“I wish to speak with the spirits,” Richard said. The four men blinked at him. “I must ask them how they wish it done.”
“There is only one way to do it,” the man with the missing tooth said. “You must cut off her head. Now that the iron collar is around her neck, it’s the only way to get her out. Her head must be separated from her body.”
“Even so, it must be done in the manner the spirits wish. I must talk with them. I must know exactly how to do this . . . to please them.”
They all considered this. The man with the missing tooth pushed his cheek out with his tongue as he pondered. Finally he brightened. “The Queen Mother and her women drink juka to speak with the spirits. I could bring you some juka, and then you, too, could speak with the spirits.”
“Then bring me this juka, so I may speak with the spirits and do as they command. I would not want to make a mistake, and ruin your planting sacrifice.”
The men agreed that this was a wise request, considering that Richard was to make the sacrifice himself instead of simply blessing it. One of the men hurried off.
The other three waited in silence, again leering at the woman. She moved her feet closer together to cover herself as she squatted in the corner, and glowered back.
One man pulled a thin-stemmed pipe and a long splinter from a pocket. He lit the splinter in the flame of the lamp, and used it to light his pipe. He puffed as he watched the woman, eyeing her in an intimate way. Her chin held defiantly up, the woman glared back. The smoke drifted up into the dim air as his steady puffing quickened.
Richard crouched, leaning against the wall, with his arms folded across his lap so as to partially hide his right hand draped nonchalantly near the hilt of his sword. The fourth man finally came back, carrying a round clay pot in both hands. The pot had a small opening in the top and white symbols painted around the sides.
“The Queen Mother and her women agreed, and sent this juka so you may call the spirits. When you drink this, the spirits will visit you.” He set the pot in front of Richard and then, pulling a knife from his belt, held the green malachite handle out to him. It was carved with figures in obscene poses. “This is the sacred knife, to be used in the sacrifice.” When Richard took the knife and slid the stout blade behind his belt, the man joined his fellows squatting against the walls.
The man closest to the woman, on the other side, seemed pleased that the Queen Mother had sent the juka. He gave Richard a knowing wink. Then he lifted his spearpoint to the woman’s face.
“The magic man has come to offer you to the spirits.” He smiled encouragement past her, to Richard. “But first, he would like to give you the spirits’ gift of his seed.” She didn’t move. His smile transformed into a sneer as he thumped the butt of his spear to the dirt. “Do not insult the spirits! You will take their offering!” His voice lowered to a growl. “Now.”
Her eyes never leaving him, she uncoiled herself and obediently lay down on the dirt, on her back. She opened her legs and cast Richard a defiant glance. She obviously knew the consequence of denying these men what they wished.
The man sprang forward and stabbed his spear into her thigh muscle. She screamed out and flinched back.
“You know better than that! You will not insult us! We are not stupid!” He feigned another jab. “Do it properly!”
Richard’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, but otherwise he did not move. The woman made no effort to tend the bleeding gash on her leg, but instead obediently turned over onto her elbows and knees, sticking her bottom up in the air.
The men chuckled to Richard.
“You would not like to lie with this one face-to-face,” the man with the missing tooth said. “She bites.” The others nodded their certain knowledge of that. “Mount her this way, and hold her by her hair. She will not be able to bite you this way, and you can have all you wish.”
The men waited. Neither Richard nor the woman moved.
“Can you fools not see?” the woman said. “He does not wish to mount me like a dog in front of you!” Her face lying against the dirt, she gave Richard a mocking smile. “He is shy. He does not wish you to see how little his magic stick is.”
Every eye was on him. Richard’s knuckles were white around the hilt. He strained to put an emotionless face over the rage of the magic searing through him from the sword. He struggled to maintain reason.
Letting the magic loose in here would accomplish nothing.
One of the men gave a playful elbow to another and laughed. “Perhaps she is right. He is a young one. Maybe he is not used to others watching his pleasure.”
The seams around his control were strained near to bursting. Richard concentrated on keeping his free hand steady and making it move gracefully. He lifted the clay pot with the juka, showing it to them. He labored mightily to keep his voice even. “The spirits wish to speak to me of important matters.”
The smiles all withered. They knew him as a magic man, but not a young one as they were used to seeing. They didn’t have any idea of his power, but were obviously worried about it, worried about his smoldering, too quiet smoothness.
“We must leave him to his duty,” one of the men said. “We should leave him to be with the spirits, and to take his pleasure from the savage if he wishes before he gives the spirits this offering.” He bowed his shiny head to Richard. “We will leave you to your peace. We will wait in the room where you saw us first.”
Solemn-faced, the four hurried off. After they were gone, and she could be sure they were a good distance away, the woman spat at him.
She arched her back like a cat in heat, sticking her behind higher in the air. “You may mount me now, like the dog you are. Come, magic man, prove you can mount a woman when she is held for you by a chain. You can do no worse to me than the other dogs.” She spat at him again. “You are all dogs.”
Richard extended his leg and shoved a foot against her hip, tipping her over. “I’m not like those men.”
She rolled onto her back. She threw her arms and legs open and gave him a contemptuous glare. “So. You wish to have me like this, to prove you are better than they?”
Richard gritted his teeth. “Stop it. I’m not here for that.”
She sat up. She lifted her chin, but her eyes filled with sudden terror. “So, you will sacrifice me now?”
Richard realized his hand was still gripping the hilt. He had forgotten to maintain a calm expression. He took his hand away, letting the magic recede and his rage cool. As she watched, he poured the juka on the dirt floor.
“I’m going to get you out of this. My name is Richard. What’s yours?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you wish to know?”
“Well, if I’m going to take you out of here, I need to know what to call you. I can’t call you ‘woman.’ ”
She surveyed him silently for a moment. “I am Du Chaillu.”
“Do I call you Du? Or Chaillu? Or Du Chaillu?”
Puzzlement wrinkled her brow. “Du Chaillu. That is my name.”
Richard gave her a smile of reassurance. “All right, then. Du Chaillu. Who are your people? What are they called?”
“We are Baka Ban Mana.”
“And what does that mean, Baka Ban Mana?”
Her chin came up again. “Those without masters.”
Richard smiled to himself. “I think you are worthy of your people. You don’t look to be a woman to be mastered.”
Chin still held up, she studied his eyes. “You say these words, but you intend to mount me as the others.”
Richard shook his head. “No. I told you I wouldn’t do that. I’m going to try to get you out of here, and back to your people.”
“None of my people captured by the Majendie ever returns.”
Richard leaned toward her. “Then you shall be the first.”
Richard drew his sword. Du Chaillu scooted back against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest, hiding her face. He realized that she had misinterpreted hi
s action and expected the worst.
“It’s all right, Du Chaillu. I’m not going to hurt you. I simply need to get that collar off you.”
She shrank from him; then, thinking better of her shameful retreat, she lifted her head and spat at him. “Yes, by taking off my head. You do not speak the truth. You wish to kill me now, and just want me to meekly offer you my neck.”
With his sleeve, Richard wiped the spittle off the side of his forehead. He reached out and put a comforting hand to her shoulder. “No. I’m not going to hurt you. I simply need to use this sword to get the collar off. How else can I get you out of here? You will be safe, you’ll see. Let me get it off you?”
“Swords cannot cut iron!”
Richard lifted an eyebrow. “Magic can.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as he gently put an arm around her shoulder and rolled her facedown in his lap. He laid the sword’s point to the side of her neck. He had seen the Sword of Truth cut through iron before, and he knew the sword’s magic could do the job. She lay dead still as he slid the sword under the heavy iron band.
And then she lunged at him. In a blink, she had a fierce grip on his left arm. Her teeth clamped around his forearm, pinching the nerves.
Richard froze. He knew that if he were to try to yank his arm back, her teeth would probably tear the muscle from the bone. He still had his right hand on the sword. The rage of the magic pounded through him. He used the anger to help him block the pain and remain still.
With the sword under the collar as it was, it would be a simple matter to give it a twist and a push. It would cut her throat, if not decapitate her, and he would be free of her teeth. The pain from her locking bite was agonizing.
“Du Chaillu,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Let go. I’m not going to hurt you. If it were my intention to hurt you, I could cut you right now with the sword to make you let go.”
After a long moment, silent of everything but his labored breathing, she relaxed the pressure of her teeth, but didn’t release his arm from her grip.
She tilted her head a bit. “Why?” Her eyes peered up at him. “Why do you wish to help me?”
Richard stared down into her dark eyes. He took a chance and removed his hand from the sword. He brought the hand up, and touched his fingers to the cold metal collar around his neck.
“I, too, am a prisoner. I, too, know what it is to be held by a collar. I don’t like collars. Though I can’t free myself in this way, I can try to free you.”
Her ferocious grip on his arm relaxed. She cocked her head to the side as she frowned up at him.
“But you are a magic man.”
“That’s why I was taken prisoner. The woman I’m with is taking me to a place called the Palace of the Prophets. She says the magic will kill me if I don’t go to this place.”
“You are with one of the witches? From the big stone witch house?”
“She is not a witch, but one with magic, too. She put this collar on me to make me go with her.”
Du Chaillu’s eyes flicked over the collar around his neck.
“If you let me go, the Majendie will not allow you to go through their land to the big stone house.”
Richard gave her a little smile. “I was hoping that if I helped you get back to your people, you would permit us to pass through your land, and maybe that you would guide us, so that we might reach the palace.”
A sly smile spread on her lips. “We could kill the witch.”
Richard shook his head. “I don’t kill people unless I’m forced to. It would not help anyway. I must go to the palace to get my collar off. If I don’t go there, I will die.”
Du Chaillu looked away from his gaze. Richard waited while she glanced around her prison.
“I do not know if you speak the truth, or if you mean to cut my throat.” She gently rubbed his arm where she had bitten him. “But if you kill me, I was to be killed anyway, and had no chance, and at least I will not be mounted any more by those dogs. If you tell the truth, then I will be free, but we must still escape. We are still in the land of the Majendie.”
Richard winked. “I have a plan. At least we can try.”
She frowned at him. “You could do this thing to me, and they would be happy, and you could go to the palace. You would be safe. Are you not afraid they will kill you?”
Richard nodded. “But I am more afraid to live the rest of my life seeing in my mind your pretty eyes and wishing I had helped you.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Maybe you are a magic man, but you are not a smart man. A smart man would want to be safe.”
“I am the Seeker.”
“What is this, the Seeker?”
“It’s a long story. But I guess it means I do my best to see the truth prevail, to see right done. This sword has magic, and it helps me in my quest. It’s called the Sword of Truth.”
She let out a long breath, and finally laid her head back in his lap. “Try then, or kill me. I was dead anyway.”
Richard gave her filthy, bare back a pat of reassurance. “Hold still.”
He reached under her neck and wrapped his fingers around the collar, holding it tight. With his other hand, the hand on the hilt, the hand through which the magic was coursing into him, he gave a mighty heave. With a loud crack, the iron shattered. Hot shards of metal ricocheted off the walls. One large piece spun like a top in the dirt, finally wobbling and falling over. Silence settled over them. He held his breath, hoping none of the metal fragments had cut her throat.
Du Chaillu sat up. Her eyes wide, she felt her neck. Finding no injury, she broke into a wide grin.
“It is off! You got the collar off and my head is still attached!”
Richard feigned a touch of indignation. “I told you I would. Now we must get away from here. Come on.”
He led her back through the rooms the way he had come in. When he reached the next to last room from where the men waited, he held a finger to his lips and told her to be quiet and wait for him to come back for her.
She folded her arms under her bare breasts. “Why? I will go with you. You said you would not leave me here.”
Richard let out an exasperated breath. “I’m going to get you some clothes. We can’t leave with you . . .” With a gesture, he indicated her bare condition.
She unfolded her arms and looked down at herself. “Why? What is wrong with me? I am not a bad shape to look upon. Many men have told me . . .”
“What is it with you people!” he whispered heatedly. “I have seen more naked people since I left my homeland last autumn than in the whole of my life! And not a one of you seems the least little bit . . .”
She grinned. “Your face is red.”
Richard growled through gritted teeth. “Wait here!”
Smirking, she folded her arms again. “I will wait.”
In the outer room the four men jumped to their feet when Richard came through the carpet-covered opening. He didn’t give them any time to ask questions.
“Where are the woman’s clothes?”
Confused, they glanced at one another. “Her clothes? Why do you want . . .”
Richard took an aggressive stride toward the man. “Who are you to question the spirits! Do as they say! Get me her clothes!”
All four flinched back. They stared at him briefly and then went to the low chests. They set the lamps aside and opened the lids, rummaging through the chests, tossing clothes aside.
“Here! I found them!” one of them said. He held up a garment that looked to be finely woven flax. Different-colored strips hung in rows from the light brown fabric. “This is hers.” He held up a buckskin belt. “And this, too.”
Richard snatched them from the man’s fist. “You will wait here.” He grabbed up a scrap of cloth the men had thrown on the floor as they had searched for the dress.
He went back through the opening before there was time for any questions. Du Chaillu waited, her arms still folded. When she saw what he held
in his hands, she gasped. She clutched the dress to her breast. Tears filled her dark eyes.
“My prayer dress!”
She threw her arms around his neck and, raising up on her tiptoes, started kissing him all over his face. Richard mashed her mass of black hair flat against the sides of her head as he pushed her away.
“All right, all right, put it on. Hurry.”
Grinning at him, she pulled the dress over her head, poking her arms through the long sleeves. Up the outside of each arm and across the shoulders was a row of little strips of different-colored cloth. Each was knotted on through a small hole beneath a corded band. The dress came to just below her knees. As she tied the belt at her waist, Richard noticed the blood still running down to her foot from where the men had stabbed her in the thigh.
He dropped to one knee before her and motioned with his hands. “Lift it up. Lift up your dress.”
Du Chaillu looked down at him. She lifted an eyebrow. “I have just covered myself, and now you wish me to uncover?”
Richard pursed his lips. He waved the strip of cloth at her. “You are bleeding. I need to put this around the wound.”
Giggling, she raised her skirt and held her leg out, rotating it from side to side, displaying it in a teasing manner. Richard quickly wrapped the cloth around her thigh, over the gash, and jerked the knot tight. She yelped with pain. He thought it served her right, but apologized anyway.
Taking her by the hand, he pulled her though the remaining rooms. As he passed through the last, he growled at the four men to stay where they were. Still holding Du Chaillu’s hand tight, he led her back down the alleyway and streets to the open square. He saw the heads of the three horses sticking up above the sea of shiny, bald heads. He plowed his way through the throng, toward the horses.
Chapter 43
Although his sword sat in its scabbard, he was already drawing its magic. Rage surged into him. He summoned it ever onward, letting his barriers fall before its advance.
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