by Robin Hardy
Deirdre listened with a pounding heart. Josef had laid the foundation; Galapos had added stone and mortar—all because they placed the lives of others above their own. They loved as He loved, on whose message they had staked their own lives.
Sevter shook his head. “He was right all along.”
Deirdre began shivering, and realized she was cold. The forest was already in the shadow of night. She pulled the fur cloak more tightly around herself and murmured, “How shall we sleep out here in this cold?”
The three men bestirred themselves at once, but Nihl reached her first. “Come. You shall be sheltered.” He led her back to the camp where she saw that while they had been talking, the army had laid themselves out on blankets beside large, leaping fires.
“Wherever did they find so much wood?” she wondered.
“They brought it from the palace,” Nihl answered as if it were a respectable question, and Deirdre blushed at her empty-headedness. He showed her a small sheepskin tent warming by yet another fire being attended by a soldier on watch. The soldier was paying even greater attention to Bettina, who sat nearby holding Arund.
Deirdre peeked into the tent as Nihl said, “This is your bed tonight. I will sleep at the doorway to guard you in the night.”
She nodded, smiling to herself, All these Polonti have such strong protective instincts. She turned to Bettina to take Arund, then opened her mouth to invite her to share her tent.
But Bettina anticipated her. “I have a place to sleep tonight, Goldie—er, Deirdre,” she said, slipping off. So Deirdre knelt to enter the tent, laying the baby on the quilts beside her.
In the morning, she was awakened by the bustle of camp breaking. After nursing Arund, she peeked out to observe the soldiers loading the animals and snuffing out the campfires. Over her head, she heard Nihl’s voice: “Do you wish breakfast, Chataine?”
She looked up to see him standing over her with a chunk of cheese and bread, which he handed her. “They are eager to be moving,” he said almost conversationally, “so if you will stand here by the fire to eat, I will load your tent.”
“Thank you, Nihl, but you needn’t serve me,” she said, emerging.
“It is an honor to serve you,” he said.
As she ate and then strapped Arund to her chest, Deirdre thought about how long it had been since anyone considered himself honored by her presence. With pain, she realized afresh that Roman had treated her with just such honor every day—and she had returned to him spite. “I’m ready to ride,” she said humbly to Nihl.
Travel that day promised to be as easy and rapid as the day before. That small fact amazed Deirdre as much as anything—that she could ride for so long with so little discomfort. Yet she knew why. She was so much stronger now than she had ever been. The hard, sustained work required of her as a servant had actually endowed her with the stamina she needed now. In fact . . . she had begun to learn to walk.
Deirdre’s army passed through only two small villages that day, but toward nightfall they spotted the cheery lights of Bresen. Deirdre glanced at Nihl, riding in the vanguard to her right. “Do you know what place this is?” she asked. He tightened his lips and nodded. “Alert your men, then. We’re raiding it,” she said.
Troyce uttered a startled protest, but Deirdre ignored him. They halted the company on the outskirts of town, where she and Nihl selected a hundred warriors. She left Arund with Bettina and instructed Sevter and Troyce to take charge of the caravan. Then the band stole group by group into town on foot and collected in the shadow of the inn.
“There is the slave tent,” whispered Deirdre, nodding toward it. “How shall we do this, Nihl?”
“Surround it and attack on my signal,” he returned. “Give all keys to the Chataine.” His instructions were passed along in a whisper. To Deirdre he said, “Please stay by my side.” Much as he might have liked, he would not presume to tell her to stay back altogether.
Like ghosts, the men encircled the tent. Deirdre and Nihl approached from the front. Two renegades at the tent entrance stopped their idle conversation to look them over. Nihl drew within a few feet of them and stopped, smiling.
For an instant neither moved. Then one renegade came to life, swearing, and drew his sword. Nihl brought his own up with a sharp whistle, and his men leaped from the shadows onto the renegades and slave traders.
Such a lopsided contest lasted only a few minutes. The slaves within the tent, seeing only swords and torches, began screaming in terror of their lives. Nihl entered the airless tent and raised a torch, shouting, “Silence. Silence! Deirdre of Lystra is freeing you!” The men brought her every key they could recover, and Deirdre exultantly began unlocking prisoner after prisoner.
At first they stood dumbfounded. In his bewilderment, one of the newly freed slaves stumbled over a blanketed pile on the ground. Curious, he lifted the blanket to reveal five large money boxes. He seized one and began to run, but another freedman knocked him down. Others started to fight viciously over the remaining boxes.
Nihl shouted, “Stop! Release the money!” but they paid him no attention until the soldiers yanked away the boxes and piled them in a protected area at Nihl’s feet. When order was restored, he instructed two nearby soldiers, “Count the money.” Slaves and soldiers stood around in a tight circle as they counted out gold and silver pieces worth over twenty thousand royals.
Nihl had an idea, and conferred quietly with Deirdre as she paused over the chains. When she nodded her approval, he said, “Count out to each slave one hundred royals. The rest of the money goes into the Chataine’s treasury.” To the slaves at large, he said, “This money is your recompense for your suffering. Take it and go peacefully.” As the last sentence had the tone of a threat, many did just that.
Deirdre continued unlocking manacles. She released a child who clung to her, bringing her to tears. “Who do you belong to?” she asked him. He just held on to her more tightly. “But who takes care of you?” she persisted.
A slave nearby said, “My lady, that un’s an orphan. Don’t know where they picked him up, but he’s alone.”
She shook in anger. “Nihl!” Not far away, he came to stand beside her. “Nihl, find me a compassionate man from among you.”
He cocked his head as if to check his hearing, then regarded the boy clinging to her skirts. Nihl turned and scanned the soldiers, summoning, “Wence, present yourself to the Chataine.”
A giant of a man with a rough, black face stepped forward. After a moment of uncertainty, Deirdre cleared her throat and said, “Wence, this child is an orphan, and I wish you to ward him until we reach Westford and a family is found to take him in.”
The man’s black eyes looked down on the child whom she pushed forward. Wence bent until he was eye level with him and uttered deeply, “Do you like hoppy toads?” The boy managed a nervous giggle and Wence said, “I have found a hoppy toad outside. Let’s go have a look at him.” So saying, he took the little white hand in his mammoth grasp and led him out of the tent.
Deirdre let out a relieved laugh and turned back to releasing slaves. They were straining forward now, reaching out, clamoring to get free. She grew uneasy at their pawing and shouting, but Nihl stood beside her to restrain them with the sight of his dripping sword.
There were other orphans among the slaves, and as she released them she pulled them each a man from Nihl’s ranks to act as guardians. She found not only Polonti among the slaves, but many villagers from provinces other than Goerge. She unlocked one prisoner who said calmly, “Deirdre of Lystra, I thank you.” His voice had a Selecan accent.
“Are you from Seleca?” she asked.
“Yes, lady. I was taken from a village north of Corona.”
“Why did they bring you so far, to Bresen, to sell you?”
“There are slave markets in Corona,” he said slowly, rubbing his wrists, “but they are so crowded that many merchants found they could get more money here. Less dangerous here, too—until now.” He took a br
eath. “Will you take another soldier, lady?”
She smiled and nodded toward Nihl. “Present yourself to your new Commander.” A good number of the freedmen did likewise, and Nihl’s band swelled. Yet other slaves who never had the benefit of Josef’s teachings wanted more satisfaction than a hundred royals and service in Deirdre’s army. They began to attack and plunder the town.
When Deirdre had freed all slaves and emerged from the tent, she gasped to see townspeople screaming and fleeing from the inn. Nihl’s men, running inside to aid, suddenly found themselves in the unhappy position of fighting to defend the slave town against some of those they had just freed. Distressed by the absurdity of it, Deirdre watched freedmen battle freedmen.
Nihl’s soldiers gathered up the looters and shook the citizens’ property from their hands, then executed swift punishment on the offenders. Deirdre turned her head, unable to watch. But the remainder of the freedmen became considerably more tractable.
When order was restored, the band returned to the camp at large with thirty new members in their ranks. Troyce and Sevter met them at once, faint with relief. “Chataine, I consider it a personal favor that you have come back whole,” Troyce said, his face drained. Uppermost in his mind was the futility of returning to her homeland and husband without her.
She tried to look rugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Not doubting your ability, Deirdre, but we heard the commotion even here,” Sevter said. “And it continued at length.”
She sagged. “It was a mess.”
“It was a successful raid,” Nihl remarked.
“You’re a good leader, Nihl,” she said quietly. “I could not have known how to control those slaves. I’m sure Roman will put you in a position over the army.”
“Thank you, Chataine,” he said, looking as pleased as a stone-faced Polonti could look.
As Deirdre took Arund from Bettina, the maid asked, “May I speak with you, my lady?”
“Of course,” Deirdre said, wondering at her formality.
“Will you tell me . . .” Bettina began hesitantly, “is there a place you wished me to serve in your household?”
“Of course!” Deirdre said brightly. “There will always be a place for you, Bettina.” The girl looked down and Deirdre thought she was going to cry. “That’s . . . not want you wanted?”
“I was hoping you would release me from service,” Bettina said, her face reddening. “There is a man who wants to marry me, but he will not marry a slave.”
Deirdre stammered, “I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t consider you . . . of course you are free, Bettina.”
As Bettina bowed and turned away, Deirdre wondered, downcast, How could she assume she’s still a slave after all that has happened? Does it have anything to do with how I have been treating her? Feeling strangely ashamed, Deirdre hunched down in her tent for the night.
She awoke at sunrise, as the camp was just beginning to break up. She herself was ready to ride in minutes, but with so many people and animals in tow, it required hours to get the caravan moving. Deirdre pressed them for speed, impatient to see home.
At last they moved forward and gained the road, with Deirdre, Troyce, Sevter and Nihl leading as before. They had traveled only minutes when they spotted a lone horseman riding toward them. Deirdre cried, “Nihl, look!” What she saw was a young woman trailing the horse, hands tied with a length of rope to the saddle.
Nihl’s men were upon the renegade before he realized the danger. As they released the girl to join their company, she wrapped her arms around soldier after soldier, crying, “No one would look! No one would stop!”
“I know,” Deirdre muttered, unheard. One soldier the girl embraced held on, and she remained with him into Westford.
The caravan moved again. They had hardly journeyed for half an hour before they spotted another traveler coming up the road driving a cart. He slowed, peering at the company, and as two of Nihl’s soldiers spurred toward him he leapt from the cart and dove into the brush. His cart carried four slaves chained to the floorboard, all Polonti men. They were unlocked and freed. As they walked up to the vanguard, Nihl startled and exclaimed, “Asgard!”
One of the Polonti quickly looked up and, seeing him, said dryly, “You would have saved us some considerable trouble if you had sent word you were well, Nihl.”
He dismounted. “How did they capture you, Asgard?”
“We allowed it, to find out what had become of you. I did not know you were gathering an army.” He looked at Deirdre. “Who is this?”
Nihl answered, “This is Chataine Deirdre, and this is her army. Come ride beside me and I will tell you an interesting story.”
As Asgard was given a horse, Deirdre whispered to Nihl, “Who is that?”
“My brother, Chataine.”
“Your brother! Posing as a slave? How clever! . . . Nihl, I can’t believe all of the slaves—the number of traders! Who is buying all these slaves?”
Nihl raised his black brows slightly. “They use no servants at your palace?”
“Not slaves!” she insisted, then caught herself with a gasp. It was true, Galapos had prohibited slave labor at Westford, but under Karel . . . those servants had not been paid. Karel’s fields had been worked by slaves. Her beautiful clothes and the delicious foods and the constant attendance on her person—all had been done by slaves, though they were not called such. Even Nanna was a slave, bought to love and nurture a child for nothing in return.
Deirdre dropped her head in shame. How ignorantly she had used those people, caring nothing for their needs or their pain. She had even tried to make slaves to herself of those who were free, like Roman. The way she had acted toward those around her, no wonder Bettina assumed the worst! If I have learned nothing else from this, I will never again attempt to make anyone my slave, she vowed.
And she was not returning empty. She looked down lovingly at Arund, strapped to her chest. “Your brother at Westford awaits,” she whispered.
The company moved on. Nihl began recounting to Asgard the story of the Forty’s trek to Diamond’s Head and of their enslavement. While listening to him, Deirdre became aware of a sound she had been hearing indistinctly, without comprehension. Now that they were closer to the source, it sounded like a prolonged wailing or crying. Thinking it to be another slave, she said, “Nihl, lead the caravan. I must find out who that is.”
Sevter said quickly, “Deirdre, I will go with you.” Nihl nodded, gesturing to a few soldiers to accompany them.
They broke from the road and followed the sound through the forest. Shortly, they came into a little clearing and a sturdy house. A woman was kneeling before a fresh mound in the cold earth—a tiny grave. Her grief was so intense, she was not aware of their presence at first.
When she did see them, she stood hastily and passed a hand over her face. “Forgive me . . . I see you are traveling. Be pleased to stop here and refresh yourselves,” she offered in a shaky voice.
“Who are you grieving, lady?” Deirdre asked tenderly, without dis-mounting.
The woman tried not to look at the bundle strapped to Deirdre’s chest. “It was . . . it was my baby that died,” she said brokenly, her face contorting. “My husband is dead—the boy was the only one I had left in the world.”
Sevter whispered suddenly to Deirdre, “I know this woman. I have bought woolens from her in Bresen. They say she is the only honest wool dealer in the province”—he paused and Deirdre knew the same thought had occurred to them both.
To drive it away, she asked the woman, “How do you live?”
“I sell woolens in Bresen,” she replied, jerking her head toward a pen of sheep next to her house. “I do well enough. The merchants I deal with live close by here and their men watch out for us—me—as well.”
Sevter dismounted and helped Deirdre down. His eyes were convicting. “You know what you should do,” he whispered.
“No!” she protested. “Arund is mine! How can I hand him over to
a stranger?”
“He is not yours—remember? Your son waits for you in a palace. What will become of this babe if you take him home with you?”
“I will love him and care for him as I would my very own—as I have been doing! He will be brother to my child,” Deirdre insisted.
“In your eyes, perhaps, but no one else’s. A child of unknown parentage would be given no quarter with the Surchatain’s family.”
Legally, he was correct. Deirdre glanced apprehensively at the woman, who, perceiving an argument in progress, discreetly kept her distance. “Roman would accept him,” Deirdre said dully.
“Perhaps. But he could not force anyone else to. Arund would never gain the standing of your own son. Can’t you see what kind of a life you are destining for this child if you insist on having him with you always? He would be no better than a slave. You’ve done well to care for him this far, but you can no longer do him any good. Give him up, Deirdre, to someone who can!”
Apparently the woman overheard, for she looked to be frozen on the edge of an unbearable hope. Deirdre, loosening Arund’s ties from her chest, forced her legs to walk toward the widow. “If I gave you the chance of another son, would you swear before God to care for him with your life and love him with your soul?”
“I—I would do all you say and more!”
Deirdre handed Arund to the weeping woman. “He was the child of a slave who died. He is your child now. His name is Arund.” She turned quickly back to Sevter before her own grief escaped. As they spurred their horses to rejoin the caravan, the woman called down blessing after blessing from heaven on their heads.
Chapter 21
A trumpet alarm rang through the palace at Westford as a lone rider pounded exhausted through the gates, calling hoarsely, “Basil! Basil!”
The Counselor met him at once. “Kam! What has happened? Where is Galapos?”