by SL Figuhr
“What do you mean, our letters? Nothing was said about that.” Merrit was still smarting and belligerent over having been used as an example.
“The king and his advisor or other officials will often give you warrants, judgments, writs of arrest to carry out. We will be more effective at our jobs if we all know what they say. It will lessen our chance of being ill-used for personal vendettas.” The last part the earl tacked on. He could not say what made him do it.
Historically, the Macinas sheriff’s office and its men had been little more than uneducated brutes, concerned with using fists and weapons to keep the peace. The earl made the men line up single file, running around the yard carrying shields and swords. He mentally reminded himself to find logs for the men to carry on their backs, boots and proper clothing. He ran them until they dropped, to see who could last the longest.
To his surprise, it wasn’t Gordy, though the former soldier gave a good attempt; it was Frog. Around noon, one of his slaves came in the yard with another packhorse loaded with a hot midday meal, along with a letter for him.
The men trudged wearily to put their gear back, then to cool off before heading inside to eat. Sydney took the letter, asking as he did, “Are you to wait for a reply?"
Chadrick broke the seal, read the brief, furious communication from his wife. She was demanding he return home at once, to quit avoiding her as they had much to discuss. They were due at the baron’s hunt on the morrow. He crumpled the note, fighting his rage.
Why would she not understand his endeavor? These men were needed, as was he. They may not like him; they might, in fact, despise him, but all the same, they listened to what he had to say. He turned to the waiting slave.
“You may inform the countess, I am busy. I will be home when my work here is done for the day.” A thought crossed his mind. “Before you do, send word to the duchess—er, Lady Illyria—asking if she can see me on a business matter later today.”
The slave bowed, barely able to keep the look of pity off his face. It infuriated him further. Even his slaves thought he was ineffectual, did they? The earl turned, entering the still-filthy eating area. He took what food was left, brooding into his ale.
“To stay clean, you must live in clean areas. We are not beasts, we are men.” He didn’t mention it let him have a better view of what needed repairs.
The men kept at it—the earl even pitched in, helping take out soiled rushes and building a bonfire to burn them, carting buckets of clean water in and dirty water out. He didn’t know how long they worked, but soon he was aware of Saizar beckoning him over.
The man gave a wan smile. “And in need of scouring as badly as this one. I wonder if I might continue imposing upon you with the subject of these papers?”
“That bad?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“After supper,” Sydney replied. Soon the area behind the partition was as clean as it was likely to get. Supper was roasted pike, mashed turnips, brown bread, and ale.
“You may for a few hours; however, we resume training on the morrow. I want no drunk or hungover men; therefore, you will not be receiving coin tonight.”
There was some grumbling as the men filed out slowly, and their voices filtered back inside, suddenly excited. Saizar and Sydney rose, entering the small front room. Lady Illyria had just entered, her gold brocade finery and white lace putting the shabby sheriff’s office to shame.
She waved it away. “I had business in town; it was no hassle to stop on my way back.” She turned to Sydney. “I’m afraid your lady wife is in a terrible temper, sir.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Nor with me, truth be told. I made a poor student. Or mayhap the lessons she had to teach are so deadly dull.” She looked around a moment, sitting as both men winced. Her dress would be filthy when she stood; dirt still lay upon the furniture.
“That is what I was about to discuss with his lordship.” He paused; she had shown to be trustworthy thus far, and he only hoped he could continue to place his faith in her. “It seems Jake was keeping the bulk of the money for himself and two of his closest henchmen.” He told them how much the crown provided.
“It seems Jake spent more than he should have, most of it on personal items for himself and various cronies. What he didn’t spend, he forced the merchants to give him.” He paused, frowning. “Jake couldn’t read or write, it seems, and possessed a crude understanding of numbers. It is Geoff, one of the former second-in-commands, who recorded all this. Let me bring in what I have found; you will understand better.”
She gave a smirk which set his belly fluttering. “Do you think I care what she thinks? She can prattle on at me about what a lady does and doesn’t do, can and can’t wear, as long as she likes. I will not change who and what I am because it won’t fit her narrow definition of a true lady’s nature.” She gave him a searching look.
“I wanted to warn you, she is determined to turn your children and our peers against you for what you do here. The marquis no doubt will go along with it, and some of the women, a few of the lesser nobles who think it will curry favor.”
“I see a man of principle and honor being mocked and torn down. Being forced to be and act as someone he isn’t by a woman who should be giving support. If you are truly happy turning into that person, I am sorry for you. If you aren’t, I want to let you know there are still some people in this world who will stand by you and your decision to remain true to yourself.”
The earl felt his throat grow tight; her pity, if that’s what it was, was not what he really wanted. He nodded once, sharply, and swallowed. “Thank you. If I may, what is the talk I have heard about gifts for the sheriff’s office and a new tax? I know of none.”
Her smile was naughty. “I think Saizar will be glad for it. Sheriff Jake was not the type of man to spend the crown’s coin on expenses for the crown’s men.”
“I fear for you,” he blurted out, laying his hand over hers. “Lord Nicky will not like these developments. New taxes must be approved by him first. He will hear of this if he hasn’t already.”
“Why? Sydney, are you looking for a sparring partner? I would have thought teaching the new recruits challenge enough.” Her lips curved into another of her wicked smiles.
She gave a shrug, removing her hand from under his. “As you wish. Do you plan on teaching the men to ride? I have horses as well, to go with the other items my slaves brought.”
“Let us say the bandits donated it, and leave it at that.” Her eyes gleamed in amusement at some private joke. Her head turned toward the door to the back, as Saizar entered with hands full.
The earl was both glad and irritated with the man. He still had questions to ask of her. Saizar set down the chest, opening the broken hasp. He began to draw out scrolls and sheets of paper until the table was heaped over. “This is all of it; it covers everything: who joined, what they were to be paid, how much was spent and on what.”
The two nobles reached for scrolls. Her Ladyship seemed to skim through each one. “He did spend a small fortune, it seems, on women and wine, a fine suit of leather armor, a horse, a very nice sword.” She set down a scroll. “But nothing on jewels or ornaments, so they must have been gifts, or bribes. I will send someone to speak with the dungeon master; his sword and armor should be returned here as it is by rights property of this office.”
“It is not a problem. I have already been warned Rablias is a toad of a man with an inflated sense of self-worth,” she murmured as she read another scroll.
The earl began, “You need to feed the men. They need better equipment. Winter is coming, which means you have need of heat. You need to purchase a slave who can cook, a few to keep the building clean. Men, not women, so the recruits are not tempted to rape them.”
“Or you could ask for them as gifts, as part of the new tax,” Illyria said. “Remember, there are more than a few nobles and merchants bankrupt by the raiders. They will have to get rid of what they can.”
“They
will, especially when they find out by donating to the new sheriff’s office, they can get a cash refund from the royal treasury for the market value of the goods.”
“Is an advisor only. The final decision does not rest with him but with the king. Leave our monarch to me. It will do him good, providing for his people for a change, and not wasting the royal treasury on harem girls, entertainments, and food.” She drew a scroll out of the pouch at her waist, handing it to Saizar.
He unrolled the parchment, reading, letting out a low whistle, looking up at her in awe. “This is . . . is more than I had dared hope for. How did you manage to convince them to do this so swiftly?”
Chadrick took the scroll. Everything from household goods, to slaves, to other odds and ends had been pledged. Every noble listed, from the poorest up to the richest, including her. He noted the marquis’ name, nearly laughing aloud at what she had managed to winkle out of him. “I trust this helps?”
“Good, I leave the merchants up to you.” She stood, as did the men. “The king, it seems, still plans on holding the Harvest Ball festivities, and they start tonight. A week of events. I understand merchants are still pouring in for it. If you will excuse me, I have to finish my plans for my part of the event.”
“Oh, the palace guard will be patrolling. I have heard they hate it and are grumbling over it,” Illyria replied. “I will leave you to your planning. Will you walk me out, Lord Sydney?”
Outside, he saw an enclosed carriage in the colors of another noble, the coat of arms scratched out and all the slaves which went with it. He saw a driver, a dozen outriders, and three footmen, “What is this?”
“I had more than one reason to visit our fellow nobles. We are a much smaller, and poorer bunch. I bought what I was able to help out, but I’m afraid, instead of being properly grateful, most are resentful.”
“The raids do not seem to have touched you. You have garnered many favors and power at court in a short time,” Sydney answered, troubled.
She bowed her head. “Understood. I try not to flaunt my wealth, but when all I had was stolen or lost, I must needs replace it; what can one do? Money and jewels were all I managed to save.”
“I will try to be more inconspicuous, but I’m afraid I am not much good at it.” She gave him a smile. “Goodbye, Sydney. Shall I see you at the baron’s hunt this weekend? If not, I do hope you can take time out of training to attend my event. It will be the last before the closing ball.”
He helped her up into the carriage, not wanting to let go of her hand, but forcing himself to relinquish it all the same. “I will be there; I will be at as many as I can. My wife will expect it of me, and hopefully it will help our relationship.”
“Until then.” She signaled to the driver. They rumbled off. Chadrick watched until the carriage turned out of sight before making his way back inside. He would be damned if he returned home
Chapter Twenty-Three
T he sounds of music drifted down the night street across the bridge. The masked reveler presented his invitation, entering the elegant mansion. Naked slaves held platters of elaborate painted, colorful masks for those who had none. The rooms lit by a small fortune in candles and oil lamps. He knew his wife and children were somewhere in the throng as they had taken the carriage, arriving well before him. He was hoping to avoid them. Slowly he cruised the rooms; there were more people than just the nobles. The earl surmised the marquis had invited the prosperous merchants, a move out of keeping with his nature. He wondered why as he scanned the crowd. The earl knew from past events the marquis would have a space set aside for those wishing to gamble, a buffet, and a room for those wishing to dance. Perfumed colored oil lanterns were strung both inside and outside. Incense smelling of musk, poppies and some unknown scent drifted thickly everywhere. The dancing was held out under the stars and the cool night air.
“It’s disgusting the way they flaunt themselves, even after the raid.” “I don’t see it’s stopped you from attending.”
A couple of men burst into raucous laughter as the earl passed them, heading down the stone terrace steps. The marquis had been demanding a costume masque, and due to the raid, he had gotten it after a fashion. Those townspeople with coins or fabric left went into a frenzy. Any female halfway decent with thread and needle spent the intervening days sewing feverishly for those fortunate enough to score invitations. The result was a jester’s motley of fabrics and colors. Since not everyone had enough of coin or fabric, more skin was shown. Bizarre styles, based on the imaginations of the wearer and what cloth they did have to use, dominated, no doubt courtesy to the leading influence of some of Lady Illyria’s outfits.
The women cackled. He noted bare shoulders, arms, legs and stomachs abounding on both men and women. He knew his wife was no doubt hating it. She had dragged out gowns from years past to clothe herself and her daughters in, much to her offspring’s dismay. A woman passed by, wearing a sheath woven of reeds and grasses, long ropes of acorns fashioned into a necklace and bracelet. Leaves made up a flat hat and mask. Her partner had thin shingles of wood strung together to form short pants and a sleeveless shirt, with a collar of wooden nails sticking up. He blinked, realizing they were not the exception. If it could be used to create clothing, it had been.
The earl became more intrigued; he knew of only one noblewoman bold and mad enough, who would deliberately start a trend by wearing something to set the town talking. He knew he saw her when a flash of bright, bold red passed by in a new dance pattern. Across the space, he could see his wife’s mask bobbing amid a knot of her cronies. No doubt she was busy trying to ruin the reputation of her enemy.
Lady Elizabeth and her friends, in protest, wore heavy velvet and brocade fashioned into shapeless robes. They had wrapped matching material around their heads, over the ears, and under their chins so that no hair showed. Over this, the women draped thin white veils to help hide their faces and wore soft thin white deerskin gloves. Sydney wanted to tell her it was a lost cause whilst her enemy had the king’s attentions.
He looked back to the dance area, where people formed two lines, men and women facing one another, arms extended overhead, clapping hands. Females had their right leg extended out to the side, men their left. They shimmied forward four steps with arms at shoulder height, hands pointed outward; then the parallel lines turned so the woman was in front, the man behind. They slid to the left a few paces before the dancers pushed off with their right in a kind of hop, landing, feet together, arms still at shoulder height and hands clasped. Next, the men lifted the women up, half-turning with them, as they came down. The women kept their right arms slightly out to their side, left above their heads in their partner’s clasp, and turned in a circle until they faced the men. The dancers then brought their hands overhead and clapped again as the women slid to the opposite side in an X pattern and a new partner. The women whirled left around the men behind them and then around to their right before beginning the whole series of steps again.
It put the woman in red directly in front of him. His eyes widened behind his plain black mask at her outfit. He felt an unexpected stirring in his loins. She wore a three-quarters face mask in the shape of a fierce fiery half peacock/half eagle glittering with jewels, feathers dyed to mimic flames. The feathers at her temples and sides of the mask curved downwards to her shoulders with ropes of rubies intertwined. Other feathers curved back from the brow to halfway behind her head. Her hair had been bundled into an elaborate knot at the back of her head, with tendrils dangling loose below. Somehow her dresser had colored strands of the hair red.
The rest of her garment couldn’t quite be called a gown, at least not a proper one. A single strap about the neck held the brief top up along with ropes of rubies, topazes and amber beads around the tops of her surprisingly well defined arms. What looked like fiery feathers scantily covered her breasts. A small swatch of sheer fabric began under the right breast to angle across her body, around the left side and back, attaching to the right hip. Fr
om there, it turned into more feathers riding scandalously low, held in place by a peacock eye emblem and gold chains wrapping around her slender waist, leaving toned stomach muscles bare. The opaque portion of the skirt extended only a hand span past the joining of her thighs, from there, it became sheer veils of jeweled fabric, which made her legs appear wreathed in flames. To complete the shocking ensemble, she wore jeweled chained sandals. She had lacquered her fingernails and toenails to match.
The skin behind the generous eye-holes of the mask was painted to blend, giving her a fierce yet still exotic look. If this were Lady Illyria, soon to be made duchess, she was ensuring she would be talked about in the weeks to come unless something more shocking happened. When it came time to shimmy, her hips rolled and wiggled in a way never seen before, setting her skirt to flowing, her stomach muscles to flexing. The men whooped appreciatively. She gave Sydney a look as bold as her outfit. He had not participated in dances since the last harvest ball, and he took a moment to recall the steps, before taking the place of another dancer far back enough that when they changed partners she would come to him.
The woman he was with had the accents of a merchant’s wife. “Can you believe the nerve of some women? We all heard the marquis say he wanted us to wear costumes to this mask, but no one believed him.”
Her outfit reminded him of an owl, and her size as a fluffy example of the bird. He barely managed to lift her off the floor. For all her criticisms, he noticed all the females attempting to emulate the hipshaking shimmy of the red woman.
The earl caught a glimpse of his wife and her cronies, no doubt glaring out at the dancers as he passed. He was sure she recognized him as his outfit had not changed, only his mask, but he ignored her. After another round, the red lady whirled around to his side. He kept silent, letting his gaze bore into hers, she returning his stare with a knowing one of her own. When she was in front, the lady pressed against him as they slid left. On the lift, Sydney let his hands caress her waist, gripping firmly; she felt like a feather. For one instant, they pressed tight, front to front, before she moved to put space between. Her spicy, musky perfume invaded his senses, and he breathed deep.