Stone of Help (Annals of Lystra)

by Robin Hardy

  “There are many thousands royals more—I don’t know how much,” Colin continued. “But the entire treasury is yours, Commander, if you will give me a place in your army and let me serve under you.”

  In the dumbstruck silence of all those around, Roman raised one eyebrow ever so slightly and said, “Done.”

  Colin breathed out. “Send with me a unit of your most trusted men, and I will bring you back a treasury ten times that of Karel’s.”

  Roman addressed the soldier at his side. “Didn’t I say you would be rewarded on our return? Marc, I charge you and Varan to select and lead a unit to Ooster tomorrow morning. For your services, I will appoint you a percentage of what you bring back.”

  “Commander!” Despite their depleted condition, they somehow found the energy to salute smartly before sprinting from the hall.

  “Colin.” Roman turned back to him. “I am grateful for your loyalty to the alliance with Galapos, even at the cost of defying your father.”

  “A good soldier stands by his word,” Colin replied.

  “You are that,” Roman acknowledged. “Now, do you accept this charge: to defend Lystra and the Surchatain with your life, to execute the orders of your Commander, and to deal responsibly with the men under you?”

  “I do, Commander.” Colin stood straight-backed.

  “Then I appoint you to the rank of captain in the army. Dub,” Roman motioned to a soldier, “take Captain Colin to one of the captain’s quarters and find him a uniform.” To Colin he added, “Tomorrow early, Marc and Varan and their men will meet you at the front gates. When you return from Ooster, I will set you over a unit.”

  “Commander!” Colin saluted, as did Dub, and crisply departed.

  Roman looked down at the mess of gold on the floor and said, “Counselor, it appears you’ve been repaid for the hundred royals you gave me. Gather these up for the treasury and begin settling accounts with the soldiers immediately. And yourself, of course.”

  “Certainly, Commander.” Basil stooped eagerly, mentally computing.

  Roman’s return, and the good fortune attending it, led to a sudden transformation around the palace. Soldiers who had been slacking off, moping or drinking, all at once began repairing equipment and drilling again. Posts that had been abandoned were now attended with correctly dressed guards standing at attention. And when word leaked out that there was money in the treasury again, servants who missed the comforts of palace life returned in droves, seeking work. As Basil was inundated with requests for appointments, interviews, and considerations, he could not have been happier.

  Roman himself had an interview that had been waiting several months. Somewhat shyly, he opened the nursery door. The nursemaid raised her head and stood quickly. “Commander! You’re back! Welcome home, Commander Roman!” Gusta restrained herself to greet him with the proper respect, although her face shone.

  He nodded distractedly to her and began, “Where . . . ?” She pointed proudly to the bed, where a black-headed baby lay enthusiastically whipping a heavy medallion about. “Is that the infant I left?” Roman gasped. Pausing to watch him quietly for a moment, Roman remarked the similarity he saw in the baby’s features to Deirdre’s—the shape of the eyes, the curve of the lips.

  Then he crossed over and picked up the child. As the baby whacked him in the face with the medallion, he took it from the little fist and asked, “How did he get hold of this?”

  “Commander, the Surchatain gave it as a bequest to him before he left, as he seemed uncertain of ever returning. And he gave him a charge, which he instructed me to tell you on your return.” She pursed her lips to get her memory in order and Roman watched her intently.

  “He said, the medallion is a symbol to the Surchatain’s family that your life and rule are preserved by God. He said that if you fail to walk in God’s ways, you forfeit His protection and become prey for any evil on the earth. He said it is also a reminder that God delivers those who call on His name, and he charged the baby to serve God as did his father and grandfather.”

  Roman nodded slowly, closing his eyes. “Galapos is a wise, wise man. . . . Have I lost them both, now?” As he gazed at the child, the nursemaid grew anxious at the sadness in his eyes.

  “Commander, he’s a strong, healthy baby,” Gusta said brightly. “He’ll make you so proud! But he needs a name! What will you name him?”

  Roman stared into the baby’s face, then sighed and shook his head. “I can’t even think now. I will have to think of what she would have wanted to name him.”

  He looked up out the window toward the northern hill country, and his drawn face darkened. He handed the child to the nursemaid, saying, “I have one more task that remains before I can rest.”

  As he left the nursery and trotted down the stairs, reservations flooded his mind: You’re tired—you’ve ridden almost two days and a night just to get here. You’ve done well; you can rest and take care of the other later.

  Looking up, Roman replied to the air, “If I delay, you will escape and come back to cause trouble later.”

  Downstairs, he strapped on his sword and called for a fresh horse. Basil met him at the door, anxious. “Where are you going, Roman?”

  The Commander stopped briefly. “There is an evil which I have allowed to remain too long in Lystra. I am going to remove it without further delay. I’ll be back before nightfall, Basil—if I live.” Baffled, the Counselor stepped aside to let him leave.

  Roman took the waiting horse’s reins from the errand boy, who grinned up at him, “Welcome home, Commander.”

  “Thank you, Kevin,” he smiled wearily. But he lifted himself onto the horse and resolutely headed toward the hills. Stride by stride, he prayed with grim intensity. He feared what he had to do. But she must be dealt with.

  As he rode, he looked down at the horse’s hooves ploughing into the snow. It was virgin white all around, but for tiny prints of hares or birds. Roman warily scanned the ground for large animal tracks. Despite seeing none, he threw back his cloak to ride with one hand on the hilt of his sword. He would not be caught unaware.

  He paused at a ravine to gauge his direction. Her hut was farther north—yes, that was the way. He dismounted to lead his horse down into and up the far side of the rocky, icy ravine. Topping the crest, he had scarcely glanced up before a mammoth black wolf crashed into his chest, fangs lunging for his throat.

  The momentum of the attack threw man and wolf back down into the gorge. Painfully, but fortunately, they landed in a tangling mass of frosty briar. In the precious seconds the wolf needed to free itself, snapping and snarling, Roman had gotten to his knees and drawn his sword. At the wolf’s next lunge, he held the sword steady with both hands and the beast blindly impaled itself on the blade. Then it sank dead before him.

  Staggering up, Roman stared down in unsteady wonder at the monster. He had never seen a wolf like it before. It was large beyond belief—almost the size of a small pony. It had thick, blue-black fur and abnormally long fangs. And strangely, it had no tail. The putrid smell of its blood drove Roman back a pace. At length, he shrugged off the mystery of it, climbed out of the ravine, and remounted. He would not be deterred.

  He reached the witch’s hut, holding his newly stained sword at the ready. Smoke wafted up from the crude chimney. Breathing a final prayer, he slid from his horse and approached the door. “Come out to me, Varela!” There was no movement in reply. He braced himself and shoved open the door.

  He saw the rough table cluttered with herbs and utensils. A large book lay open on it. A fire burned in the grate. A chair lay overturned by the table. She had apparently gone in haste, intending to return soon.

  Roman stood a moment, undecided. Should he wait for her? No—the idea was abhorrent to him. But he would make certain she had nothing to return to.

  He gingerly lifted a burning branch from the fire and set it to the book on the table, then to the table itself, the chair, the sides of the hut. Stepping outside, he tossed the branch
up onto the thatched roof. Then impassively he watched the flames consume the hut and melt the snow around it in a widening ring.

  As he witnessed the fire burn fiercely and then die away, he felt the conviction that he had done all that was required of him.

  Chapter 19

  “Goldie, please decorate these cakes for me,” Bettina whispered. “I can’t do it like you, and the mistress will slay me if it’s not done just right.”

  Deirdre smiled and took the tray of pastries. “The mistress is especially edgy today.”

  “Someone important is dining with the Surchataine, and she has promised the gallows for anyone who fails in his duties.” Bettina hushed as the kitchen mistress harriedly approached.

  “Goldie—here—you serve the wine tonight. No, no—no need to take that stinking ale Caranoe likes. He is not at table tonight. He is ill in his room. Here—go on!”

  Within his chambers, Caranoe stood whispering instructions to an armed soldier: “You will station your men at every exit and behind every curtain. We will allow them dinner. Then, after the meal, I will enter the hall and make my accusations against Troyce before Sheva and everyone present.

  “Your signal will be the word traitor. When you hear that word, you will attack and kill everyone. If you let anyone escape, you will pay for it! Make certain you slay Sheva first, then Troyce, then all her bodyguard, servants, and court. When all is done, I shall announce at large that I quashed an attempted takeover by Troyce, and that I am the new Surchatain. If you execute my instructions to the letter, you will be Commander of my army. Now go!”

  Deirdre stepped gracefully into the dining hall with the silver decanter of wine. She noted with approval the boughs of evergreen hanging above the doorways and the holly with its cheery red berries wreathing the candles. Those she made with her own hands.

  But as she looked from the evergreen on the table to the faces above it, her breathing stopped and her legs turned to water. There, seated at Sheva’s left, was Galapos, dear Galapos, her own father. He wore his Lystran uniform in the midst of the enemy like a proud bear surrounded by scruffy dogs.

  For an instant she was ready to drop the decanter and fling herself upon him. But somehow she was restrained, and woodenly advanced with the wine. He must see me; he must see me, she thought as she poured the Surchataine’s wine.

  Now she was pouring his wine, leaning close to him, almost in his face. She even dared to spill a drop in his lap to make him look at her, even in anger. But he did not raise his head. Perspiration beaded on her forehead as she filled Lord Troyce’s goblet, across from him. He must see me. But as she worked her way around the table, Galapos never looked toward her.

  “I was somewhat surprised by your invitation, my lady,” he was saying. “Knowing you were allied with Tremaine, I did not think we had much to discuss. So what is it you wish to tell me?”

  “Galapos, you offend me,” she protested sweetly. “I had no desire to see Tremaine rule the Continent, but Savin chose to join with him, and what can a mere woman do but go along with her husband? Your victory, however, allows each of us to rule our own sphere as we ought. Will you allow me to rule my little plot, my lord?” she beseeched him.

  He eyed her shrewdly. “If you obey and enforce my laws, Sheva.”

  She lowered her eyes to hide her anger. Then she casually said, “I must confess I was surprised to see you brought no soldiers.”

  “Why should I?” he returned easily, reaching for his goblet. “One ruler visiting another by invitation should have no fear for his life. You know the value of protecting the office.”

  “But, how dangerous for a ruler to travel alone. . . .”

  “Not for me. Somehow, I find friends in every corner.” He gave her a meaningful eye. “My soldiers are where I need them, Sheva.”

  The Surchataine shifted uneasily. The other guests hardly stirred, watching this interchange with consuming interest. Brude, though, stared at Galapos in blatant hatred. Galapos matched his stare with cold blue eyes until the other looked away.

  Deirdre finished pouring and had to step away from the table behind Sheva. Still he did not look. Then she realized sickeningly that he had not recognized her. He would eat and carry on business and leave, never knowing that his only child had served him wine at Sheva’s table.

  The despair of the situation almost strangled her. Blackness passed momentarily before her face. But from out of the mists, she heard Galapos saying, “There is, however, one thing we lack desperately at Westford, my lady, and that is pretty serving girls. You seem to have an abundance. In your generosity, perhaps you would allow me to buy one or two from you?”

  Sheva recovered, amused. “Which one catches your eye, my lord?”

  “Why,” Galapos straightened and casually looked over the serving maids who entered and exited. “Your wine bearer is comely, though sloppy.”

  The Surchataine shifted to regard Deirdre, who stood motionless for fear of screaming or fainting. Then Sheva turned back and deliberately placed her elbows on the table. “I never knew you had such an interest in serving girls, Galapos.” The softness of her voice accentuated her contempt. Lord Troyce glanced in furtive embarrassment at Sheva.

  “Well,” Galapos winked, “it certainly makes a pleasanter dinner to have one like her around.”

  Sheva smiled. “And what would you pay for her?”

  “What would you require, my lady?” Galapos returned.

  Sheva’s eyes gleamed with fanciful greed. “Your life, Galapos.”

  A gasp went around the table. But when Galapos said, “I will pay it,” even Sheva was silent.

  Then she sputtered, “Are you a fool, Galapos? What is she to you? Don’t you know your word before me is irrevocable?”

  “I know, Sheva.” Deirdre had never seen him so calm and sure. “But I require a bill of freedom to assure her release after my death.”

  Sheva spun to Lord Troyce. “Go write up the proper paper immediately—bring it and—”

  “Surchataine!” cried Lord Troyce. “There is no proper paper for such a thing! To require the blood of a ruler to free a slave is—is absurd! You must not even consider—”

  “Do as I say!” Sheva screamed. “Or pay the price yourself!”

  For a moment he sat frozen. Then he rose, knocking the table, and hurried from the hall.

  Deirdre was struck immobile in horror and hope. The guests at table watched Sheva and Galapos. Sheva calmly resumed her meal; Galapos sat contemplating.

  In minutes Troyce returned, carrying a paper. “Sheva, I beg you—”

  “Read what you have written,” she commanded.

  He swallowed and coughed. “Bill of Freedom. This bill authorizes the release from the service of Sheva, Surchataine of Goerge, one maid known as Goldie. This bill is effective upon the death of Galapos, Surchatain of Lystra, and assures the freedom from bondage of said maid to the day of her death. Signed with the Surchataine’s seal this tenth day of the sixth month of the first year of her reign.”

  Sheva turned to Galapos. “Is it satisfactory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then bring the candle,” she instructed Troyce. Helplessly, he handed her a lighted taper. She dripped it on the document, then pressed her signet ring into the wax.

  The Surchataine stood and held the bill out to Deirdre. “Claim your freedom, girl.”

  Her anguish broke. “No! No! Galapos, no!”

  “Child—Goldie.” He addressed her by that silly name in a voice of quiet authority. “Take it. It must be so.”

  To refuse such authority, so graciously expended on her behalf, was arrogance. Trembling, Deirdre accepted the document.

  “Guards.” Sheva was radiant with unexpected triumph. “Escort our guest to the gallows.”

  There was upheaval as the guards took hold of Galapos and led him out. The dinner guests rose of one accord to follow and watch. Deirdre forced herself as far as the door which opened into the courtyard, then leaned in despair
on the doorjamb as the others brushed past her for a better view.

  By this time Kam, outside as instructed, had found some logs to split behind the servants’ house. He was working undisturbed by the servants and guards, who were occupied with their own chores. “Look there!” the smith said suddenly, pointing his hammer toward the palace.

  Kam could not see around the corner of the building, but others near the smith stopped their work to watch. “Who’s that?” asked one.

  “A dead man, now,” another answered bitterly. As other servants were coming around the building to look, Kam dropped the axe and joined them.

  In horror Kam watched as his sovereign was shoved toward the gallows, then bound there. Kam descried the Surchataine in her royal dress and her administrator beside her, talking rapidly. He could not hear Troyce saying, “Sheva, this is madness! Consider the consequences of murdering a Surchatain!” Kam could only watch in furious impotence as Galapos was taken, unresisting, to the platform and fitted with the noose. The Surchatain stood at attention, eyes straight ahead as if fixed on something compelling. A hood was brought up but Sheva waved it away. She wanted everyone to witness the contortions of death in his face.

  The guards began backing off. Sheva stepped up to the gallows and said something to Galapos. He made no reply that Kam could see.

  Suddenly Kam roused from his shock: Kam, you idiot, do something! Sheva raised her hand and Kam lunged toward the courtyard. A guard stopped him with a blow to his chest. He fell to his knees, breathless, as Sheva dropped her hand and Galapos dropped through the platform.

  Kam struggled, unable to breathe, to move, to tear his eyes from the horror of the scene before him. When at last Kam’s breath came in a rending gasp, Galapos was still.

  In a loud voice, Sheva ordered the body taken down and thrown over the cliffs into the Sea. Kam, on his knees, pressed his forehead into the dirt, utterly unable to believe what he had just seen. It was not real. It could not have happened to Galapos. But the servants around him began to disperse and return to their chores. They had witnessed it, and it meant nothing to them.