Chapter Seven (old)

Arthus

The weaver was the strangest woman I had ever met. A large woman with seven squalling brats, she regarded me with vehement hatred that I was sure encompassed all of masculine kind. I figured that she only recently formed this opinion since the babe on her hip couldn’t be more than a year old.

When I informed her of my intention to buy her wares, she glared at me and informed me I was going to be waiting outside. She disappeared into the sprawling hovel and I was left in the company of her offspring. The four oldest children immediately started a quarrel. From what I could catch, it sounded like a debate from earlier that morning. The remaining two girls watched me with round eyes and their fingers in various orifices, one up a nose and the other in the mouth. The youngest, with her fingers in her mouth, approached and pulled at my tunic.

“Are you my father?”

I gently informed her that I wasn’t.

“Of course he isn’t,” her older sister informed her scornfully. “He doesn’t have a beard. Your daddy has a beard.” Then turning to me with a sniffle and another tug at her nose, she proceeded to grill me. “Do you have a lover?”

I almost swallowed my tongue and prayed that the woman would return. As if beckoned my desperation, she did appear, sans child and laden with bolts of fabric and blankets. The following three quarters of an hour was consumed with bargaining over the price. Finally, an hour after leaving Wren and Katraina, I was on my way back to the center the village with three new blankets and three yards of heavy woolen weave dyed mud brown. It would make a warm cloak for Katraina. Even with summer coming, the nights could be cool and she needed protection from the elements.

I was feeling reasonable content with my purchases as I made the last turn into the square about the well. The sight that greeted me drove me out of my contentment. There was the well, standing in the center of the space, and a crowd of people milling about, but I could see no sign of Wren and Katraina.

At my appearance, I became the center of attention. The women retreated to the far edges of the crowd herding their children before them. A cluster of men stepped forward to greet me. I quickly assessed the hoes and trowels in their grips as they approached.

“You are no longer welcome here.” A short man in a blood-stained apron stepped to the front of the crowd. The cleaver in his hand glinted in the sunlight. “Leave and never come back.”

“I have no intention of staying any longer than necessary, but I was going to meet the rest of my traveling party here. I will leave when I have located them.”

“Leave now.” He stepped to Trader’s head and raised his weapon. “Or I will butcher your horse right here.”

I urged Trader to back up. He willingly did so, eyeing the shiny blade warily. We made a tactical retreat. Wren and Katraina were obviously not there and I was willing to bet that they didn’t leave the village willingly. I would try to pick up their trail outside of the village.

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Wren

Roark and his men rode for roughly three hours. My braid caught in the brush along the trail whenever my captor strayed too close. I felt the leather thong give way and by the time Roark called a halt, my hair hung from my head in a leave strewn mass that brushed the ground. My mouth felt lined with sand and tasted like mud. As my keeper dismounted, I tried to blink the dust from my eyes.

I was hauled from the horse and roughly set on my feet. My legs were weak from lack of circulation and so I promptly collapsed to the ground. My captor laughed at me and nudged my foot with his toe. I ignored him. My fingers beneath the mass of my hair closed on a sharp rock. Clutching it tightly, I lifted my head and looked around.

I counted ten men in addition to Roark standing by their horses waiting for their leader’s command. Roark, himself, was standing over Katraina saying something I couldn’t hear. Her response earned a blow to the head.

“You bad mouth me, wench, and you will get the same.” He spat in the dirt next to my shoe. Some of the spittle flecked the leather. I didn’t respond. I tightened my grip on the rock. “Now, get up.” He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. “Where do you want her, Roark?” he called over to the older man.

“My, she is a pretty one when you get her hair loose.” One of the younger, cockier men of the group stepped up to me and grabbed my chin. Lifting it so he could view my face, he laughed. “Can I have her, Roark? I have always fancied women with straight hair.”

“Hands off, Halcon.” My captor shoved the man away while pushing me forward. Halcon didn’t let go of my jaw immediately, forcing my head to jar violently to the left before he finally released it.

“Put them over there,” Roark ordered, gesturing toward the cluster of trees in the center of the clearing. “Tie them back to back. Jorthander.”
A heavy man in his thirties lifted his head in response to his name. Trudging over in long heavy strides, he crossed to Roark and looked down at him.

“Guard these two women. See that no one touches them, speaks to them, or so much as looks their direction until I need them. You understand?”

Jorthander nodded and turned to look at Katraina. I followed his gazed and looked at Katraina too. Wilted and beaten, she sagged against the man clasping her upper arm. She didn’t raise her eyes from their study of the dirt. I could feel her inner hatred even from here. This was just solidifying her belief in her jinx. I frowned as we were jostled across to the trees and shoved against each other.

Arching my back, I leaned my shoulders against Katraina’s, but it helped little because Katraina didn’t bother to try to resist the rope wrapping around our mid sections.

“That will hold them,” my captor announced as he tied the last knot. “Now make sure that no one touches them.”

Jorthander grunted an affirmative reply.

In the failing light, the rest of Roark’s men began making preparations for spending the night. I counted ten besides Roark, our jailer included. They moved about in a disorderly fashion as Roark shouted orders. He promptly sent Halcon and a wild looking man out to hunt down dinner. I couldn’t help the relief I felt as he disappeared into the lengthening shadows of the forest.

Within an hour, the gathered firewood stacked next to a newly made firepit became the center of the camp. They corralled the horses off behind me in Katraina’s view so I couldn’t tell if Brone was among them. From my vantage point, I had a full view of the campfire and the men gathered around it in loud council. From what I could catch, it sounded as thought they were arguing over who would be cooking the meat.

Roark entered from the treeline and broke up the discussion. “Enough,” he roared after a few moments of trying to be heard. “Northan cooks and that is the end of it.”

“He burns everything,” one of the younger men complained.

“Then don’t eat it.” Roark stalked away in the direction of the horses. Northan, a craggy looking man with more scars than blemishes, hunkered down to tend the fire as the crowd dissipated. The complainer and a companion strayed our way.

“Just because he doesn’t have to eat it…”

“Hush,” another man cautioned. “Remember what he did to Asher when he kept complaining.”

“Tongue or no tongue, I could cook better than Northan.” As they approached, the younger tried to pull Jorthander into speaking against Northan. “Jorthander could even produce more tolerable than Northan. Right, Jorthander?”

Our keeper frowned and turned his attention to the bit of harness in his hands.

“It isn’t as though Roark is going to be eating it,” the young man added. “He is off to meet with our patroness, that noble woman. What was her name?”

“Kentandra,” the second supplied, “Lady Kentandra.”

The young one snorted and sat heavily on the ground beneath a sapling. “Lady my horse’s knees. She is no more a lady than the last tavern wench I flipped. Do you suppose she gives him favors?”

The older ruffian silenced the younger with a sharp toe nudge to the ribs. “Keep your peace, Yarip, or I will be the one to report you to Roark just to stop your jaw from moving. Come, let us check on the horses and ask to accompany Roark. I heard he will be needing an honor guard.”

“Anything is better than laying about,” Yarip agreed as he gained his feet again. “Perhaps there will be better food to be had there.”

“Where?”

I didn’t catch Yarip’s reply, but I could guess that Roark usually met this Lady Kentandra at an inn along the trading road. It would make sense. I frowned. So, Roark wasn’t just working on the bounty for Tourth. Why would a woman of quality be financing a ruffian like Malron Roark?

An hour later, as the sun was setting in earnest, the hunters returned with the evening provisions. Northan set to cooking and the remaining men gathered around Roark. They spent fifteen minutes listening as Roark gave the evening assignments. I listened, but couldn’t catch all that was said. I did hear him assign two sentries for the night and four men followed him over to the horses. A few moments later, they five of them rode by on horseback heading east.

Our keeper, the hulking Jorthander, didn’t attend the meeting and didn’t even flinch when Roark and company rode past. Instead he finished his repair of the bridle and turned his attention to carving a small block of wood. He rarely glanced our way, but I could tell from the way he paused every time Katraina shifted that he was listening to us.

I waited until darkness fell fully over the camp before moving. The sharp rock in my palm was cutting into my skin by then. I hoped that was a good sign that it would do the same for the ropes about us. Keeping tabs on our observer, I straightened my shoulders. Katraina gave a startled sound.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Quiet there.” Jorthander reached over and shoved my shoulder. “No fidgeting.”

“My legs are going numb. I had to shift.”

“You legs aren’t being of much use now are they?” he asked. “No moving or I will use my carving knife on you.”

While he spoke, I began fishing for Katraina’s hands. I found them just as he ceased talking.

“How did you come to work for Roark?” If I got him talking I could move under the sound of his voice. The darkness was thick enough that he couldn’t see what I was doing in the shadows.

“Not somet’in I have to tell ya,” he replied. I managed to get the rock into position against Katraina’s bindings, but I could do nothing unless he spoke. “No keep your trap shut, wench, or I will shut it for ya. This is ya last warning.” He sounded like he meant it.

What now, Deus? Please help. I looked toward the campfire just as the cook rose and announced dinner. I looked to the dark outline of Jorthander.

“Don’t be getting ya hopes up now. Someone will bring me my dinner here, sames as the sentries. We’s ain’t stupid.”

I kept my tongue and waited. This was still in God’s control. I only had to wait for the right opportunity.

Hours passed. Jorthander ate the dinner brought to him and then settled into his place in silence. Without the movement of his carving sounds, I could do nothing with my rock. I could not see him and I knew he couldn’t see me, but he could hear me, which was worse. Katraina slowly began to sag against me, her weight pulling on our ropes as she fell into an exhausted sleep. The campfire burned low in the center of the camp and I counted three lumpy forms sleeping around it.

The moon rose. It was barely a sliver, but I could see it just over the trees. I watched it and wondered what Deus’ purpose in all this was. Remembering the lessons of the friar from my childhood, I turned my heart to prayer, counting my blessings and Deus’ attributes. He had a reason and He would see it through.

Sometime after what I judged to be midnight, someone approached. Jorthander rose and I heard the sound of a knife leaving a sheath.

“Who goes there? Declare yourself.”

“Worel here, Jort. Nothing to bother yourself about. All is quiet so I thought I would stop for a visit.”

Jorthander settled back against the tree. “Where do ya suppose the governor is?” he asked in a friendly tone. “He should have appeared hours ago.”

“Like as not, he stopped off at a brothel. Why do ya think he never takes the likes of us with him?” With muted clanking and rustling, the new arrival settled on the ground a short distance away.

“Probably afraid we’d scare the lady.” They both laughed.

“So, what does he want with this pair? I can’t see us using them for much when they is tied like that.”

“Didn’t you hear? We have the famous Wren Romany in our midst. Ain’t that right missy.” Jorthander nudged my shoe. I ignored him and set to work on the ropes. This conversation was just the opportunity I had been waiting for. Katraina woke, but she didn’t make a sound as she helped by pressing her wrists against the rough edge.

“The Wren Romany that captured Yotah Armith last spring?” Reluctant appreciation filled the Worel’s voice.

“One and the same. The pretty one is Mynth’s brat sister. I figure he is planning on using her as bait.”

“That makes sense, but why take the Romany wench too? Surely she is going to be more trouble than she is worth.”

Jorthander grunted and shifted. His voice grew more relaxed. “I heard rumor he wants her to find Mynth for him and his lady.”

Not likely. I increased my rubbing as Worel laughed.

The conversation wandered off into speculation about which brothel Roark had stopped at and I tuned it out. With Katraina’s help we were halfway through one of her ropes when their conversation tapered off and I had to stop. We sat in tense silence, listening to the men’s breathing and the night insects when suddenly there was a small disturbance.

A sound that reminded my of a head cracking the ground was followed by a grunt. “Jort?” Worel queried into the darkness in hushed tones. “Jort, are ya awake man?”

Worel rose and began thrashing about until with another grunt he landed heavily on the ground. The smell and sound that followed gave me the answer to what was happening.

“Who is it?” I asked in a hushed voice. “We are bound, unarmed, and unable to harm you. There is no need to harm us. We will not give you away.”

“Glad to hear it,” a familiar voice replied as someone knelt over us.

“Arthus,” Katraina whispered.

“The one and only.” With a touch of cold blade, we were free. “Now follow me and we can get out of here.”

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano