by Alma Boykin
He released her hand and laughed, shaking his head. “No, my lady. I’ve been in the courtyard overseeing the stablemen. The cook is using the outdoor kitchen this evening, since the chimney repairs are not set yet. He told me so I could warn the soldiers and stablemen to get all straw and hay under cover in case something sparked.”
Too bad. Essence of roasting meat would make an excellent gentlemen’s scent. “That explains it. Thank you.”
The next morning, well before dawn, Elizabeth walked to St. Gerald’s cathedral, the heart of Vindobona. Her aches felt milder and she paused at a little corner shrine to St. Sabrina, patroness of women in need, and made an offering of thanks. The cool air gave her new energy as she strode along. Mina came with her and the two women bowed as they entered the great wooden and brass doors of the ancient cathedral, a building almost as old as Vindobona itself. Elizabeth found a place near the front, curtsied to the symbol of Godown hanging above the high altar with its image of St. Gerald and his bridge, and knelt in private prayer before the priests arrived.
The sharp tang of spring incense cut through the still air of the church as the cantor called, “Blessed be Godown, lord of the morning, who hung the stars and raises the sun.”
“Blessed be Godown, lord of morning,” the small crowd intoned.
“Blessed be Godown, lord of morning, who guides His people and marks their hours.”
“Blessed be Godown, lord of morning.”
“Blessed be Godown, lord of noontime, who provides for all who trust in Him.”
“Blessed be Godown, lord of morning.”
After the introit and opening hymn, the Archbishop held up a jeweled copy of the Holy Writ. “Here is the word of our god. Hear all ye and be blessed.”
“Thanks be to Godown,” came the answering murmur, and the worshippers bowed in homage to the Writ.
After the scripture readings and homily, the Archbishop and a junior priest presented the sacraments of bread and oil. Elizabeth took part with a joyful heart, losing herself as always in the rhythms of worship. The blessed wafer tasted like the bread of paradise, and the touch of the holy oil on her forehead soothed her spirit like the healing balm it was intended to be. She curtsied low to the image of St. Gerald smiling down on his children as he gestured to the bridge he’d built to bring them safely over the waters and away from the Fires.
“Go forth from this place in Godown’s name, strengthened for the tasks of the day,” the cantor concluded after all had been served.
“Blessed be Godown, lord of morning.” The early-morning congregants nodded to each other and hurried out. Except for Elizabeth, the first liturgy attracted servants, apprentices and tradesmen, and a few soldiers—all people who had to be at work before sunrise and whose parish churches might not offer such an early liturgy. Elizabeth blended in and she guessed that most of the other worshippers took her for a senior servant or someone’s daughter under half-vows. It suited her quite well. She came to worship, not to be seen worshipping.
She and Mina walked back to Donatello House. “Mina, please tell the housekeeper that we will be departing for Donatello Bend within the coming week.”
“So soon, my lady?”
“Yes. I need to be closer to the western border, and yipe—!” A stream of grey water flew through the air just in front of them, splashing down on the walkway and street.
“Watch for… sorry,” a very young girl in a patched, too-large dress apologized, flinching back from the doorway. She set a large bucket down and reached for a scrub-broom.
Her supervisor rapped the top of the girl’s head with a sharp-looking knuckle. “Call first, then toss,” the old woman hissed. “My apologies.”
“Accepted,” Elizabeth replied as she continued past. “And I want to get away from the city, as I was saying.”
“Ah yes, my lady, especially if the summer is as warm as spring has been.” Mina pinched her nose as they dodged a pile of rubbish and soil that the nightlarks had not yet removed.
Elizabeth spent the next week riding or going to meetings in the mornings and working in the office, or going to meetings, or packing, in the afternoons; and reading and studying military topics at night until her eyes burned and her head ached as much as her gut did. At night she picked at her supper, not really hungry but not wanting to waste food. Yet again she complained in the privacy of her mind, why do I have to go to all these policy and council meetings? I have nothing to say, know nothing about the topics at hand, have no authority over the people involved, and need to be studying.
And then it was the day of departure. She dressed with care, made certain that she had tucked extra lint and materials in her saddlebags, looked through her assigned chamber one last time just in case she or the maids had overlooked anything besides the ghost wool under the bed, and ate a quick cold breakfast. She petted her two little pfeach trees. “I’ll be back this winter, I promise,” she assured them.
Those few servants assigned to go with her to Donatello Bend had already departed, riding in the wagons with her household goods, leaving Elizabeth, Lazlo, and a small detachment of soldiers to follow with the saddle mules and horses. She mounted Snowy, nodded to Lazlo, and rode out of the courtyard, glad to be rid of the city for a while. As usual, the guards at the western gate saluted Elizabeth and Lazlo, letting the party out without searching their pack animals. The horses and mules walked between the outer wall and the new defensive bastions. At least those are done, Elizabeth sighed. Laurence would never be in a position to threaten Vindobona, unlike Tayyip. But no one in the inner council agreed with her. Another good reason to leave, she snorted. Her patience with fools was fast wearing away.
The rising sun cast long shadows on the road ahead of them as they climbed into the low hills west of the city. The bulk of the ridges lay north and west of Vindobona, their slopes pinching the Donau Novi River into a narrow valley. A few kilometers farther west, the steep slopes faded into gently rolling low mounds and the lowland widened, blending into the edge of a great plain. Elizabeth’s party rode through the narrowest part of the rugged hills, avoiding the hamlets and small villages and a few defensive forts. Soon they returned to the banks of the Donau Novi. They’d follow it for another day before it swung north while they continued west, traveling along an old Lander route before picking up the Donatello. The morning sun felt good on Elizabeth’s back, although it boded ill for the afternoon heat.
Snowy tossed his head and pulled against her hands, fresh and frisky, until Elizabeth gave in. “Catch up with me if you can,” she ordered. Lazlo nodded and passed the word to the others as Elizabeth let Snowy have his head. He jogged a few paces, then surged into his silky smooth running walk. They flew over the hills and onto the river’s narrow floodplain before she slowed and stopped him. “You’ve had your fun.” She walked him off the road to wait in the cool shadows of the wetland forest, and so she could have some privacy to take care of her needs.
She’d started her time the night before, and had taken the last of her pain-easers before they left Vindobona. As she’d feared, the spreading ache during the passing morning hours revealed one of the worst cycles she’d had in years. The cramps in her gut twisted her muscles and wrapped around to her back. Everything from her breasts to her knees hurt. If she hadn’t had to ride, she’d have crawled into a bed or even just a dark corner, pulled her coat over her head, and hidden. The pain nauseated her, making eating a challenge, even after the second day came and went. Blessed Saint Sabrina, she prayed on the third day, if this is anything like childbirth, I can see why the population is so low. Actually, she decided later that afternoon, childbirth could not be as bad as her cramps. Otherwise there’d be no people at all!
Lazlo caught her the next morning, leaning against Snowy and fighting back tears of misery. She’d been unable to sleep much past midnight and had been up praying and writing letters. Then she’d packed and slipped out of her room, coming down to the inn’s stable. She heard footsteps and glanced
over, ready to draw her saddle knife and order Snowy to attack. Once she recognized the sound of Lazlo’s boots on the hard-packed dirt, she turned and rested her forehead against Snowy’s neck again. Go away, please, she thought at her aid.
“My lady?”
“I’m fine, just enjoying the cool air,” she assured him.
“Nah ah,” she heard his denial and his quick headshake. He did not leave but neither did he draw any closer. “My lady, you are not fine. You’ve not been fine since we left Vindobona. You are as pale as Snowy, with a green tinge. You’re having trouble mounting and dismounting, even with the riding block.”
“I am fine. My riding muscles are out of shape is all, and I ate something off the other day, back at the inn with the mushrooms.” Which was true—several of the men had also suffered sour stomachs that night. Elizabeth suspected the yard fowl served for supper had been re-heated wrong. She started to add a comment about inn food but instead she hissed, gasping. An especially bad cramp ripped through her stomach as her guts tried to wrap around her backbone. Through gritted teeth she repeated, “I am fine.”
Lazlo walked off. He returned a few minutes later. “Colonel, drink this.” She blinked away the tears blurring her vision. He held out a mug with steam rising off the top. “It’s hot salibark tea, nothing more. No blackseed, no woundwort,” he assured her.
She gave in and reached for the mug. Her hands shook and he put his around hers, steadying the thick pottery until she could keep it still. She drained the bitter concoction in two swallows, then choked, gagging from the heat and bitter taste. Her head swam and Lazlo had to help her over to a bench. “Godown as my witness, I’m not drinking that much ever again,” she muttered, in case anyone lurked within earshot.
“My dear brother Kemal introduced me to hot salibark the morning after I discovered spirits of pfeach, my lady. I may forgive him before I die.” He took the mug back, adding in a meditative tone, “or I might not. He still enjoys telling me in painful detail about my adventures that night.”
She forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Major. I think.” She ached less, but now her mouth felt lumpy and the bitter, sour aftertaste killed what little appetite she might have had.
Lazlo stayed close to her the rest of the day, not hovering, but watching discreetly. His concoction worked and she felt better. That, or one encounter with the nasty brew scared her body into calming down just so it would not have to suffer through another dose. Either way it had done the job. That evening she found a bowl of the first greens waiting beside her usual meat and bread. She hated spring greens, but chewed her way through them anyway. They did not taste as bad as the salibark had. She also downed a second glass of the rough red wine the inn favored. “Only two glasses,” she assured Lazlo and Sam.
Sam gave the bottle a suspicious glance. “If it were my vineyard, my lady, I’d skip the wine and distill it for medicinal spirits.”
Lazlo played with his cup and nodded. “If this were all I had to drink, I’d do like Selkow’s followers and stick to water, milk, and tea.”
Sam made a face. “Major, have you seen what fish do in water?” The three soldiers all laughed at the ancient joke. Elizabeth got to her feet without assistance and the men also stood.
“No, enjoy the rest of the evening gentlemen. I have a letter to finish. Godown bless.”
“Godown be with you, Colonel.”
They reached Donatello Bend a week later, in the rain once more. She heard Sam wagering with one of the other men if Axel, the farm manager, would let them dismount before bemoaning the late start to fieldwork. Lazlo had ridden ahead, giving Elizabeth a little peace, relatively speaking. The trees had begun leafing out and the pastures looked like a multi-shaded green quilt draped over the low hills on the eastern end of the estate. Some fields sported a faint emerald mist, heralding an early start to the wheat crop. Quinly needed more heat in the soil before it sprouted, but it would grow faster than the wheat once it did get steady sun. The shahma would go to the highlands in a week or so, if Elizabeth remembered correctly. And the next batch of foals had begun arriving. She shivered. Somewhere she’d read that the Landers had believed Godown sent additional horses and babies just before a war, in order to make up for those who would be killed. She made the warding-off sign as they rode to the manor hill.
To her surprise, Lady Ann Starland rode out to greet them. “Your second in command is an idiot,” Ann announced.
Elizabeth heard muffled comments and a chuckle from the men behind her. She took a deep breath. “And just what has Major Destefani done to earn your wrath, Ann?”
“He didn’t listen when Mistress Annie told him to stay off the wooden floor inside the receiving chamber because it’s been polished. He slipped and broke his arm, it appears. Idiot.”
Elizabeth looked up into the gray sky, feeling little drops of cold rain patting her face. Godown give me patience please. Now.
Ann added, “Oh, and welcome home.” The men burst out laughing, and Elizabeth had to smile even as she shook her head.
“Thank you.”
3
A Modest Proposal
Elizabeth got two weeks of relative peace before Archduke Lewis descended on Donatello Bend. She’d been out riding along the border between Donatello Bend and Peilovna, the Peilov estate to the south, on the other bank of the Donatello River. The river looked lower than in previous years and she’d been trying to decide if the rise had begun earlier or if drier weather might be the reason. Whatever the cause, the river still managed to escape its banks, turning the flood forests into bogs and inundating the water meadows on the Peilovna side. “Well, that’s why we have water meadows,” she told Square. The four-year-old mule snorted, more interested in stealing a mouthful of the new grass than in property management.
As they returned to the manor hill, she noted a swarm of activity and what had to be a dozen wagons trundling away from the manor house. Elizabeth went cold and licked suddenly dry lips. Godown no, please not so soon, not this early in the season. If Roahn-Roi is this close this soon we’re going to be scrambling to hold him. A worse prospect drifted into her mind and her hands began shaking. The Turkowi have punched through Tivolia. Oh holy Godown have mercy on us all! She urged Square into a canter, storming up the road to the old house fortress. One of the men saw her and waved.
“Which front?” She demanded, slowing Square to a walk. “South or west?”
The stocky man shook his head as he tugged his forelock. “Neither, my lady, just his grace arriving in two days or so. He sent his things ahead, along with some ‘luxuries’. Or so the carters say.”
Lewis you are a dead man, she snarled, furious at his having scared her so badly. “Ah. Thank you.” She walked Square the rest of the way up the hill, through the main gate and into the courtyard. The old house, built into Lander ruins, faced east, as did the main gate across the courtyard. The servants’ quarters, stable block, yardbird coops, and workshops formed the south side of the courtyard, while barracks and storage sat to the north of the cobbled and sanded area. Elizabeth could see the small gardens to either side of the manor house. The garden extended around the house, filling the space between the back of the house and the exterior wall. If someone breached the main wall, the manor house served as the keep, complete with arrow-loops, tiny windows, an internal well, fire-resistant slate and tile roof, and doors that could stand up to battering rams. Well, Elizabeth smiled, in truth the house could withstand anything but Archduke Lewis and the wrath of Mistress Annie Lei, the chief housekeeper and wife of the head wagon-master. Even Lewis acknowledged Mistress Annie as the true ruler of Donatello manor, deferring to her judgment most of the time.
Lady Ann, now standing on the front step patting her foot, gave Mistress Annie a wide berth when she was unhappy. Which, Elizabeth gathered from Ann’s expression, meant now. “You mules are lucky,” she informed Square as she dismounted. “You don’t have to deal with housekeepers.” He swished his tail and played
with the roller in his bit. “Smart mule.” Elizabeth turned him over to a groom and with a sense of dread walked over to Lady Ann. “Should I plan on sleeping in the hay loft?”
“What?” Ann shook her head and let out a gusty sigh. “Not yet, but I wouldn’t plan on fancy food for supper, my lady.” Aquila Starland’s sister sighed again. “His grace sent, well, enough linen, table ware, and domestic goods to outfit a small city. Mistress Annie has no idea where to put it all before Lewis arrives, probably late the day after tomorrow. And he did not send advance notice. The wagons rolled up shortly after you left. That was our first warning.”
“Saint Sabrina and Saint Gimple preserve us.” The two women exchanged knowing looks. “Well, rest assured that his grace is not on my saints’ day gift list at the moment. I saw the wagons and thought it was the muster call.”
“That man will drive me gray yet,” Ann declared. Elizabeth, who envied Ann’s black hair and lovely tan complexion, raised an eyebrow. That did not sound like the Ann Starland who had warned Elizabeth about Lewis’s intentions six years earlier. “I cannot keep the household happy and things running smoothly if he dumps things like this on our heads. His grace can be as inconsiderate as my brother.”
“I will trust your judgment. Are the floors safe?”
“Yes, just be careful. His grace sent carpets.”
Elizabeth peered around Ann, through the open door, and saw several enormous rolls of material propped up against the wall or laying on the floor. “Carpets.”
“Including one for the stairs.”
“Carpets on the stairs. His grace has a death wish.” Either Mistress Lei will kill him when he tracks muck in, or he’ll break his neck tripping on the damn things. Carpets were for hanging on the wall or around beds to keep out drafts, not for the floor of a manor house on the marches. It’s not the marches yet, Elizabeth cautioned herself as she picked her way over the piles, up the stairs, and down the hall to her small chamber. There she found Mina mending a torn hem and shaking her head. “Is there a problem?”