Authors: D Jordan Redhawk
It was nearing midday when Azrael galloped to the still moving wagon. Her dark face was wreathed in smiles. “Midia, with me!”
Laughing, the blonde jumped up and clambered to the side of the wagon.
As she watched her companion transfer to their mistress’ horse, Ursula asked, “What is it, Milady? What’s occurring?”
“We’re almost home, Ursula,” Azrael said. “Just over that rise.”
The brunette looked where indicated and saw large fields of wheat. The tiny dots she realized were workers.
“Come along, Midia,” Azrael said. “Jastus and Petracal are waiting!” She kicked the horse into a gallop and raced away.
Ursula collected the blonde’s project and put it away. There was little doubt it was forgotten. Unable to concentrate, she stashed her needlework as well and watched the nearing rise.
Chapter Twelve
As the troop reached the crest, Ursula looked down onto a shallow valley. A sprawling walled complex lay to the left of the road, the entire thing nearly twice the size of her village. The brunette’s eyes were round as they continued along.
Field slaves noticed their approach; Ursula could almost hear the excited yells as she watched the tiny figures point and wave. Most dropped their farming implements to race for the complex. Those nearer to the marching army reached them first and walked along, calling to the soldiers and clapping fellow slaves on the back.
Envious of the friendly display, Ursula’s stomach knotted, indigestion burning at the back of her throat. She lost site of the complex as the army reached the valley floor. Exuberant welcomes bounced off the high wall as they passed and, over the din of marching feet, Ursula thought she could hear other voices inside.
Butterflies rampaged in her belly as the wall fell away from the road, opening into a dusty courtyard. A large, columned opening was to the left and Ursula could see the welcome green of potted plants in the atrium beyond. Azrael’s horse was tethered there. The wall continued along with another opening further down. People were scattered from one to the other, pointing and waving, happily chattering at one another. Azrael and Midia were nowhere to be seen.
Suma called the army to a halt. As the dust settled, the soldiers were commanded to turn and remain in formation. Silence filled the courtyard as the people hushed, expectation filling the air.
Azrael came from the columned atrium, striding down the handful of steps, a huge smile on her face. An older man with white hair and long mustaches accompanied her. She nodded greetings to those nearest as she mounted her horse, urging him forward to the front of the formation. Ursula’s wagon was positioned almost exactly in the middle so the slave had an excellent view of the proceedings.
“Swordsmen!” Azrael called, her voice ringing from the stone. “For two years you’ve toiled far from home with little complaint. I give you my thanks and pledge you my sword.” She pulled the weapon from its sheath and held it high.
In response, the troops cheered, drawing their own weapons until the courtyard sparkled with deadly joy.
When their voices receded, Azrael continued. “For the next three days, you are relieved of duty; the recruits will continue the perimeter guard. Those of you who wish extended leave, see your captains and a rotation will be granted.”
Again a cheer echoed off the walls. Ursula was surprised stones didn’t fall from the mortar at the loud noise.
“I proclaim the next three days as days of rest,” the general ordered, sheathing her weapon. “Tomorrow there will be food, music and dancing as we celebrate our homecoming!”
In the din that followed, the command for dismissal was barely heard. The troops fell out, sheathing weapons, slapping each other on the back and migrating toward the entry further down, followed by most of the slaves who had been with them.
“Time for ye to get down, lass,” the wagon driver said, craning his whole upper body to look back at Ursula. “We’ll be unloadin’ things inside the army court. Ye don’t belong there.”
The brunette swallowed, eyes glancing uncertainly about the courtyard. “Where am I to go?” she asked.
“The villa, lass,” the driver said, waving at the columned entry. “Don’t worry, the Lord will soon come looking for a pretty slip like you.”
Ursula nodded, stepping from the wagon. She’d hardly cleared it before the driver pulled away, leaving her to stand in a rapidly emptying courtyard.
Azrael had dismounted, once more in the company of the older man. Midia was nowhere to be seen and the rest of the faces belonged to strangers.
Taking a deep breath, Ursula approached the steps, following her mistress who was going inside.
The atrium was alive with potted plants circling the high walls. Placed intermittently, benches provided seating for petitioners. An oval of thinner columns surrounded a small gurgling fountain, supporting a partial roof that gave shade from the heat of the day. There were two doorways, an average sized one leading to the left and a larger entry with ornate carvings of vines to the right.
Ursula saw her mistress, deep in conversation, through the larger doorway. The slave’s dusty sandals whisked across the marbled floor. In her haste, she hardly noticed the mural delicately painted beneath her feet.
The entry hall was half the size of the outer atrium, the walls covered with tiny pieces of ceramic tile. A riot of color coalesced into pictures of the villa and surrounding land, and Ursula was amazed at the detail. Without thinking, she paused to stare, noting how each shade of coral was used to indicate depth and shadow. With a start, the body slave realized her mistress had disappeared and she hurried on to catch her.
The entry opened onto a large rectangular garden. As with the atrium behind her, a ceiling circled the room creating a covered hall. It teemed with plant life, a narrow pool in the center glittering with what appeared to be fish. Two servants knelt in the dirt, planting and weeding, their work producing a smell of rich loam. Beneath her feet, dark red marble glowed dully, and the walls were two toned - the same coral of the outer walls below and deep burgundy above. A handful of benches were strewn around the halls and beige curtains indicated doorways.
Ursula caught sight of her mistress along the right hall and scurried to catch up, barely missing a woman whose arms were full of linen. “Excuse me!” the brunette exclaimed, sketching a hasty curtsey and continuing on her way.
Hearing the slave, Azrael paused in her conversation and turned. “Ursula,” she called, raising a hand to wave her forward. “I’m glad you found me.”
“Yes, Milady,” the brunette said, halting beside her mistress.
“Ursula, this is Brahim.” Azrael laid a casual hand on her slave’s shoulder and nodded at the man. “He’s my steward and has served my family for quite some time.”
The steward tugged at his mustache, a slight grin on his barely visible lips. “And it is my honor to do so, Milady.”
Waving his compliment aside, Azrael said, “This is my new body slave, Ursula. She’s been with me for three months.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brahim,” the brunette said with a curtsey.
“Aye, lass. And I you.” He turned his attention to Azrael. “Felicia and Vincenza are preparing your quarters. I’ll have one of them see to a room for Ursula.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Azrael shook her head. “Ursula is to stay in my quarters for now.”
After so much time living in her mistress’ tent, Ursula saw nothing unusual in Azrael’s order. Witnessing Brahim’s round eyes blinking, she wondered at his confusion.
The steward cleared his throat, tugging harder on his mustache with one hand. ”She’ll stay in your quarters, Milady?”
Oblivious, Azrael said, “Yes. Ursula, at the end of this hall are stairs. Go up them and into the great hall. Bear right and follow along until you see an opening on the left.” She squeezed the slave’s shoulder and gave a gentle nudge. “Tell Felicia and Vincenza to prepare the extra bedchambers for you.”
“Yes, Milady.”
The dark woman watched her slave until she was to the stairs. She caught an odd expression on her steward’s face but paid it no mind. He had every reason to be startled. Azrael had never allowed a slave to reside with her.
Drawing him toward the doorway that led to his chambers, she said, “Brahim, you were speaking about last year’s yield…?”
The old man once more began filling in his mistress on the past two years of farming business. Granted, they had sent messages back and forth as needed, but the rest of the afternoon would be utilized to bring Lady Azrael current in all areas.
For the moment, Ursula was forgotten.
The great hall was aptly named, Ursula mused as she stepped in. More of the same dark red marble lined the floor in both directions and the ceiling was high overhead. From her vantage point, the hall was twice as long to her left as to her right with more benches and pottery along the sides. Four columns indicated a large room a bit further on, but the slave did as bade and turned right, hoping there’d be time for exploring later. The same two colors were utilized as the garden walls below, the upper burgundy stopping just above Ursula’s head and the natural coral above displaying delicate murals of pigment.
Neck craned, the brunette studied the artwork, smiling at a realistic depiction of her mistress in full armor astride a grand war chariot. Several other pictures showed Azrael hunting wild animals, some of which looked mythological in nature, exhibiting her prowess in all manner of activities. With a start, Ursula realized she’d nearly passed her mistress’ suite.
Chewing her upper lip, the brunette’s heart sped at the sound of women chattering inside. Ursula swallowed and stepped inside. The entry was half a circle with doorways on both sides and a private hall at its apex. There were actually two entries from the great hall, Ursula standing on the left of a gurgling pool and fountain that the doors flanked. Peering closely, Ursula saw there was a little shrine in the wall above the fountain; a shelf held an incense brazier and several clay depictions of the gods. Despite her unease, the slave reached out, letting water trickle across her fingers before brushing their wetness across her lips.
Homage to the gods paid, Ursula straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. It was time to meet the other body slaves of her mistress. The voices were to her left and she moved the curtain at that door aside to step in. There were two more doorways, the curtains tied to one side and Ursula saw her future companions in the one furthest away.
The two women were as different as night and day in an almost literal sense. One, a buxom woman, was golden in color, her wavy strawberry blonde hair piled in a mass above her head. Blue-black hair fell in a straight line down the back of the other, carefully tied at intervals to prevent tangling as she helped her companion tighten the muslin sheet on their mistress’ bed.
“Did you see her?” the blonde asked, her voice as honeyed as her skin. “I swear she barely had time for a kiss hello before Jastus came rushing in from the fields.”
Nodding, the black haired one said, “Yes, I saw. I doubt she’ll have much time for us for a few days.” She plumped a pillow and arranged it neatly. “More’s the pity. I wonder if Milady went to Raston this season.”
The blonde smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure Milady will tell you. She promised to see your family if they were there.” Brilliant green eyes widened as she noted the new arrival. “Hello. Can I help you?” As her companion turned she came around the side of the bed and approached.
With a gulp, the brunette found her voice. “I am Ursula,” she said, curtseying. “Our mistress instructed me to come and help prepare her quarters.” She flushed under their sudden sharp gaze.
“A new body slave?” the dark woman asked, stepping forward. “Midia didn’t mention you.”
“Midia wasn’t mentioning anything, I’d wager,” the blonde said with a grin. “Jastus wouldn’t let her talk.” Her smile widened and she came forward, taking the newcomer’s hands. “My name is Felicia and this is Vincenza. It’s good to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Ursula said, her voice low. She ducked her head at the intent gazes from her new companions, wondering if she’d get past the blush that threatened to inflame her skin. “It’s good to meet you, as well. Midia has told me wonderful things about you.”
Vincenza glided closer. “How long have you been with our mistress?” she asked.
“Three months.” Ursula raised her chin, forcing herself to meet the dark woman’s cool gaze. It occurred to her that she wasn’t the only one to feel the bite of jealousy when it came to Azrael. Wondering how things would proceed between them, she continued, “I was taken in the last village where our mistress... fought.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Vincenza’s eyes studied Ursula, their color as black as their mistress’.
“Then you’re quite new, aren’t you?” Felicia asked, taking the brunette’s arm. “Were you a body slave before?”
Ursula shook her head. “No, I was the slave of the local seamstress.”
The blonde grinned. “Quite a difference, is it not?” At Ursula’s answering nod, she continued. “You’ve come just in time. We still need to refresh Lady Azrael’s private hall and sweep out the old rushes.” Felicia drew the newcomer along, guiding her out into the suite’s entry once more.
Behind them, Vincenza followed silently.
In the private hall across from the fountain, the air smelled of brittle rushes long dried out. Felicia scooped up a rough broom and handed it to Ursula. “Why don’t you sweep the old ones into a corner while Vincenza gets new rushes?” the blonde suggested. “I’ll set to dusting.”
Ursula took the broom. “Of course.”
Felicia gave her companion a significant look and the dark woman left on her errand. As she gathered up a rag from a cleaning basket, she said, “Please don’t mind Vincenza. She can be rather... intense at times. She means nothing by it.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Ursula agreed, bent to her task as she used the broom to tease rushes out from beneath a heavy desk.
“We’re very protective of our mistress.”
Ursula nodded. “As we should be.”