The Wikosans, on the other hand, had tried to maintain their city's wealth by plundering surrounding regions, something which had worked in the short term but now required them to range farther and farther afield since the communities near them had been looted dry.
"Cap'n, sir?” Sergeant Tyndall asked awkwardly a few weeks after their arrival. “We got a situation that needs handling. Private Murphy keeps asking me when we're going to hold church services."
He should have realized the troopers of Irish descent would worry about that more than the others. “Have you found any Catholic priests, sergeant?"
"No, sir. What do I tell Murphy and the others?"
"Let me talk to the Odwan, first.” He wasn't surprised to learn from Freya that the Catholic church didn't exist as such in this world, or at least in this part of this world, but on the other hand the Asterans had no objection to others practicing their own beliefs as long as such beliefs didn't involve human sacrifice. Benton informed his troopers that they could hold services as they wished and that he would officiate at any of them if asked.
The next crisis was one Benton had assumed was inevitable. Sergeant Tyndall escorted Private Bannock into Benton's quarters, the Asteran “Sergeant” Belisa hovering in the background with an unreadable expression. With a worried glance at Tyndall, Bannock saluted. “Captain, request permission to marry, sir."
"What happened, sergeant?” Benton asked Tyndall.
"Thanks to Bannock, one of the city girls is in a family way, captain. Belisa tells me the girl's family is okay with that, as long as Bannock does his duty by her."
The Asteran nodded soberly. “He binds to her and her only. Marriage? Yes. Or he pays child-price."
"What's child-price?"
"Enough to take care of child until grown."
Private Bannock owned little but the uniform on his back, and that was technically the property of the U.S. Government. Benton gave Bannock a sharp look. “You plan on marrying her? Do you understand that this will be a legal marriage that you can't just ride away from?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you have any idea what I'll do to you if I find out you have in any way mistreated that girl or acted in any way which might disappoint the people of this city in our company or damage the reputation of the United States Cavalry?"
"Yes, sir. No, sir. I'll treat her right, sir."
"Permission granted."
The cavalry company hunkered down within the city as winter hit hard, the winds howling from the north, and snow drifts piling up against the walls of the city so deep in places that groups of citizens were sent out to clear them before anyone could use the drifts as ramps to enter the city.
His language skills improving daily, Benton found he could speak more and more naturally with Freya in a strange mix of English and the Asteran tongue. The Odwan had proven skilled at working out any conflicts among the cavalry and the city, mediating in a way that had impressed Benton. Lieutenant Garret, when not helping to supervise the company and its efforts to become self-sufficient, spent a lot of time in the city's library, puzzling his way through documents, some of which were written in languages the Asterans themselves had little command of.
Unfortunately, the more they learned, the more obvious it was that one company of cavalry couldn't miraculously solve all of the problems here. The Asterans had been able to use diplomacy to play different potential foes off of each other. This had limited attacks on the city, but as the experience with the Wikosans had shown even the most Byzantine diplomacy had its limits when it couldn't be backed up by sufficient power. Astera's position remained perilous, cut off from trade and with many crops and much livestock lost to the same Wikosans who had attacked the city. It would take time to get a gunpowder mill set up and a steady source of sulfur identified, and until then the cavalry was limited to the ammunition they had brought with them. The idea of equipping the Asterans with rifles manufactured here had been raised early on, but the city simply didn't have enough of the right metals and tools to even produce more than a few such weapons on a handcrafted basis over the winter.
On a crisp day in what Benton thought was January, a once-more awkward Sergeant Tyndall stopped by. “Begging your pardon, cap'n. But there's something I've been wondering. You see, sir, there's a lot about this place that's different, and sometimes it takes a while to figure if different is good different or bad different or just something you can make either way."
Benton nodded solemnly. “I suppose that's right, sergeant."
"Well, cap'n, an old Indian once told me that when the Great Spirit gives you a horse, you don't go around looking for another dog instead. What I mean is, even if something isn't the way you always thought things should be, maybe it's still okay."
"Is that about Belisa, sergeant?"
Tyndall's face flushed red. “Yes, sir, cap'n."
"Do you want to know if it's okay to get to know her better?"
"I think I already know her real well, cap'n. Not to imply anything improper. No, sir.” The sergeant let exasperation show. “But, cap'n, come campaign season, if the Asteran army goes out, Belisa goes with it. She's made it real clear that won't change. At first I was thinking, all right, Tyndall, you'll rescue the lady if she needs it. But I've watched Belisa training and practice fighting an’ all, and now I'm thinking it's just as likely she might be the one rescuing me. And I don't know what to think about all that, sir. Her fighting in a battle and being real good at it. She's a fine top sergeant as well as a fine woman, cap'n. But that ain't what I was brought up thinking a woman should be."
It was the sort of question he had thought would have arisen more than it already had. “Sergeant, I've already given considerable consideration to just that question. I believe it comes down to this. You appreciate the woman who Belisa is. If she were a different woman, would you think the same of her?"
Tyndall scratched his head. “I don't know for sure, cap'n. Maybe not. She wouldn't be Belisa. Now, she wasn't raised a Christian, either, but that don't bother me. The Good Lord understands that kind of thing, and Belisa seems a better Christian than many a church-goer I've seen, if you take my meaning, sir."
"Then, Sergeant,” Benton advised, “I'd tell you to take Belisa as she is. She's not what we were raised to expect, but she is, as you say, a fine woman. Maybe changing what we expect isn't a bad idea."
Grinning, Tyndall nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. That's the truth, isn't it? Though she's not the only fine woman here. Not by a long shot. That Odwan Freya, she'd make a fine officer's lady. Hell, I mean she's a fine officer in her own right. Oh, damnation, what I mean is—"
"I understand, sergeant.” After Tyndall had left, Benton sat thinking, surprised at his own reactions to the sergeant's words about Freya. She was a fine lady, indeed, and the more he learned of her the more he thought of her. But his inadvertent implication at the negotiations that he might use her need for the cavalry's support to force her favors had been bothering Benton ever since then. Surely Freya had not forgotten, either. As an officer and as a gentleman, he could not allow her to believe that he ever intended demanding her as a price for the protection the cavalry company provided the city.
Only a few days later, Freya asked him to speak privately with her. The weather was mild that day, so she led the way to the city walls, where they could stand on a rampart isolated from anyone else and speak knowing that no one was close enough to overhear.
Freya leaned on the wall, looking east. She wasn't dressed for battle, but wearing one of the outfits in which she usually conducted business, a white blouse embroidered with depictions of horses that seemed to bear some ancestral debt to the drawings in the ruins south of here, dark trousers with more embroidery in many colors, a long over-skirt split almost all the way up the center and back so it fell gracefully at rest but didn't hinder movement or riding, and over all a high-collar, knee-length coat with more needlework, this time of warriors and battles moving among signs and emblems of v
arious kinds. It wasn't like any outfit that Benton had ever seen a woman wear, yet he found it very pleasing to the eye. “We must speak of war,” Freya said. “The Wikosans plan to attack Astera again, as soon as the threat of freezing storms lessens, but before we expect them."
"Your scouts told you this?"
"Yes. Scouts. Spies. I think both words are right. They say the army will be at least ten decires strong."
"Decires? I thought that was a military rank."
"Decires are also those who lead decires.” Freya held up her hands, all fingers spread, then closed all but two.
"Twelve?"
"A decire is a twelve of twelves."
Benton did the math. “One hundred and forty-four. Ten of those. So about one thousand five hundred.” Very nasty odds if only his cavalry company was counted, but Astera had its own army. “How many soldiers do you have?"
"Able to defend the walls? About eight decires. The ones who could face the enemy in open battle only number about six decires, though."
A question had kept occurring to him, and now he voiced it. “What happened? There's a lot more young and elderly people in this city than there are men and women of military age, and you had plenty of room for my men in your barracks and for our horses in your stables."
Freya's face grew somber and she let out a long sigh, her forehead resting for a moment on the cold stone of the parapet before she raised it again. “The last Odwan gathered the largest force that Astera could muster, and marched it to meet Wikosa in battle. He didn't know the Wikosans had forged a temporary alliance with Telasa, which controls the lands south of us to the great gulf. As our army fought the Wikosans, the Telasans fell upon us from the rear.” She shook her head. “Some of us managed to hold our formations together and fight our way clear. If night hadn't fallen we wouldn't have gotten away, but under cover of darkness we escaped. We left many comrades behind, those who had died holding their places. Now you know why we greeted your alliance with such joy."
It must have been a battle rivaling some of those during the southern rebellion against the United States. “The alliance has benefited us as well. How many mounted troops do you have?"
"Half a decire. Brave, but not the equal of yours, even if you did not carry the carbines."
All right, then. About one hundred U.S. Cavalry, counting all ranks, against fifteen hundred enemy soldiers. “We can fight on horse or on foot, outside the walls or inside, depending on what seems best."
"It is wise not make firm plans until we know more.” But despite her words Freya appeared unhappy, and she finally faced him full on. “I have deceived you in part. Not by saying what is false, but by not saying all that is true."
Benton frowned at her, shocked by how badly that statement had rattled him.
"There can be no half-truths between us if we are to fight as one,” Freya continued. “Now, under the sky, I give you a full answer to what you asked before. You wondered why the Wikosans attacked your company without speaking first, without learning who you were. That was my doing."
That had been the last thing that Benton had expected to hear. “You told the Wikosans to attack us? And they did?"
"No, no! Not that way. They would have heeded nothing from me. But on the walls we saw you coming. We could tell even from a distance that you weren't from any place we knew of. We had nothing to lose. I ordered everyone on the walls to begin cheering and pointing toward you, as if you were expected allies who had come to relieve the siege of the city."
He stared now, momentarily wordless at Freya's audacity. “You fooled the Wikosans into thinking you were happy to see us and that we were coming to help you?"
"We were happy to see you,” Freya replied with a half smile, “and you were coming to relieve the city. You just didn't know it yet.” The smile grew and became mischievous before fading into regret. “I should have told you. But I feared your response, and Astera needs your cavalry so badly."
He really ought to be angry that she had provoked the Wikosans to attack his company, but Benton found himself laughing. “That was a stratagem worthy of U.S. Grant himself! Sergeant Tyndall was right when we first met you and he told me to watch out for tricks from you.” Only after the last sentence had left his mouth did Benton realize he shouldn't have said that to her.
But Freya didn't seem offended, instead smiling. “You must thank your sergeant for me for giving me such praise."
Praise? Well, why wouldn't she see it that way? Male commanders who outwitted their opponents by using clever tricks or stratagems were happy to be praised for such skills. Why wouldn't a woman commander feel the same way? “I'll be sure to tell him you were pleased."
"Who is this U.S. Grant? Your leader?"
"Yes. He was a general, a war leader, and he was recently elected our president. That is, the people of my country voted for him to lead us."
"Oh. An Odwan. Like me."
"You?” Benton found himself staring at Freya again. “I thought you were some sort of princess.” Caught up with learning about the past here, learning the language and keeping an eye on the company, he'd neglected to learn much about how the city was run. It simply hadn't been necessary when he could deal directly with Odwan Freya.
"Prin-cess?” she now asked.
"Yes. Hereditary royalty. Your family rules because they're always in charge."
Freya's smile vanished. “Don't you believe I could earn this position on my own? Be elected because I'm the best at it?"
He could feel the heat of an embarrassed flush on his face as he realized that was exactly what his thoughts had been, even though Freya had repeatedly proven her intelligence and skills as a leader. “My sincere apologies. I spoke without thinking."
She seemed uncertain whether to accept the apology. “Our people belong to groups. By where they live, by what they do for work. The groups elect leaders, who form the council. The council votes for the Odwan."
A form of democracy then, instead of the monarchal setup he had assumed. “I am sorry."
Freya gave Benton a direct look. “Why did you think otherwise? Your men, they seemed surprised by our women. I did not wish to pry, but now I ask why?"
"Because back home our women don't fight alongside men and don't hold positions of authority."
Her gaze sharpened. “Unless they are a prin-cess?"
"Yes."
"This is a very backward place you come from. I had thought it very civilized, but now I see otherwise."
He bit back an angry rebuttal. Backward? When we have carbines and pistols and you have bows and arrows? But she's not talking about weapons or technology. She's talking about . . . civilization.
When he was twelve years old, Benton's mother had drawn up and proposed a few changes in the laws of his hometown. His mother, well read and with a keen mind, had crafted ideas that had impressed twelve-year-old Ulysses Benton, and which he still thought would have been of great benefit to the town. However, the proposals had been rejected without discussion or debate, but with a goodly portion of scorn because they had been made by a woman. His mother had never again ventured to do such a thing, though he had seen the well-hidden resentment in her whenever politics was discussed in her hearing, and young Benton had often wondered that the most foolish and least educated man in town could vote in elections and his mother could not.
He thought of the West he had known with a different way of seeing it, thinking of the women there who from necessity or desire worked at tasks regarded as unfeminine by his civilization. That civilization had not yet established a firm grip on those who lived between the Missouri River and the Sierra Nevada, and Benton now realized for the first time that when that happened, and women in the West were confined to corsets and kitchens, something of great value would have been lost. Maybe changing what we expect isn't a bad idea, he had told Sergeant Tyndall. “You have a point there. You have a very good point there."
His response finally seemed to mollify Freya. “But you do
not truly think like that. I see this. For a moment I feared you were like the Wikosans."
"They're that different from your people?” Benton asked.
Freya pointed west. “We are from those who came out of Palenkaza long ago. Along the waters of the greatest ocean."
"The west coast."
"Yes. The lands there. We, the peoples to our south and west and some ways north, all came out of Palenkaza, where the men and women work as one. This is as our ancestors were and as the Light wishes. But the Wikosans are of those who came out of Bareos, from the north out of the cold lands. They, and the people north and east of them to the mountains, do not live as we do."
Waves of migration, as Lieutenant Garret had speculated. “They don't have women soldiers?"
"Of course they do! What city could stand if half of its people didn't bear arms along with the other half? But the Wikosans use their women only to guard the city. On the attack, they use men, and they allow no women to lead their armies."
It felt odd to know that he would have agreed without question with the Wikosans not long ago, and even odder to realize how much his opinions of women had changed from being around those of Astera.
Freya inclined her head toward him. “Do I have your forgiveness for my deception?"
"Yes, Odwan Freya. I respect you all the more that you admitted to it, and for the cleverness of your stratagem. But you're right that we must keep each other apprised of such stratagems in the future."
She smiled, and Benton realized she had really cared how he would react. But then, the safety of her city and her people rested on how he had accepted the news, didn't it?
* * * *
Six weeks later, a courier raced down the road from the east, bringing news that triggered a full council of war. Besides Freya and Benton, it included Lieutenant Garret, the Decires Agani and Costoni, Sergeant Tyndall, and Belisa.
Analog SFF, April 2010 Page 5