Authors: Sam Barone
“Take these for your mother. If anyone finds them, say you picked them up in the street.” Shubure’s hand met hers underwater. “If you hear anything else about my master, return here tomorrow. I’ll have more coins for you. What hour can you come?”
“An hour after sunrise, Trella … Mistress Trella. I’ll thank the gods for your gift.”
Mistress Trella. For the first time in her life, someone had acknowledged Trella as the head of a household. “It’s little enough, Shubure.
You’d better go, before they wonder why you dally so long and give you another beating.”
Shubure nodded and moved off, slipping the coins inside her dress.
Trella waited, splashing water around her as if she still worked, until Shubure disappeared behind the jetties. Then Trella gathered her garments and climbed up the riverbank.
Walking back toward Adad, she saw his eyes staring at her body, her wet dress outlining her breasts and hips. What would be a disgrace in her father’s house meant nothing now. No one cared about a slave’s clothing or lack of it. Adad finally remembered his manners and looked away as he handed her the cloak. She rubbed her hair vigorously with it for a few moments, then wrapped it gratefully around her body. Carrying the wet clothes in her arms, she started back home, thinking hard about what she’d just heard.
Nicar knew of Drigo’s ambition to become the first man in Orak, to lead the nobles and decide the future of the village. Drigo had pressed that goal more and more in the last few months. But with the barbarians coming, Nicar believed Drigo would leave, removing himself and his ambitions, and solving at least one problem for Nicar.
He wanted the council of nobles to vote to stay and fight. If Drigo abandoned Orak and the barbarians were driven off, he’d find it difficult to reestablish his authority. But if Drigo persuaded the other nobles to leave Orak, Nicar’s authority would be weakened. When they returned to pick up the pieces and rebuild, it would be Drigo wielding the power and influence. He’d take Nicar’s place as the first man in Orak.
But Nicar wielded great influence. If Esk kar proved he had a workable plan, and if Nicar chose to stay and resist, the nobles would likely side with him.
Trella stopped short, so suddenly that Adad bumped into her. They’d passed back through the gate. She stepped away from the center of the lane and leaned up against the closest wall, hugging the wet bundle to her chest and ignoring the looks from those who passed by.
Until now, Trella hadn’t really worried about the consequences of tomorrow’s meeting. If they all stayed and fought, Esk kar would win great honor and be able to establish his own House in Orak. That made it worth the risk, though Esk kar had repeated that he wouldn’t remain unless he thought they could prevail.
If Drigo left and Orak survived, the noble would have lost face and honor, but would’ve saved all his gold, and would soon reestablish his trading routes. Then why would Drigo want to discredit Esk kar’s plan? Surely the arrogant noble would benefit if the village held out, even without his presence.
What Trella had just worked out, Nicar must have reasoned as well.
That’s why he told Esk kar not to worry about Drigo. Even Esk kar, though not politically astute, knew that Drigo’s choice mattered, that it would influence many in Orak.
Perhaps Drigo had a different plan, something Nicar hadn’t thought of.
Trella considered Drigo’s alternatives. They seemed simple enough: go or stay. Leave, taking everything of value with him, or remain, and risk his life and his fortune under Nicar’s orders. The choices seemed straightfor-ward, so clear. Unless Drigo had discovered a third course of action.
She recalled everything she’d heard about Drigo. Ambitious, arrogant and cruel to his servants, miserly with his goods and gold, always seeking more and more gold. But gold, she reminded herself, could be obtained in more ways than just buying and selling. For Drigo, the barbarian invasion might be seen as a blessing from the gods, not the disaster that Nicar foresaw.
And then Trella knew the answer. Knew that she’d guessed Drigo’s plan, something even Nicar had failed to do. She looked at Adad, but then her eyes focused on the sword belted to his waist. She needed to learn something else, just to be sure.
“Come, Adad, we must get back. I must speak with Esk kar.”
Esk kar handed off his horse, then went to the well to wash the dust and horse smell from his body. He looked forward to an hour in bed with Trella. Afterward they’d go to one of Orak’s better inns, one where they could get decent wine and food, a previously unheard - of luxury, before returning to bed.
Entering his room, Esk kar looked about in surprise. Even in the afternoon shadows, the room seemed brighter. He noticed the new flaxen mats that covered half the floor, then saw that the rest of the dirt had been cleaned and brushed evenly. The place looked almost as clean as one of Nicar’s rooms, though the poor furnishings and begrimed walls left much to be desired. The fact that Trella had managed all this in a few short hours whetted his desire. His previous women had cared little for cleanliness.
He’d just hung his sword up when Trella entered, a bundle of damp clothes in her arms. His satisfied mood vanished as soon as he saw her face.
“Master, we need to talk.” She looked toward the open doorway. Adad had gone, his duties done for the day. Another soldier already stood guard outside. She lowered her voice. “Can you send the guard farther away, so we can talk privately?”
The last of Esk kar’s feelings of warmth disappeared. He stepped outside and told the guard to watch the door from beneath the tree, out of earshot. Esk kar returned, shutting the door behind him.
Trella had finished spreading the clean clothes to dry. She came into his arms, putting her face against his chest and squeezing him tight, surprising him with this show of emotion. He felt her body outlined by the damp dress and inhaled the clean river smell from her hair.
Before he could react, she stepped back, took his hand, and led him to the table. They sat facing each other, but she kept hold of his hand.
“Master, I met a girl at the river this afternoon, a slave from Noble Drigo’s house. She had bruises on her face. Drigo’s son had beaten her.
She told me that Drigo wants to ‘put you in your place’ before the meeting tomorrow. I fear Nicar has underestimated Drigo’s intentions.”
A wave of anger went through him at the idea Drigo might interfere with his newfound happiness and prosperity. Then he shrugged. Probably just talk, women’s gossip at the river.
“What can Drigo do, Trella? He can refuse to fight and leave. Or he can stay, and ask that someone else be named captain of the guard. It doesn’t matter to me. I told Nicar I’d deal only with him. If the nobles don’t want to fight, or want someone else for captain of the guard, then you and I will take Gatus and some men and leave.”
“Who else could Drigo put forward as captain?”
Esk kar thought about that. Among the soldiers, only Gatus had enough experience, and he didn’t want the job. Gatus hated Drigo and his gang, and wanted nothing to do with them. He’d been ready to leave before Eskkar talked him out of it last night.
Drigo had plenty of men, all of them carrying swords as they strutted through the village. Their leader, Naxos, Drigo’s personal bodyguard, was dirty and crude. Neither Nicar nor any of the others would entrust their lives and fortunes to Naxos, even if Drigo suggested him.
“I don’t know of anyone else in Orak. Unless there’s someone here I don’t know about, someone who’s fought the barbarians and led men in battle.”
“How many soldiers does Noble Drigo have, master?”
“They’re not soldiers,” he corrected, annoyed at the usual villager confusion between hired guards and trained fighting men. “They’re big and carry swords, but mostly they bully the farmers and tradesmen, men weaker than themselves or unarmed. They’re brave when there’s enough of them, but not one of them could kill the youngest Alur Meriki warrior.”
She said nothing, and it took a moment before he realized he hadn’t answered her question. “Drigo has plenty of guards, more than the other nobles. Maybe nine or ten.”
The determined expression on her face made him consider his words.
Each of the nobles hired his own guards. Paid better than the soldiers, they tended to drink and congregate among themselves. They looked down on the soldiers, and the soldiers had always given way to them. “I think Drigo may have hired a few more in the last few weeks.”
“And the other nobles, how many men do they have?”
Esk kar had already started down that path. Each of the nobles had at least seven or eight armed men. Even without Nicar’s guards, that meant the others outnumbered the thirty remaining soldiers. The last of his feelings of contentment vanished.
“Would those other guards follow Drigo’s man, this Naxos?”
Esk kar took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Trella. They’d do as their masters told them, but without orders … they’d probably listen to Drigo’s man.”
“Tomorrow morning I’ll go back to the river. Drigo’s slave said she might return an hour after sunup. You won’t meet with Nicar until midmorning, and perhaps she’ll be able to tell us something more.”
“If she doesn’t get her throat slit for telling tales on her master,” Esk kar said. He’d heard the same stories about Drigo’s household.
“I gave her two copper coins for what she told me and promised her more tomorrow, master. If you approve.”
The polite request made him smile. “Give her a handful, if she learns anything useful.” Esk kar certainly had changed his ideas about gold overnight. “I’ll need to think about what Drigo and Naxos might do in the next few days.”
She shook her head. “Tomorrow, master. You don’t have two or three days. Whatever Drigo plans, it will be tomorrow.” She squeezed his hand across the table. “What do you think he might try?”
He looked at her, wondering how she had gotten him so worried over a few chance words. If he’d heard the same words himself, he might have laughed them off or ignored them. Trella’s perception gave them weight.
“I was surprised when Nicar sent for me. There must not have been anyone else he could turn to. If I’d said last night that Orak couldn’t be defended, Nicar would have given up the idea of resisting.” That much seemed true enough, he decided. “If I were gone, then …”
“Or if you were dead,” Trella said. “Then Drigo could take charge of the soldiers, get rid of the ones he didn’t need or couldn’t control, and Orak would be his.”
“What would that gain him? The barbarians would still come, and he still wouldn’t fight them.”
“The barbarians won’t be here for months. If Drigo controls the sixty or so soldiers and guards, plus any more that he might hire, then who could stop him from doing whatever he wants? Taking whatever he wants?
He could plunder the entire village, take the loot across the river, then return when the barbarians left. With enough men and gold he could rebuild Orak as his own. He wouldn’t need Nicar or any of the other nobles. He’d rule Orak alone.”
She waited a moment, but he didn’t say anything. “Drigo didn’t count on you, didn’t expect you to convince Nicar. Now even the villagers think of you as the one man not afraid of the barbarians. I don’t think Noble Drigo likes that.”
Esk kar’s anger rose up. He wanted Trella to be wrong. Curse these nobles and their schemes. Now he was threatened by them. He struck the table with his fist, saw Trella’s eyes go wide. He got up and went to the door. Opening it, he called out to the guard. “Find someone to fetch Gatus right away. Then get back here to your post.”
Trella’s hand touched his arm. She’d followed him to the door. “Send for Adad also. You should keep him close by tonight. He was with me today and saw me talk to the girl. He might mention to someone that I spoke to one of Drigo’s women.”
Her suggestion annoyed him. Esk kar knew Trella had gone to the river and a guard had accompanied her. But he would never have thought of what that guard might do or say in his off - duty hours. He raised his voice and called after the already moving guard. “Bring Adad back with you! I want him guarding my quarters tonight.”
He closed the door so hard it shook, then stepped over to the hook where his sword hung. He belted it around his waist. The gesture might look foolish, but he felt better with the sword at his hip. The room seemed to close in around him, the air close and stale. He had to get out. “It’s almost dark, Trella. Stay inside for the rest of the night.”
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I need to think by myself for a moment.” In truth he felt himself coming under her influence, doing what she wished instead of making his own decisions. He jerked the door open and went outside.
He walked over to the tree, then leaned against it. The scent of roasting chickens hung in the air, floating in from the street.
Esk kar had lost his appetite. He’d wanted to walk with Trella into the village tonight, showing her off to everyone, then stopping at one of the inns for wine and dinner. His hand clenched the sword hilt in frustration.
Now he’d stay here, afraid to leave his room, worried about a knife in his back. He didn’t fear any of Drigo’s hired bullies. Not alone. But three or four together could bring down any man. The urge to leave Orak swept over him. Take Trella and go. There was plenty of Nicar’s gold left. In moments he could be on a horse. The guards at the gate would open it for him, one way or another.
Esk kar swore a string of oaths at Nicar, the nobles, Ariamus, and especially the villagers who’d distrusted and hated him behind his back for years, and who now wanted him to save their cowardly lives and miserable property. He despised them as much as they feared him. To them he was just an outcast, a tame barbarian, but one who would still turn on them if given a chance.
He should go, leave Orak. Nothing good would come of staying, trying to fight the Alur Meriki, gambling his life on the will of these dirt -
eaters. He’d take Trella and … she didn’t want to go. She hadn’t answered when he’d spoken about leaving. There’d be nothing for her, a noble - born girl, accompanying a soldier selling his sword. He didn’t even know if she could ride. Few enough women knew how to handle a horse. He swore again. And he couldn’t leave her, not after last night.