by Candy Rae
“I’d rather be excused,” grinned Jim, “teaching juniors the rudiments of tactics is not my idea of fun. I’ll go and root out my godson and spend some time with him.”
“If you want to take young Jim to the river for a swim you’ll have to take Fanya. She and Jim are inseparable these days.”
“I’ll take the risk,” laughed Jim following Francis outside, “if need be, Larya should be able to squash their juvenile exuberance.”
Jim, who had no children of his own, took great delight in playing with his namesake.
During the splossily-wet hour that followed, Jim managed to forget Duchesne’s bombshell.
Francis, embroiled in explaining flanking manoeuvres to the teenagers in the junior cadets, did not find it so easy. At least, he thought, these kids will not be in the forefront of any midsummer battle. Their elders in the seniors might not be so lucky.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 24 - KINGDOM OF MURDOCH
Lady Anne Baker lay down on her daybed at the window embrasure and gazed out of the window at the activity in the courtyard at Fort. She almost never set foot outdoors any more. This last pregnancy had been a difficult one; she was exhausted and could barely summon up the energy to care for the children.
She did, of course, have maidservants to help her, as mother to the young king she had three on permanent duty, but was finding their attentions more and more burdensome as the months progressed. She found their cloying attention more nuisance than help and she could not forget that, as her husband had appointed these women, she must not trust them. She was lonely. The letters and pictures smuggled in to her helped but a little.
She lifted her head at the sound of the respectful knock at her door.
“Enter,” she said.
Her new maid entered, a pretty little thing. Sam Baker changed her maids frequently, wanting to keep her as isolated as possible. He disliked her forming attachments with anyone but the children and himself.
“Doctor Kurtheim wishes to see you my lady,” said the girl, “will I let him in?”
At Anne’s nod she stepped back and Arthur Kurtheim stood at the door.
“You may go,” said Anne to the girl as he entered. The two listened for the sound of her footsteps departing. Anne had learned long ago to be careful. Here at Fort, words spoken without caution had a habit of making their way back to her husband.
“How glad I am to see you Arthur,” said Anne, “what news?”
“How are you this morning?” he asked in return, sidestepping her question. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough.”
“You don’t look as if you have, let me take your pulse.”
“Never mind all that,” said Anne. “Is there any news?”
Arthur Kurtheim bent over her wrist.
“More than just news,” he grinned. Like a conjuror, he extracted a small packet wrapped in oilskin from one of his many pockets and handed it to her.
“A letter,” Anne exclaimed as she received the package with trembling fingers. Her hands shook as she opened it. Smuggled letters from Jessica, Cherry and Joseph were few and far between.
Opening one end, she slid the paper from its wrappings and opened the sheet with care.
The paper was folded twice. What was revealed were pen and ink drawings of five faces. A young woman’s smiling face was set in the very centre of the sheet. Anne had no trouble recognising Jessica, her eldest. The faces of four children were drawn at each corner, one of a very young baby, the others of varying ages from seven downwards, all boys.
“Jessica,” she gasped, “my Jessica and her children.” For safety reasons there was no writing anywhere on the sheet but Anne knew who they were. She pointed with a thin finger at the boy top right. “He’s the very image of my Peter,” she murmured.
“Hide it safe,” said Doctor Arthur from the door. “I must go. I’ll tell your maids that you are resting and don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Wait,” Anne commanded. “I need to speak to you about something important.”
He returned to her bedside.
“Thank those who got this to me. You have no idea what this means.”
“I can imagine,” he answered with a gentle smile.
“I don’t regret what I did, you know,” she added, lifting her head up from the pillows a little way; the better to see him.
“You must rest.”
“I will get plenty of rest where I am going,” she whispered with a sad smile, “you will remember what you promised? She is so young, it is so hard to leave her.”
“I will keep my promise,” he averred, “like a daughter she will be to me.”
Anne’s head dropped back on to the pillows.
“Now, take some time to look at your letter. I’ll try and make sure you’re not disturbed.”
“Thank you,” breathed Anne, gazing at the pictures.
Worth the danger to bring her some joy, he thought as he closed the door. He was surprised to see the young maid waiting for him. His old ears hadn’t heard her light footsteps.
“Leave your mistress alone for a while,” he instructed. “She needs her rest.”
“Yes sir, doctor sir,” she muttered and took a quick glance round. Seeing they were alone she added, “she is a nice lady. I look after her a lot.”
“Good girl,” he said and reached out to ruffle her hair, noticing for the first time the slave band round her wrist. He knew there would be another tattooed on her ankle.
The girl’s accent was strange.
“Where are you from?”
“Pirates took me and my family years ago,” she whispered, “when I was young.”
“And what age are you now?” he asked.
Cara thought for a moment. “Fourteen I think.”
“Your master is Lord Baker?”
Her eyes hardened and her mouth settled in a straight line. “Yes Doctor, but it’s my misfortune, not yours.”
“I understand,” he said, “but you’re safer with Lady Anne than anyone else.” Sam Baker’s penchant for young girls was well known.
“If there’s anything I can do for her, I won’t tell him,” she whispered, greatly daring. Arthur had no trouble working out who ‘he’ was.
He looked down into her face. What he saw there was sincerity and intelligence, also an unbroken spirit, despite what she must have suffered at her master’s hands.
He heard footsteps in the far passage. Cara heard them too and drew back.
“Tell your mistress I will be back to see her tomorrow.”
“I will. She likes it when you come. It cheers her up. She is so sad-looking always.”
“Perhaps you and I can find some ways to cheer her up a little more?”
The girl’s face broke into a smile.
“I’d better go,” she said. Schooling her face into the submissive mien as befitted a lowly female slave-maid she added, “they’ll be looking for me.” With that pronouncement she sped away on light feet, her rope sandals flapping on the stone floor.
Doctor Arthur schooled his own face into impassivity and went on his way. He had much to think about.
In another part of the palace, the slave-maid’s master was talking to one of his closest adherents.
“It’s time Elliot was crowned,” said Lord Regent Baker to Lord Henri Cocteau, dropping the bombshell in his usual abrupt style. “He’s been long enough in the care of his mother. Too much mollycoddling is bad for him.”
“He’s only eight,” warned Henri Cocteau.
“Country needs a figurehead. There’s dissatisfaction around, too much and it starts at the top. I intend to use the occasion to consolidate our power base, bring the Lords into line.”
“You still trying to tie the others to us?”
“Alliances,” corrected Sam Baker, “we need alliances; with our King at the head.”
“You are the king in all but name.”
“True,” Sam grinned, “it hasn’t done you any har
m though has it? I intend to use what our fellow Lords hold most dear?”
“I’m not sure it’ll work.”
“Oh it will, Henri, it will, I’ll make sure of it.”
Sam Baker smiled at his associate. “As you know, I mean to tie them to us through their sons and daughters. I have worked out a mesh of betrothals and marriages. When the Lords and their families come to the crowning, they will bring their children with them. Each and every one of these children will be betrothed, one to another.”
“You think they’ll agree to it?”
“They are not stupid and this idiotic rivalry between them will be the death of us all. This way I make them toe the line. The only thing they do have in common is love for their children. Let’s use it to our advantage.”
Anne had dozed off, after hiding the sheet of precious drawings under her pillow and when she woke, the first face she saw was a well loved one.
Her daughter Ruth was sitting beside her bed.
“Ruth,” Anne whispered, “my little Ruth.” A frail arm came up and she touched Ruth’s face with the tips of her fingers.
“Lady Cocteau has the children with her in the nursery,” Ruth told her mother, “Auntie Ulla is coming over later to keep you company but she said I could stay with you until she came.”
“That’s nice,” said Anne. Ulla Pederson, Carla Cocteau’s mother was one of the few people here at Fort who Anne could trust. She coughed.
“Is your cough not any better Mummy?”
“Not yet,” Anne confessed reaching out a thin hand to clasp her daughter’s. Better than anyone Anne knew she was dying and that there was not much time.
“Lean closer,” she whispered, “I have some important things to tell you. Cuddle in beside me and listen carefully to what I have to say.”
Snuggled in, Ruth waited.
“No matter what happens,” Anne began, “you must always remember that I love you very much. You have been such a comfort to me these last years.”
“I love you too Mummy.”
“You must keep what I am about to tell you a big secret,” Anne began, “do you promise? Your stepfather would be very angry if he knew. You mustn’t even tell your brother.”
“Not even Elliot?” whispered Ruth in surprise.
“Not even him. He might feel that he has to tell the Lord Regent.”
“I promise, Mummy, tell me.” No more than her mother did Ruth like or trust Sam Baker, Anne was content that what she was about to say would go no further.
“You know that before I married Lord Baker I was married to someone else?”
“Yes, my father, Murdoch the Great Founder. We have learned about him in lessons.”
“No, before then, before I married your father.”
Ruth raised wide surprised eyes to her mother.
“Yes, little daughter, it is true. My first husband and I were married a long time ago.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died.”
“So you married my Father?”
Anne saw no need to go into the sordid details of the first year.
“My Father died before Elliot and I were born. He was killed by the evil Lind of the north,” Ruth informed her.
“He was killed, but the northerners are not evil. That is something you are being taught but it is not the truth. I am going to tell you about something.”
“Go on Mummy.”
“You have another two sisters and a brother, half-sisters and brother to be exact, older than you.”
“Where are they?” asked Ruth with excitement.
“In the north,” answered Anne.
“Then I can never meet them,” Ruth sighed with disappointment, “the northerners are our enemies.”
Anne let that go. “This is the important bit you must remember. Their names are Jessica, Cherry and Joseph. Jessica is married now with children of her own.”
“Then I am an Auntie.”
Anne chuckled, bringing on another fit of coughing and Ruth passed her the glass of water that lay on the bedside table.
Anne sipped it with care.
“You are very young, only eight and I wish I did not need to burden you with this. You may not understand yet, but you will when you are older, when I am gone.”
Ruth’s lips opened.
“Hush, when I am gone you will be on your own. Elliot is the important one; he will be your King. Your stepfather will try to marry you off to one of the sons of the other Lords, probably David Gardiner’s eldest, he is the right age and Lord Baker needs to keep him on his side.”
“That’s years away,” Ruth dismissed Anne’s pronouncement with a wave of her hand.
“Years have a habit of passing quicker than you think and your stepfather has big plans.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it though. Is there?”
“I have spoken to Doctor Arthur and if it is possible and he can manage it, he will try to get you north to your sister Jessica, if that’s what you want. She will look after you for my sake.”
“I don’t see why,” protested Ruth. “It is a woman’s duty to marry and have children. My tutor tells us.”
“Your tutor is wrong. He is telling you what he has been told to say. I don’t want you forced into marriage. I don’t want you to suffer as I have done. So remember what I have said. Remember, but tell nobody. Perhaps you will be quite happy to marry the man your stepfather selects for you, but if not, then remember and tell Doctor Arthur. He will help you. He is your friend.”
“You’ll get better. You must.”
“Perhaps I will,” Anne lied, “but if I do not, remember, trust no one except Doctor Arthur.”
Ruth snuggled in again. “I’ll remember,” she promised.
Ruth was asleep when Ulla Pederson entered. Anne raised an imploring face to her friend as the older woman stretched over to wake the little girl. Knowing what was ahead of her, she took pity on them both and left her sleeping beside Anne.
Mother and daughter slept side by side until morning when Ruth had to leave, kissing her mother goodbye as she sped away to the Cocteau nursery to help Carla Cocteau with the little ones.
Anne’s eyes followed Ruth as she skipped away, promising to return that evening.
Anne would never see her daughter again.
* * * * *
Dr Arthur Kurtheim made his careful way down the paved road that marked the route to the Sailors’ Arms, a seedy dive of a tavern that catered to the needs of the men who ran the trade-barges up and down the river. He noted again how quiet both Fort and the encampment were with the regiments on manoeuvres in Brentwood.
The gate guards were young, little more than boys, part of the first crop of lads taken from their mothers when Fort was first overrun by Murdoch’s convicts nine years before and trained and indoctrinated in Cocteau’s infamous ‘boys’ battalions’.
They nodded to the old man as he passed. Arthur was surprised and realised that one of the regulars must have told them of his visits to the encampment to help the unfortunate ex-convicts who inhabited the hovels and shacks near the river.
Doctor Arthur had instigated his philanthropic mission four years before as a cover to hide the real reason he went down the hill, not that he was not needed, the population was aging and, as the years passed, more and more men were finding it difficult to feed and clothe themselves.
After Lord Regent Sam Baker had watched his medical ministrations for a number of months for signs of an ulterior motive and found none, he had shrugged his shoulders and told his men to leave Doctor Arthur alone. If he wanted to waste his time looking after the elderly and expendable that was his concern, as long as it did not interfere with his duties at Fort. Arthur took pains to make sure it never did.
Arthur Kurtheim was a member of a select group of men committed to the overthrow of the present government and the establishment, in its place, of a free and more gentle society where slavery was no more and women were respected.
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br /> They understood that, with things as they were, there was a limit to what they could do. They were few in number and secrecy was of the essence. This afternoon Arthur made his way as usual to the tavern. It was owned by an individual called Tom, a taciturn ex-con and founder of their resistance group.
Tom was an ex-soldier from Pierre Duchesne’s regiment and had been one of the guards detailed to escort the women captured during the Battle of the Alliance to the beachhead. Tom had taken a fancy to one of the stolen women, a pretty little thing with sun-gold hair who, unlike most of the others who had cried as they were shoved aboard the boat, had marched proudly up the gangplank, head erect, refusing to be cowed.
Tom had wanted to help her but, as a lowly private, such a female was way beyond his means. So it had proved. The woman had been claimed by one of the most cruel and sadistic officers of the regiment. Back in his newfound Lordship, Pierre Duchesne had ‘encouraged’ this officer to leave his employ and a disconsolate Tom could only watch as she went with him.
With the hope that he might try to find her, Tom had approached Lord Pierre Duchesne and ‘requested’ a similar dismissal and Pierre had granted it with the proviso that he keep in touch and pass back any information about Fort that came his way.
That had been the start of it. Realising, shortly after his arrival at the encampment, that both soldiers and sailors were inclined to talk ill-advisedly when in their cups, Tom made haste to open a tavern and began to feed information to his ex-Lord.
He found the woman he was looking for, at least he found her grave-marker. She had not long survived the sadistic attentions of her owner whose only punishment had been a hefty fine.
At that point, an angry Tom had decided he had to do more and began sounding out various acquaintances to find out if there were others who felt as disgusted as he was. Doctor Arthur Kurtheim had been his third recruit.
The Fort ‘cell’ had contacts with another group of like-minded in the Gardiner Lordship to whom they passed information and escaped slaves up the line on their way to the northern continent. Only Tom was in touch with this group through an intermediary named Sam, a barge river man who plied his trade between Fort and Lord Gardiner’s castle beside the river. Since its founding, the ‘Resistance’ had managed to repatriate to the north some twenty slaves.