Women of Wasps and War

by Madeleine D'Este

  The merchant's wife tossed her head and strode through the market, calling out for Irina.

  Rabel collapsed against the wall, her knees trembling, Aula tugged at her skirts. 'Ma?'

  Leaning her cheek against the cool rough bricks, Rabel caught her breath and took a few moments before returning home to prepare the midday meal. The meal that would solve all her problems. She had everything she needed. Everything except the most important thing.

  Courage.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Kalin finally found Seliv and Wilken in the Alleys among the shacks and stalls built from patched sails and broken doors. He tutted as he passed grubby men and women hawking grey gruel, shabby trinkets, moonshine and suspect stolen goods. In the past year without the men of the Shield, the Alleys’ denizens had spread like vines. Women were just as capable of petty crime as men. He resolved to return and clean up the Alleys, but first the small matter of blackmail.

  'What have you discovered?' he said, striding up to them.

  'Nothing as yet, m'Lord,' Seliv said, his meaty fist firmly attached to the writhing Wilken's collar.

  'I told you. He's not around.'

  'Are you sure you want to be down here, m'Lord?' Seliv whispered.

  'Why ever not? Solving a little crime is exactly what I need to help me return to my duties as Master of the Shield. The old head gets a little rusty with fighting alone.'

  'It's only...' Seliv chewed on his lip.

  Kalin rolled his eyes. 'Spit it out.'

  'You stand out a bit, m'Lord.'

  He lifted his head to see two of the nearby stalls had suddenly packed up and disappeared. Only a pair of holed boots and an empty jug remained discarded in the mud. As people squeezed past him, they hid their faces.

  'I should be more visible in the Alleys. It will force these people to smarten up their acts. It's no better than a pigsty down here.'

  'M'Lord, people might not be so forthcomin' with you around.'

  'Rubbish. Lead on. Where to next? This tavern? All this walking makes a man thirsty.'

  'This way, sir,' Seliv sighed and he dragged Wilken like a sulky dog along the winding crowded passages.

  'Oi! What're you doin' with my Wilken? Take your hands off 'im.' A scrawny woman dressed only in a stained shift elbowed her way through the crowd.

  'And who are you, erm...Goodwife?' Seliv said.

  'Get out of here, Ma.' Wilken rushed forward but the big man tugged him back.

  'What's he done?' She said, eyes flashing.

  'Your son is helping the Shield like a decent townsman,' Kalin said. 'None of your concern.'

  'Sorry, m'Lord. I didn't see you there.' The woman smoothed her hair with a smile and dropped into a wobbly curtsey. 'You can call me Eeva,'

  'We shall bring your son back when we are done with our search,' Kalin said, ignoring her batting eyelids. 'As long as he co-operates.'

  'Of course, m'Lord. He's a good boy, really.' Eeva stepped forward and he grimaced at the scent of her sickly cider breath. 'Maybe you'll come and find me when you're done with him.'

  He pressed his lips together. 'Let's go, Seliv.'

  'I saw him earlier...' she added as they walked away. 'Talking to a skinny man who used to be on the boats years ago. I can't remember his name.'

  'Ma!' Wilken said through clenched teeth. 'Don't.'

  'What?' She shrugged her bony shoulders. 'I'm helpin' the Shield.'

  'Could you describe him?' Seliv said.

  'He likes the Seaweed Arms. And the cock fights. Back from the war like you.'

  'Would you recognise him if you saw him again?'

  'Oh yes, m'Lord. Maybe he's there now. We could go and check.'

  Seliv scowled at him but Kalin half-shrugged.

  'The more information the better.'

  The gaunt woman grinned and Kalin sighed.

  'This way,' she said.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Every few moments Rabel stirred the pot. The stew didn't need stirring but it was the only way to stop her hands from shaking. The fur parcel in her pocket throbbed against her leg. What strange Wasp Woman magic lay inside?

  At the table, Iwan picked his teeth with a knife and the twins sat alongside him on the bench, a row of honey-brown heads. The sight of her family together hit Rabel like a slap across her face and she changed her mind for the thirtieth time. Iwan was the father of her children. He'd been the centre of her life since she was fifteen summers old.

  At first, she had been flattered by the wiry sandy-headed lad who stopped by the cheese merchants every single day and ordered the smallest sliver of cheese. He'd only had eyes for Rabel. In those days, he'd worked on the boats, coming back from sea early each afternoon with plenty of time to walk her home. He smelled of fish but he gave her jonquils and told her she was the prettiest girl in Ambrovna, and for a while, she believed him. Back then Iwan had been a good man. He stood by her when her bleeding stopped and Pa threw her out. They were betrothed within days and she almost fooled herself his love had rinsed away her sins.

  Life was good until the Great Storm came and smashed the town's fishing boats against the sharp red cliffs, leaving Iwan without work. The storm took a toll on the whole of Ambrovna and without fish, food was scarce. To begin with Iwan had tried hard to find work, but as the weeks and months passed with nothing but an hour of work here and there, Iwan started to squander his free days, and his coins, in the Inns on the wrestling and the cock fights.

  Iwan used to stroke her cheek and hold her in his arms but he became a stranger who no longer brought her jonquils or kind words. She ignored the gossip about his losses until the debt collectors knocked at the door and took whatever they could carry. She told herself that if she tried harder, perhaps he'd be that man again.

  Sighing, she continued to stir the pot.

  Why had the Father forsaken her? A good honest death on the battlefield could have avoided all of this. Teo and Jorn would have grown up thinking their father was a war hero, whatever the truth. Thousands of other men lay dead, why save him?

  If only the war had changed him and brought back the young Iwan she'd married. Older women had said a war was good for an idle man, that closeness to death reminded him of the important things in life.

  It was just like Iwan to prove them wrong.

  Over the past year she proved to herself she could manage alone, although in truth, she'd been alone for many years.

  Aula climbed up onto the table and knocked over Iwan's tankard, spilling ale over the tabletop and onto the ground.

  'You little--' Iwan jumped to his feet, trying to salvage his booze. Aula wailed. 'I should have sold you when I had the chance. Maybe Sabet'll still take you.'

  Iwan shoved her off the table Her head thumped against the wooden bench and the little girl unleashed another ear-splitting wail as a thin stream of blood ran down her face.

  'Aula,' Rabel said, her voice so weak. Sickened, she rushed for her but Aula scuttled away and hid in the corner of the room behind the mattress. 'Come out. Please.'

  'She'll live,' Iwan shouted. 'Where's my food?'

  Glaring, Rabel changed her mind for the thirty-first time.

  'Now! Are you deaf?'

  Rabel turned back to the pot and with shaking hands ladled stew into a carved wooden bowl. Aula shrieked once again from the corner and Rabel flinched, splattering stew onto the ground.

  'Shut up!' Iwan yelled at Aula, without moving from his seat.

  Rabel's heartbeat thundered in her ears as she angled her body to hide her hands. She unwrapped the pouch and stared down at the tiny white puffball. It was so small. She remembered what Sira had said and chopped it in two, pocketing the other half. A lump swelled in her throat as she finely sliced the mushroom. She glanced over at Iwan with his contorted ugly face and watched him ignore his own crying children.

  Her hand, which held the innocent-looking white shreds, hovered over Iwan's bowl. Rabel looked over at Jorn with his trembling chin an
d listened to Aula's muffled sobs in the background. She dropped the white flecks into his bowl and stirred. Ever so slowly, she turned towards the table, expecting something or someone to stop her. But the Father did nothing to intervene.

  'About time. I'm bloody starvin' to death over here.'

  Iwan grabbed the bowl from her shaking hands. Rabel swallowed hard, waiting beside him as he took a long slurp. He winced, his lips curling in disgust.

  Rabel's heart squeezed.

  'Fish head stew. Urgh.' Iwan stuck out his coated tongue then he took another gulp.

  'All we can afford,' she said, a wobble in her voice. He grunted, lifting the bowl to his chin.

  The door opened and Teo hurried in, a wide smile on his face and a sprig of straw sticking out of his hair.

  'Get paid today, lad?' Iwan said, before belching loudly and slamming his empty bowl down on the table.

  'Not till tomorrow,' Teo said. She handed him his bowl and grabbed for the straw in his hair but the boy jerked his head out of her reach.

  'Tomorrow.' Iwan got to his feet and Rabel's eyes widened as she watched his every movement. 'I'll expect to see those coins tomorrow, lad. Understand?'

  'Yes, Pa,' the boy said, his eyes on his stew.

  'Good lad.' He clapped Teo's shoulder while Rabel's knees shook. So far, he seemed normal. Did it work?

  'I'm goin' out. I've got to see a man about some business.' He grinned. 'I think my prospects are lookin' up. We won't be eatin' this shit for much longer.'

  'Will you be home for dinner?' she said brightly, trying to cover her quivering lip.

  Iwan shrugged and swaggered off, slamming the door behind him.

  It was done.

  Gripping the table edge, she gulped for breaths, her pulse galloping. If it worked as Sira said, he would never walk through that door again.

  A slight smile blossomed on her face.

  'I did get paid today, Ma,' Teo said, sliding a handful of coppers along the tabletop.

  Rabel grinned, her face shining as she tousled Teo's hair.

  ***

  'Any word from Rabel?' the Duchess said.

  'Nothing, m'Lady,' Sira replied, unpicking another wayward stitch with a sigh. 'Wisia said the mushroom should take quick effect. Is the lack of news good or bad?'

  Agata pressed her lips together.

  A gentle knock on the bedchamber door made both women jump. The Duke hobbled into the room on his iron crutch, his empty hose leg swinging.

  Agata's heart swelled with delight. 'My Lord.'

  Sira curtseyed and disappeared to her adjoining room.

  Agata put aside her needlework and rose to her feet to help him but he waved his hand dismissively and found his own way beside her on the cushioned bench.

  'I came to see how you are faring,' the Duke said. 'My Uncle mentioned you were feeling poorly.'

  Agata clenched her fists in her lap and sucked in a breath before replying. Poorly was not the right word and it had been almost an entire day since she had last seen Lord Sylwin. 'I am much better, my Lord.'

  'I am glad.'

  He held out his arms. His eyes were soft but she hesitated, staying firmly in her seat. She longed to run to him but where had he been all day? And all night? He'd been home for days, but had barely spent two moments in her presence.

  Agata caught a hint of his warm scent, the familiar smell of the man she loved, a smell she had missed so much. But she straightened her shoulders. 'Wine, my Lord?'

  He folded his arms across his chest and nodded curtly. Lord Sylwin's words were true, his eyes were different. Her husband was the same man, but there was something new in his eyes, a change she could not articulate. The war had stolen more than his leg.

  Agata poured his wine from the decanter and brought a glass dish of sugar-dusted plums. He took the goblet from her hand and their fingers touched. Her cheeks reddened and her mouth ran dry. They were husband and wife yet strangers all over again. She took a sip of wine.

  'You are so beautiful, my wife,' he said.

  'I have missed you, dear husband.' She reached for him, finding only the empty fabric where his leg used to be.

  He flinched and Agata bit her lip. He stiffened and glanced away towards the window.

  With another gulp of wine, she squashed her vexation, drew in a breath and grabbed his hand. 'Please do not push me away, my Lord. I am your wife. I declared before the Father to stay by your side until I was taken to the Land Beyond the Sunset. No matter what.'

  He sighed. 'So much has changed--'

  'Not for me. Ambrovna is the same. Your castle is still here. Your people are still here. I am still here.'

  'But my ....'

  'I do not care.'

  'If only it were so simple.'

  'Why is it complicated, my Lord? What could be simpler than a husband and his wife?'

  'What you must think of me--' He averted his eyes.

  'I am proud of you.' Agata dropped to her knees in front of him and clasped his hands in hers. 'Enduring such pain.'

  'I am wrapped in my own misery.' He shook his head. 'My own pathetic thoughts.'

  'We can be happy again, my Lord.'

  'You pity me.' He pulled his hands away. 'This is not the way for a man and wife.'

  'No, my Lord. I did not understand at first. I was blinded by my own selfishness. But Lord Sylwin provided wise counsel. He told me to consider the horrors you'd experienced.'

  'Some days were bleak.' He nodded. 'I find it hard to drive the memories from my mind.'

  'Let me help you.'

  'I am not the man I was.'

  'I have changed, too.'

  He paused and she gently bit her lip, her eyes never leaving his.

  The fire crackled in the grate as they sat in a thick silence until finally he unleashed a long slow sigh.

  'I fear that I cannot sire heirs.'

  Agata clamped her mouth shut and stifled her cry. With all her musing and reasoning, this possibility had never occurred to her.

  'The physicians in Sulun said it should not affect my ability to father but I am--'

  Beneath her dress, Agata's belly shrivelled but she reached for him and squeezed his hand. 'You must put your faith in the healers, my Lord. The Father will reward your faith and loyalty on the battlefield.'

  The Duke shook his head, Agata's heart tearing at the sight of his vacant eyes. Gently she took his bearded chin in her hands and forced him to look at her. She smiled wider as she gazed into his face. No matter what she had overheard through the solar door, he was not like the others. At his core, this man was good.

  'Let us see whether the physicians were right.'

  She leaned in and kissed him. At first, he did not return the kiss but Agata persisted. Then he softened, his lips opening, a gentle moan escaping his throat. She pressed her body weight against him, her chest against his. He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her close. She gasped as he tightened his embrace. His arms were lean and muscular, his grip as though he never wanted to let her go.

  'My Agata.' He pulled back from the kiss and whispered in her ear, pushing aside her stray curls and caressing her earlobes. A delicious shiver ran down her spine. His kisses grew more insistent and he nibbled at her neck. She unfastened his tunic, her fingers stroking the fine hairs on his chest.

  His fingertips traced down her neck and across her chest, smoothing over the roundness of her breasts, tracing gently over her skin. He tugged at her belt, slipped the gown from her body, lifted her chemise and cupping her bare skin in his hands. He found the sensitive tips of her nipples with his tongue. She panted as he licked one side and then the other and threaded her fingers through his hair. She tingled, longing for him to be inside her.

  This time she was careful as she ran her hand along his right leg. His thigh was strong from months on horseback. He continued, nuzzling at her chest as she inched her fingers up his inner thigh. His drawers tightened and she smiled. His fears were unfounded.

 
Agata loosened his ties and he lifted his hips as she yanked his drawers down. Her hands slipped under his chemise, along his naked torso and over his hip to the end of his left thigh, reaching the bandage-covered stump.

  He stopped cold.

  'No. No,' she said softly in his ear. 'Please.'

  'But I am no longer the man you married,' he said.

  'I disagree, my Lord,' she said, as her fingers found him.

  He gasped. 'My lovely,' he murmured as she took him in her hand. He was hard and ready.

  She lay back on the bench and opened herself. He slid over her, his eyes gleaming, his breath heavy. She cried out with his first thrust. It had been a year since he was last inside her.

  'Did I hurt you?' he said.

  'No.' She kissed him forcefully and he smiled as he entered her again. She arched her back, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as they writhed together. He grunted and pushed harder, she leaned her head back and he bit at her throat. His fingers explored her, finding again the special spot they had discovered in their first weeks together. She inhaled sharply, her eyes shining as he rubbed, rippling back and forwards and the tingling spread down her legs and flowed up into her chest, her breath catching in her breast.

  'A little more. A little more,' she moaned, her heart thundering in her ears. The room dissolved until there was only his hands, his smell, his beard against her skin. She burst out, the pleasure rushing over her, her body undulating. He held her tightly against him and thrust harder and harder. Their bodies glowed with sweat as they slapped together. She kissed him feverishly, gripping hard at his shoulders as he pushed and strained. He spluttered, cried out and clutched her to his chest. She could feel his heart beating against her own ribcage.

  'I told you, husband.' She smoothed his hair as they regained their breath. 'The physicians were right. You will bless me with many children.'

  He nestled his head into her shoulder, his body trembling. Agata's brow creased as she rubbed his back and held him tight, his hot tears splashed against her skin.

  'I am yours,' she said, rocking him like her own child.

  'My love,' he said, his voice muffled against her chest.