the ladies of court still wear those backless slippers? Step sideways, please, my lady, so I can get your inseam. Thank you.”

  “No, the last time I was at court or saw court fashion, the ladies had started wearing little boots on platforms. The bolder ones had the toes of the boot-lets cut off to show their stockings.” Sr. Amalthea had had very choice words for women who would be so daring. Elizabeth just thought they sounded uncomfortable. What was the point of boots if you cut the toes off? Why not wear sandals?

  “That’s it, thank you, my lady. Your trousers will be ready in a few days. Would you like a pair of breeches?”

  “Breeches?”

  The seamstress held up a pair of pale, snug-fitting leather pants. “Like these, my lady.”

  Elizabeth blushed so hard that her face hurt. “No, absolutely not!” She could not even imagine wearing tight trousers without a skirt over them.

  Elizabeth wondered how she should behave at breakfast. She wanted to please both Aquila and Marie, and had no idea how to go about it. She wanted to be a proper woman, whatever that was here, but she needed to learn the art of arms. What was she supposed to do? Godown’s will, of course, but how could she tell quite what His will for her was? She highly doubted that an angel would appear and hand her a flaming sword or personal letter. Although, she smiled, if one did appear, it would answer the question once and for all. Yes, and you’d become St. Elizabeth of Starland, patroness of mules. She stopped the thought before it could press any closer to blasphemy.

  The next morning she presented herself at the door to the dining room. “Come,” Aquila barked when she knocked. She walked in, stopped, and curtsied to the duke and his lady. Aquila pointed to a chair close to the end of the table, beside Ann. “Sit.” Marie frowned but made no comment, and Elizabeth wondered what she’d done wrong. Was it wearing her newly-made skirt and blouse without the jacket? She had not finished setting the sleeves. Or was it just her presence? She found out after Aquila offered up thanks for the meal.

  “Lady Elizabeth, do you have any intentions towards my son?”

  She almost choked on her grain soup. “Your grace?”

  Aquila repeated the question. “Do you have any intentions towards my son?”

  “No, your grace. Should I?”

  Now Ann began choking, while Marie stared, her eyes wide and white against her tan skin. “Miss, are you implying that there is fault with my son?” the duchess demanded.

  “No, your grace, not at all. He seems like a fine young man.” Elizabeth realized that she was digging herself into a very deep hole and stopped before saying anything that could make matters worse.

  “Marie, Lady Elizabeth has answered your question. That should end your concerns for Matthew.” Aquila resumed eating and Elizabeth followed suit.

  Elizabeth managed to finish the grain soup and half of her bread before Marie inquired in poisonous tones, “What are your thoughts about my husband, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Marie,” Aquila warned.

  “I think he is a good leader and he seems to take proper care of his people and lands, your grace. I pray that others might learn from his example.” Marie sat back, unhappy and suspicious, and Elizabeth realized what the question had actually been. You think I, that your lord husband…? As beautiful as you are, and as competent as you are? You’ve given him at least one son—why are you worried about something like me?

  “That is eno
ugh, Marie,” Aquila told her. He sounded tired. “Godown has sent Lady Elizabeth to us, to the Empire, and I am not going to question Him. Has she shown the least sign of impropriety?”

  Marie’s lips pursed. “No, my lord husband, she has not, thus far.”

  “My lady, I do not intend to sully your generous hospitality by causing discord or difficulty,” Elizabeth cut in. “Your pardon, my lord.”

  “The matter is ended.” Aquila glared at his wife and guest impartially.

  Half and hour later Michael, the guard who had been wounded in the raid, intercepted her as she went to the stable. “My lady, his grace wishes to speak to you in the arms room.”

  Not the least bit reluctant to put off riding in the snow and cold, she trotted to the arms room and found Aquila, Matthew, and Captain Kemal Destefani studying a map. “Good. Come here, please, Elizabeth.”

  She dipped a curtsey and joined the men looking at the map on the table. “Elizabeth, my wife does not approve of your presence here. I ask that you show her the utmost courtesy and respect, and ignore her complaints.” He looked up at the smoke-darkened ceiling. “Ours is a marriage of duty and politics, and she feels threatened by younger women, no matter how much I tell her that I have no interest in straying from the marriage bed. I must ask again, do you have any interest in my son?”

  “Your grace, I’d be a fool to pursue him, even if I were in love with him, which I am not. I have no status, no rank, and no prospects. Matthew is your heir.” Her forthright analysis surprised the men but they did not argue.

  “Thank you. She is a refreshing blast of common sense, is she not?” Aquila asked Destefani.