by Robin Hardy
His face paled somewhat. “A brown leather pouch?” he asked. She nodded. “Did it have an imprint?” She nodded again. “Was the imprint a lion and a cross, Effie?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see it that well. Why? Have you lost . . . a. . . .”
“Never mind.” He straightened so abruptly that he winced. “May I have another egg, Effie? They’re good.”
She rose and took the bowl he held out to her. She dipped two more eggs from the kettle into the bowl, then looked down in surprise to see how they rattled against the wood in her hands.
“You don’t act like a Surchatain,” she observed peremptorily, turning to give him the bowl.
He looked up quickly at this unexpected statement, choking back a laugh. “How does a Surchatain act?”
“Well . . . lordly.”
“Arrogantly, you mean,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ve had my fill of pride, Effie. It got me into a lot of trouble. And it’s hard to be arrogant to the one who held my life in her little hands.”
Effie folded her hands in her lap, blushing. They were calloused and bony, anything but little. “But there is something more I must ask of you,” he added. She looked up attentively. “I must let my wife know that I’m all right. I need to get a message to the palace, but I’m too weak to go myself.”
“I can go for you!” she exclaimed.
“I was hoping you would,” he smiled. “Go to the palace and ask to see Surchataine Deirdre. Tell her what happened, and where I am, and that I am mending. If she asks proof that I really sent you, tell her . . . tell her that I have been humbled under a mighty hand, and from now on I will listen to Basil. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, I can do that,” she said importantly. She paused to tie her hair back with one of her new ribbons, glancing self-consciously at his smile. Then she hurried out, feeling so responsible on this mission that she could barely restrain herself to a brisk walk.
Relaxed and smiling, Roman waved as she trotted away. But as soon as she was out of sight, his face tensed and he began straining to work his unresponsive left arm.
Upon reaching the market road, Effie ran down it, around carts and horses, to within sight of the formidable gates of the palace. Here she slowed to a timid walk. Who was she to demand to speak with the Surchataine? A new hair ribbon did not confer much credibility. But remembering who sent her, she boldly approached one of the guards at the gate and looked him in the eye.
“I need to see the Surchataine,” she announced.
The guard turned up a corner of his mouth. “Why, kitten?”
“I have a very important message for her. You must let me speak to her,” she said gravely.
He arched a brow. “What’s your message?”
“Surchatain Roman is at my house, mending from a wound. He wants her to know he is well, and he has a special message for her.”
The guard’s smile vanished. “The Surchatain is dead, girl.”
“No, he’s not,” Effie insisted. “He’s at my house. He sent me to tell her this.”
The guard hesitated, then said, “Come.” He took her into the palace foyer, where they chanced to see the big blond soldier who had come to Effie’s hut.
“Captain!” the guard called, and he turned.
“Sebastian?”
“Captain Olynn, this girl says she has a message for the Surchataine.”
“Is that right?” the Captain looked her over lightly. “What’s your message?”
Effie said importantly, “Surchatain Roman isn’t dead. He was wounded, but he’s healing. He’s at my house. He wants to tell the Surchataine that he is all right, and he had a special message for her so she would know he really sent me.”
“What’s that?” asked Olynn.
“He said he’s been humbled under a mighty hand, and from now on he will listen to . . . listen to . . .” What was that name? “. . . Bannon . . . ?”
The guard and the Captain glanced at each other. “You’ve given your message. Now go home,” said Olynn.
“But he wanted me to tell her in person,” Effie argued. “No, not Bannon—it was . . . Bayer?”
“I’ll tell her whatever she needs to hear,” Olynn said gruffly, motioning. The guard began to lead her out.
“Wait!” demanded Effie. “He told me to tell her myself!”
While the guard took her away, Basil passed through the foyer and glimpsed her struggling as the great doors closed. “Who was that?” he asked Olynn.
“A village prankster,” answered the Captain. “Do you need me, Counselor?”
“Yes, Captain; please come with me to see Kam.”
“Certainly, Counselor.”
On the outside, the guard dragged Effie protesting to the gate. “You must let me see her!”
“Your message will be delivered,” he said coolly.
“Basil! That was the name! He said from now on he will listen to Basil!”
“Go home, girl!” The guard shoved her away.
Despondently, she returned to the hut. Roman was resting in bed, but raised up expectantly when she entered. She pulled up the chair beside his bed and plopped into it, hanging her head. “I gave them the message, but they didn’t believe me,” she said dejectedly.
“Who did you speak to?” Roman asked, brows drawn.
“The guard at the gate. He took me to an officer, but they wouldn’t let me speak to your wife,” she said. He lay back, perturbed. “Are you really the Surchatain?” she demanded.
He pursed his lips in exasperation. “How does it feel not to be believed?” he countered. “Effie, it’s going to be you and me for a while, until I get strong enough to make myself known. You’re going to have to trust me till then.”
“I will,” she promised. “I do.”
At the palace, Basil was in Deirdre’s chambers to make a report—the kind of report that every counselor dreaded to make, and only the most faithful could be trusted to make at all. Therefore, he unconsciously rubbed his hands nervously as he said, “Surchataine, I have been conferring with the Second Kam and Captain Olynn. It—seems we have worked ourselves into a quandary with the soldiers.”
“What do you mean?” Deirdre asked.
“Surchataine, as you will recall, when you sent the emissary from Qarqar home, you promised him an invasion. If we do not make good on that promise quickly, Kam believes they will muster and attack us in their own defense.”
“They will?”
“It is likely. Also, we have not forgotten Commander Nihl’s mission to Corona. If he is unsuccessful in persuading Bruc to leave, and the Polonti attack Corona, we must be ready to aid Surchatain Titan as promised. It was a high priority with Roman.”
“It was?” she asked lamely.
“Yes. And I am afraid that either of these two endeavors alone would require the concentration of our forces. However, now that we have additionally promised our soldiers to protect trade routes to Crescent Hollow for the fair—it appears that all three demands are likely to coincide, yet only one can be accomplished, Surchataine,” Basil said.
Deirdre sinkingly perceived the implications of her scattered directives. How could she have made such rash promises, without any foresight or plan? “What shall we do?” she murmured.
“It seems all we can do now is watch to see from which direction comes the greatest threat, and act on that one. And hope the others will wait.”
Deirdre nodded feebly. “Thank you, Basil.”
After the Counselor had left, quietly closing the door behind him, Deirdre plopped down in despair at the chamber window. “Oh, Lord,” she moaned, “look at what I’ve done! I have made such a midden of matters already. What shall I do now? Oh, Roman—how I wish I had listened to what you tried to teach me!” She dropped her chin dismally into her palm.
That day Roman seemed restless and impatient to get up, so Effie helped him out to walk around a bit. “Be careful!” she scolded when he pulled from her grasp. “Only a few days ag
o you almost bled to death!”
“And due to your care, I am better today,” he answered agreeably, stretching in the sunlight. He did seem better, except for the stiff and swollen shoulder which impeded movement of his arm.
He took a short stroll while Effie hovered at his side. Standing, he was head and shoulders taller than she, but that did not deter her from fussing over him. “Not dizzy?” she asked.
“Not any more.” He moved his head around on his stiff neck.
“Nor weak?” She kept a hand under his arm while he walked.
“Yes, weaker than usual, but I’m getting stronger,” he assured her, picking up a pine branch and transferring it from hand to hand. His left was still slow and uncooperative.
“Good,” she said. “Good. Then you’ll soon go home and not need me any more.”
Concentrating on the branch, he did not notice the change in her voice. “I fear to think what is happening at the palace, with Bruc attacking Corona and the emissary from Qarqar gone mad. I must get back at once—” He went silent, feeling a conviction akin to a thunderbolt that this was not what he must do.
Effie slipped an arm under his to help him walk, whether he wanted help or not. “It’s been good for me to take care of you,” she mused. “I feel like a—a different person. I feel things will not ever be the same. . . .”
Roman glanced at her. What she said troubled him, but he could not say why. “I think I should go lie down now,” he murmured.
On the cot, he unwound the bandages, which had become uncomfortable. It was then that Effie saw the brand on his chest. “What happened to you?” she exclaimed.
He pressed his chin down to look at the mark of the cross and smiled briefly. “I tangled with a nasty little man who had a fondness for torture.”
“How did that happen?” she grimaced.
He made himself comfortable on the goose-down pillow, then began to tell her the story of his trip with the scouting party to Corona. As he talked, she listened in rapt attention, eyes widening now and then, but never interrupting to question him. He tried to keep his mind on the story he was telling, but found that inner impressions kept diverting him—impressions that focused on her.
Roman saw her clearly as a sensitive, hungry child, yearning for affection and security. He saw her also at a crossroads, trying to decide what kind of person she would be and what manner of life she would live. He saw all this far more distinctly than she probably saw herself. What disturbed him, however, and made him pause repeatedly in his narration, was the realization that somehow he had become crucial to this struggle of formation, and that she needed him now as much as he had needed her.
It was not his pride that was threatened here, for he had learned (he thought) the necessity of occasional dependence on others. But he feared the fondness in her eyes might grow beyond safe bounds, and how would he handle a young girl in love?
In considering this dilemma he paused again, and a look of impatience crossed her face. Then a silent voice chided him: Don’t flatter yourself. Leave the dangers to me; you just be kind.
With a laugh at his exaggerated notion of his own attractiveness, Roman cleared his mind of self-centered distractions and concentrated on telling Effie the mighty things God had done in Corona.
Chapter 26
Late that evening when most in the palace had long been asleep, a group of soldiers arrived at the gates, causing much excitement among those on watch. Deirdre was awakened by pounding on her outer door. Leaping up for fear of what might need her attention at this hour, she pulled on an overrobe and opened the door herself, waving the sleepy chambermaid away.
A guard at the door began, “Surchataine—” but was brushed aside by a weary-looking Commander Nihl as he stepped into the receiving room.
“Nihl!” Deirdre was so relieved to see him that she forgot all propriety and threw her arms around his neck.
He leaned down to allow her to hold him, but did not embrace her in return. The stares of the guard and the chambermaid brought her to her senses so that she released him, chagrined at her carelessness. “Thank you, Surchataine,” he said with a gravity that smothered any hopes of gossip the servants might have been entertaining.
“What news have you brought from Corona, Nihl?” she asked fearfully. Then: “But how is it you’re back so soon? You left only two days ago!”
“Such a remarkable thing happened, Surchataine, that we rode back immediately to report to you, without stopping on the way. We were successful beyond expectation in the task you gave us. And this is how it happened: We left as you commanded, but by the time we had reached Outpost One, we still had daylight to travel. We knew even then Bruc might be at Corona, so we continued to ride, and camped at the foot of the Fastnesses.
“That enabled us to reach Corona before noon of the next day. And how fortunately timed, for the moment we came to the gates, we saw the Polonti army approaching. I sent a man within the city to warn Titan. The rest of us waited at the gates. When the army met us, I saw leading them none other than Asgard, my brother. Bruc had made him Commander of his army.
“So we two faced each other. And he said, ‘Stand aside, little brother.’ I told him no, but that I had been ordered to turn him away from Corona. He said that he would have to kill me then, for he had orders to plunder Corona.
“I said, ‘Plunder what? Your scouts are miserable liars, if they told you there was any plunder here. This city has already been so ravaged that there is nothing left but poverty. Surchatain Roman has determined that Bruc will not prey on the helpless.’
“Asgard drew his sword and said, ‘Stand aside! I cannot return empty-handed.’ At which I remembered Qarqar, and their horde of gold. So I told him, ‘If it is plunder you are after, another three days’ march to the west will bring you to all the gold Bruc could want.’ I told him of the treasure hidden in Hornbound—how Troyce had discovered it but Roman had been unwilling to force it from them. But since their chief emissary had betrayed our goodwill, according to Basil [Deirdre nodded], then Bruc would be avenging Lystra by attacking Hornbound.
“Asgard listened, then said, ‘Swear to me you are not lying.’ And I swore on our father’s grave that I spoke the truth. He conferred with his officers, and they voted to march to Hornbound. The last words he told me were, ‘If I find you have lied, I will come with my army to bury you in the ruins of Westford.’ I told him, ‘Then I am as safe as a cub in its mother’s lair.’
“They did not even rest, but started at once to Hornbound. We watched them march as far as we could see, then I sent a pair of scouts to follow them. I left a pair also in Corona, to stay on watch, but I am sure the city is no longer in danger. When Asgard decides on a course, he is set.
“Then we hastened back. I left most of my men at the outpost to rest, but I could not sleep until I had reported this to you. The Lord was with us in a mighty way, Surchataine.”
For a moment Deirdre was speechless. “Oh, Nihl . . . you have no idea how much so, and how much more you have accomplished than you think. You’ve saved us, Nihl.”
He shook his head in pondered disagreement. “No, Surchataine, I took the only course open to me. On our return march, I had time to consider that the circumstances were laid out for me to act just as I did. There was a stronger arm at work—of this I am certain.”
“I know, and I’m grateful. But I am also grateful you had the courage to go as I asked without question.”
A mild change of expression crossed his face, which for a Polonti signaled astonishment. “That is my duty—to serve you as well as the Surchatain.”
Deirdre collapsed into a chair. “Roman is dead, Nihl,” she whispered.
His face set into hard lines, and he asked in a low voice, “How did he die?”
“We don’t know. By a knife or arrow in the back, it seems. But it was definitely the Qarqarian who ordered it,” she said.
Nihl paused as if he had missed something. “Where did you find his body?”
/> “We haven’t found him. But a soldier found his coat, ripped in the back and drenched with blood.”
“That is all?” Nihl asked. “Where is the coat? I wish to see it.”
“We put it on the funeral barge last night,” Deirdre said. “But what would it profit you to see it? It was just as I described.” She felt irritated at his reservation.
“Surchataine,” Nihl said plainly, “if that is all you have found by now, the chances are much greater that he is alive. He could merely be wounded—”
“No, Nihl! There was too much blood!”
“—or it may not have been his blood at all. You underestimate your husband’s ability to survive.”
“That isn’t so! I know better than anyone his abilities! But if he is alive, then where is he? Why hasn’t he come home?”
“There may be many explanations, depending on what happened to him. But now there is more reason to assume he is alive than dead.”
Deirdre fell back into the chair, holding her head. “No. Don’t make me hope—I can’t endure it. I can accept his death better than to hope uselessly.” Her words were faint and despairing.
Nihl studied her, then bowed. “I have made the report I came to make. Goodnight, Surchataine.” She nodded listlessly.
On leaving her chambers, Nihl quietly ordered the guard, “Summon the Second to my quarters immediately.”
Nihl had hardly walked into his chambers and greeted Izana before they heard a knock. He opened the door to Kam and Olynn while Izana hung on his neck, disappointed. “Wait for me in bed,” he whispered to her with a gentle pat.
Meanwhile, Kam and Olynn sat at a small round table, Kam whistling, “What luck in Corona, Commander! We just heard it all from Cy.”
Nihl pulled up a chair. “Not luck. Providence. But now I wish to know what you have found of the Surchatain besides his coat.”
“Not a blessed thing,” spat Kam. “No one saw anything. No one heard anything. The earth just swallowed him up.”
Nihl poured ale from a flagon on the table, then sat back chewing on the rim of his cup. Kam added, “We did find out for certain that it was the emissary from Qarqar who hired his killer.”