by Guy Antibes
“Sometimes it’s only an idea planting in your mind,” another said.
“Does he help King Rollack?”
The monks looked at one another. “Why do you think that?”
“I’m just a soldier and a new one at that, but the King seems to bring new concepts to soldiering. Funny tents. The organization of the camps. His desired methods of war, like no looting. It seems pretty enlightened to me.”
“It is a possibility that a book of special tactics is in the possession of the King.”
“A distinct possibility.” A man appeared at the edge of the clearing. He dressed in city clothes with a long brown beard. To Bellia’s eye, the man seemed to tower among the trees, but when she looked again he was a man of average height, her height.
“Sire!” The monks turned and bowed to the man.
Bellia sat looking at the newcomer.
“Bellia, I see you have found my servants.”
The hairs prickled on the back of Bellia’s neck. Could this be the Blind God? How else would he know her name?
“Your time is not yet, my child. You have much to see and to learn. If you ever need refuge, it is yours at my temple in Tuathua. We will meet again.”
A cool wind blew. Bellia blinked and found herself sitting, cross-legged in her tent in the same position she sat at the fire. That wasn’t real, she told himself. Meeting a god? It wasn’t possible.
Menna pulled the flap open. “How’d you get in here? I’ve been waiting outside the tent for you to get back.”
Bellia shook off her experience. “I think it’s time I slept.”
“Not yet you won’t. Our sergeant wants us to work on our attack forms by firelight. All the squads will demonstrate their training in front of the King tomorrow.”
The soldiers could only practice so much in the dark without risk of injury. Bellia returned to her tent and listened to the other women swap stories at the campfire. She went over and over her every move that evening. Every move, every conversation went through her mind over and over. She couldn’t believe that she had just blacked out in her tent or she would have remembered entering. Her vision of the Blind God had disturbed the barrier against religion that her father had created in all of his children.
Menna entered the tent and began to talk. Bellia considered the distraction as a blessed distraction to her confused mind.
~~~
Chapter Six
A Duel Before the King
~
It seemed she’d just gone to bed when the wake-up horns began to blow. The day dawned cool and clear and pennants flapped lazily in the breeze.
“Time for breakfast,” Menna said as she emerged from the tent, mess pot in hand.
Bellia realized she didn’t have hers. A search of the tent came up empty.
“I’ll have to search for it. I must have left it by the stream last night.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll be back.”
A mist hung over the stream in the early morning. The sun was not quite gracing the camp with its feeble heat. Bellia searched the bank for her kit, but to no avail. The monk’s camp, she thought.
She found the rocks that she walked on to cross the stream to the other side. Light barely penetrated inside the woods, but Bellia found the little clearing. No monks, but her mess pot lay on the forest loam. It was head scratching time. She felt a shiver. She was actually here! The mess pot was proof.
All Bellia wanted was to have breakfast. She wanted no part in visions of gods. Her current goal of losing herself among the soldiers in the army still seemed to be her best course. This god business didn’t fit in to her plans.
Like last night, Bellia found herself in the back of the meal line on the training ground. She couldn’t help feel a bit of a lift with the festive atmosphere the pennants caused. Astun’s red head stood out, as his crew finished the King’s viewing stand by wrapping blue cloth around the bottom of the stage.
Bellia took off the top of her pot to use as a cup. Her utensils banged around inside. She pulled out a meal knife, spoon, and a fork that she had made for herself. A noise still emerged from the pot. Something that glinted like gold rattled around in the bottom.
Tilting the pot, she put out her hand to catch the large coin. A building stood in relief on one side. It looked like a religious building to Bellia. She flipped it over and there was a picture of the man that spoke to her in the woods. The Blind God. Her hand shook as the coin went into her pocket. He just couldn’t have been real.
“Raisins today?” Bellia said to the cook. She wondered if she looked as shaken as she felt.
“We get some advantages with the King coming and all. Move on.”
Bellia managed a smile; maybe the King should stay with the army. With hot water filling her cup, she tried to find a spot to eat, but the ground was full. She sipped the water while it was still hot and made her way back to the squad’s courtyard. Sitting on a campstool would be better than eating standing up.
When she approached her unit, Menna sat sharpening her weapon.
“Hey, let me use the stool,” Bellia said.
“You found your kit, eh?” Menna said as she gave Bellia a place to sit and sought out the other camp stool the squad had.
“Yeah. I found it where I left it last night. Hey. I found a coin close by. I wonder if you’ve ever seen one like it.” Bellia dug the coin from her pocket and flipped it to her friend.
“Never seen one of these. The Blind God. This building must be their temple. They’re down south somewhere.”
“Tuathua.”
“Maybe. I don’t think this is a spending coin with that hole in the top. Looks more like a token or an amulet.” Menna gave it back to Bellia.
“What’s a token?” Bellia put another spoonful of raisin filled mush in her mouth.
“A token. Like my statue. Remember it?” Menna looked around to see if anyone could listen. “That statue is a token for getting me a treasure.”
“Where’s your treasure?” Bellia laughed.
Menna’s face turned serious, “Far, far away. When it’s time to find it, I’ll find you.”
“Maybe I’ll be in Tuathua.” Bellia didn’t know where that thought came from.
“Perhaps, perhaps. Don’t tell a soul.”
Bellia tried to keep a straight face. A treasure indeed. Now Menna was a treasure hunter, but then Bellia always thought that she really knew nothing about Menna. They’d never talk about their past to each other. Perhaps that was a good thing between them. “You can rely on me.”
“I know I can.”
The disclosure of Pock’s secret blossomed in Bellia’s mind, making her feel very guilty. She quickly put more mush in her mouth so she didn’t have to say another word.
When Bellia finished, she grabbed Menna. “Want to see the stream? I want to wash this.”
Menna grunted and then ducked into their tent, coming out with her own kit. Menna hardly ever cleaned hers up and it showed.
The stream had a few more visitors this time of the morning. Some soldiers washed their clothes. The pair walked up to Bellia’s crossing point. Menna kicked around in the grass.
“Might be another one of those tokens. If it’s pure gold, I’d like one myself.”
Bellia helped her look for a minute or two. She knew there wouldn’t be another. She bent over to wash her kit. Menna followed, pulling some of the grit from the stream bottom and began rubbing it on the inside of the pot.
A horn blared, ending their domestic duties. All of the soldiers finished up their work and began to flow towards their tents. They were told each squad would be called when it was their turn in front of the King. Bellia couldn’t wait for the end of the inspection. So far the only good thing about parading in front of the King were some chunks of beef and a handful of raisins.
The squad sergeant came by to inspect them. Bellia always kept her gear shiny and spotless.
“The best squads will get to paint their shields any decoration they’d like,
” the sergeant said. She rubbed the scar that ran from the front of her cheek to the bottom of her ear. “You women do well today, but if I don’t see Blue Scorpions on our shields, I will be very disappointed.”
The call finally came for them to report to the training ground. The squads paraded past the reviewing stand. The sergeant had them take quick half-steps in unison. Eighteen women moved in double file like a centipede, Bellia one of them, with the sergeant just outside the line.
They came up to a quick stop when it was their turn to march in front of the King. At the sergeant’s call, they sharply turned right, looking at the King and his officers. Bellia noticed a few nobles had accompanied the King’s party.
The King was younger than Bellia imagined. Perhaps in his mid-thirties. He wore a full dark beard and wore a simple band of gold around his head. Bellia noticed the bulge of armor under his boiled wool robe and, to her surprise, a Pock blade sat on the belt at his waist complete with the original brass ring guard. She felt a shock of pride and wished that Pock were here to see that the King’s favorite weapon was one they had made.
The King nodded to the sergeant, and then spoke to an aide. This was their chance to show off. She hoped they would be painting their shields tonight. The sergeant ordered them to turn to the left and they half-trotted to their place on the field, just to the right of the stand.
The squad paired off. The exercise was to show the King that the women knew their sword drills. The sergeant ordered Menna and Bellia to drill with sword and knife. Bellia wasn’t too happy to practice with two blades in front of the king, but orders were orders. They removed their uniform jackets and stood ready to spar in their blouses. Bellia wished she had washed her clothes the night before. She wasn’t the least fastidious of soldiers, but felt a touch of shame with the shabby condition of her uniform.
Pairs covered the field, stretching before their drill. A horn blared and the women began. The ringing and clanging of swords on shields filled the air. Bellia and Menna’s weapons rang, since they didn’t carry shields.
With Bellia using her right hand, it was always apparent she had the advantage with her longer knife and the way she handled it, so Bellia used her sword left-handed for the drill. They had practiced sword against sword and knife against knife to make their match more equal, now that Bellia could easily best every one of her squad-mates, including the sergeant. The pair rested by circling their little patch of dirt. Bellia groaned as she saw the King and his party looking at their sparring match.
“Want to take it up a notch?” Menna said with a grin. Bellia didn’t like the half sneer Menna made when she suggested something that she knew would push them to a dangerous level of sparring.
“No. We’re drawing too much attention as it is.” Bellia responded with an angry low voice. Menna often sparred right on the edge. Where Bellia never wanted to call attention to herself, Menna seemed to want too much.
Menna grunted as they started in again. Bellia sensed the up-tempo Menna was putting into her strokes. She had no choice but to match her.
“Slow back down,” Bellia said through clenched teeth
Menna only grinned and increased the force of her strokes. She put out her foot to trip Bellia, but it only caused Menna to stumble.
Bellia glared and slammed the flat of her sword down on Menna’s shoulders. Menna staggered back.
“Stop this,” Bellia said.
Menna shook her head and their battle raged on. Bellia felt it had gone far enough and one of them could be seriously injured or killed at this rate. She twisted her long knife and slid the blunt edge along Menna’s hand and yanked her knife out of her grasp, making it spin in the air and land ten feet away.
Menna narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth, as she gripped her sword with both hands and began slashing at Bellia. She waited for Menna to make the direct downward blow she always resorted to. As Menna’s blade descended, she stepped aside, deflecting the sword slightly away from her and then Bellia twirled around Menna’s back and slid the blunt blade of her knife across Menna’s throat and slapped the flat of her sword along Menna’s side. A thin line of blood edged where Bellia’s sword edge kissed Menna’s blouse.
Menna had no choice but to drop her sword when Bellia whispered, “Yield!” in her ear.
The King’s reviewing stand erupted in applause. The entire field had stopped their sparring to see the two friends fight.
The sergeant called attention, as the squad lowered their weapons and stood, panting in the chill autumn day. Bellia’s chest heaved. Her body shook with a faint tremor as the energy that sustained her fight shut down. She glanced at Menna, who stood, swaying, in worse condition.
Horns blared. It was time for the next set of squads to spar for the King. The Blue Scorpions put their battle tunics back on and marched off the field with their half step. The tempo and the crispness of their march couldn’t match their entrance.
“Let me see.” Bellia said as Menna clutched her wound. The woman relented. Bellia breathed a sigh of relief to see the long scratch. His slap was enough to cut the cloth, but barely enough to pierce the skin. The bleeding already stopped.
“You could have killed me, Bellia.” Menna said.
“I could have, indeed, but did I? I asked you to stop. One missed parry and one of our blades would have cut deep. What were you thinking?”
Menna nodded her head and looked at her sword. “Sometimes I get carried away. You know that. It’s been bred in me.” She grinned. “What a move. When did you figure that one out?”
“I didn’t. I made it up when you upped the cadence. I had to find a way to get behind you in order to prevail.”
Menna snorted. “Prevail. A real fight and my blood would have been sinking into the field.” She slapped Bellia on the back. “Sure glad you’re my partner and not my enemy.”
Relief shot through Bellia, as it always did when Menna’s rage faded.
Astun walked up to the sergeant. The squad stopped and waited for the sergeant’s words.
“Soldiers, clean yourselves up. It looks like the King would like us to dine with him tonight. And tomorrow we have a contest on who can draw the best scorpion.” Her words drew cheers from her unit. The sergeant looked pleased with herself as she walked into her tent, rubbing her scar.
Bellia volunteered to repair Menna’s shirt. The stream beckoned to her and she took her own sweat-soaked laundry along with a bar of soap. When she finished with Menna’s blouse, she stripped to the waist and began pounding her sweaty shirt and her breast bindings on the rocks. As she just about finished, Astun walked up and Bellia desperately clutched the wet shirt to her chest.
“Menna said you’d be here.” He turned around, giving her time to get decent.
“And here I am, in all my glory.” Bellia looked at the quartermaster whose face was turning as red as his hair. “How goes it with the King?”
“You really impressed him.” He turned and looked away, even though there was now nothing to reveal. “They were still talking about your weapons. You are to wear them to dinner tonight, especially the knife.”
“Damn fool Menna.”
“Why? You two looked like warriors out of a tale. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
“It was nearly the end of one of ours, if I didn’t end it. She was caught up in the moment and couldn’t stop on her own. And we had to be in front of the King.” Bellia spat out her words.
“Aren’t you proud? The King took note of you!”
“That’s the problem. The whole point of my being in the army is to remain invisible. I don’t want to be noticed.”
“Why?” Bellia could see the confusion on his face.
“My parents.” She mulled over if she should share her secret with Astun. Bellia took a deep, deep breath. “My grandfather was the King of Grianna. My father was his son. You told me about him. The wizard? That was him. I’m the daughter of a wizard-prince. Assassins could show up at any time to kill me.�
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Astun’s eyes widened. “So that’s where the magic comes from! I always thought it was Pock. Your blades have a bit of magic in them. I’ve noticed.”
Bellia couldn’t resist a smile. “A bit, but I haven’t punched any codes in a long time. King Rollack doesn’t like magic, right?”
“Right.” Astun clamped his lips tight. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Bellia nodded. “I’m sure it is. I’ll get through this notoriety somehow.”
~
Astun and his crew set up a large tent on the training ground. The sergeant marched the squad to the entrance.
“Blue Scorpion unit reporting to the King,” she said to the guard.
Bellia wiped her sweaty palms on the pants of her uniform. The King was sure to ask about the knife. Should she lie and say she bought it? She discarded the thought. Perhaps the truth about Pock and Bellia’s role in sword manufacture would be enough. The King’s interest would surely wane if confronted with a common blacksmith.
She nodded to no one. But fortified with the truth, she just might get through this. Her reverie broke when Menna poked her hard in the side.
“Time to get moving, girl.” The squad moved forward into the tent. The sergeant wanted the women to show off their march, but the carpets covering the dirt of the field only made them stumble. She called a halt to her squad before anyone fell.
“At ease, sergeant; at ease, soldiers.” The King rose from his seat. He spread out his arms. “You are my guests. Come sit down among my staff. There are open seats for you all. Learn from them and they will learn from you.” The King sat down again.
None of the women knew how to act. They bowed towards the King. Servants led the soldiers to their places. One of the King’s nobles took Bellia by the arm and led her to an empty spot by the King himself.
She couldn’t hardly breathe, seated by the man who held so many lives in his hands. Bellia was barely eighteen years old. She tried to act like a much older soldier in all circumstances, but this was too much. She hesitated en route, wanting to run from the tent, but the noble just clamped his hand harder around Bellia’s upper arm. It was no use. The seat was pulled out and before Bellia knew, the King leaned over to greet her.
