She slid the paper back into the haystack, pulled out an old leather jerkin and gray workman’s shirt, and offered them to him.
“There is no description, but just in case.”
“Anything that fits you I doubt will fit me.”
“They are too big for me; they should fit well.”
Ransom began to take off his leather jerkin and shirt. Annabeth turned away and walked to the end of the cart. Looking up at the sun, she shielded her eyes.
When he had finished, Ransom came to her side. “Where do I put these?”
“Oh,” she said, and pulled out a sack, putting the clothes in. She slipped them under the hay.
“To pull off the whole farmer look, you might want to put your sword under the hay.”
“Is that where yours is?”
She nodded. “They have never looked there before, and it keeps me safe. I mean, an old woman with a sword looks rather suspicious.”
Ransom laughed. “How did you know these would fit me?”
“Just a wild guess. I picked them up a long time ago. I thought I would trim them down to my size. Just never got the time, I guess,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Shall we?”
Ransom nodded. “I think that would be a good plan.” He looked at her archly, and added dryly, “Grandmother.”
Annabeth burst out laughing. “Don’t call me that or I shall not keep a straight face.”
Gently picking up Annabeth, he sat her on the stack of hay. “There; now you can rest, and not strain yourself.”
“Ransom, I...”
“You are still wounded and need all of your strength.”
“I can manage just fine.”
“You will lie there and rest, or I’ll tie you to the cart.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Don’t try me.”
She leaned against the hay, her eyes trying to sift him out. He didn’t give her that chance, but, mounting, took the horse’s bridle and began to lead the rickety old cart onto the road and head south.
Chapter 10
Three days later, Annabeth said it was time to stop and make camp in the middle of the day.
“We’ll stop here until midday tomorrow. If he doesn’t show up by then, it is time to move on.”
After they made camp, Annabeth slipped behind a bush and pulled out a carefully wrapped package. Opening it, she smiled. “It’s still here.”
Ransom looked over at her, asking with his eyes.
“A new dress—or rather an old dress, but it will feel new after these rags.”
She took off her neat little white cap and shook her head vigorously, letting her hair fall loosely about her as a cloud of flour surrounded her. Coughing, she walked away from the cloud. Her fingers still came away powdered as she ran them though her hair. She shivered, looking something like a little bird that had just hopped out of a dust bath and was trying to adjust her feathers properly again.
“Would you mind if I went down to the river to wash this off?” she said, rubbing her face and wiping away some of the wrinkles.
“Don’t mind one bit. I’ll be here unless you call.”
“Thank you,” she said, gathering her skirts up and dashing away.
Within half an hour she returned, wearing a faded blue dress and carrying damp clothes gingerly over one arm; her wet hair was loosely braided and over her shoulder.
She spread the wet clothes out on a low branch to dry and sat down before the small fire that Ransom had started. He was whittling the end of a long stick.
“Do you know how to spear a fish?” he asked casually.
Across the flame, she met his eyes. There seemed to be a sudden dampness in them. “I do.”
“What do you say about some fresh fish for our dinner?”
“It sounds splendid.”
“Then this one is yours.” He tossed the stick lengthwise over the fire.
She caught it with a single hand and looked at the sharp tip. “It’s a good one.”
Rising, he started towards the river, carrying his own.
At the riverbank they took off their knee-high boots and slipped into the water. Ransom headed towards a deep, clear pool; Annabeth hopped nimbly from one moss covered stone to the next until she reached a shallow where the water ran fast.
In a minute, Ransom had stabbed a fish from the water and tossed it onto the bank. Two more came in quick succession before Annabeth made her first stab into the water, coming up empty.
Ransom glanced in her direction.
“I said I could. I didn’t say I was good.”
He only smiled and shook his head.
Her next stab was successful.
Ransom came up with three more fish and called it a successful expedition. Together they skinned the fish, then cooked them over the open fire.
Annabeth was strangely mute during the whole process, her eyes saying that her mind was occupied as she mechanically turned the fish over and over on the spit.
Several times she shook her head as if trying to shake something out of her mind, then glanced thoroughly around the forest, all the while turning the spit. Ransom laid his hand over hers to take his turn, and she jumped with a sharp intake.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she answered with a shake of her head.
“I hope I should know you a little better than that.”
“Fine, something is, but I am not in the mood to talk about it.” Going to the old cart, she pulled out her sword and fastened it around her waist with a slight wince–the belt rested against her wound.
Ransom watched her with scrutinizing eyes. She checked the dampness of her clothes, walked the perimeter of the camp, climbed a tree for a better view, and walked around again. By that time, the fish were done and he called her to eat.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, just my nerves.”
He nodded and served up the fish. He watched as she silently cut a piece and took a bite, chewing slowly. She couldn’t seem to swallow. Taking a sip from her canteen, she suddenly stood up.
“I’ll be back in a little while.”
Ransom watched her disappear and gave her a few minutes before following. She was sitting by the river, tossing in pebbles, her knees hugged tightly against her. Silently, he sank down beside her, watching her and the river.
She threw another pebble before gathering her knees more tightly into her chest. Holding them with both arms, she rested her chin on one knee.
“The last day I had with my father, we went fishing together. He...” She sighed and bit her lip, trying to find the words she needed.
“It was the day he told me everything that had happened to him in the Holy Land. How he and King Harold were both captured together; how he had no hope but in himself; and how all of his attempts at escape were useless. King Harold was different from any other man he had known. He didn’t fight, but he was strong, he was not fearful, and he never gave up believing that all would be well even after they were sentenced to death. It is hard to imagine my father fearful, but he was afraid of death. Then when King Harold shared his faith and my father believed, he said that it felt as if a lightning bolt came down from heaven, and he saw a way of escape. He felt that it was his chance to come back to me, and be the father he needed to be.”
She looked out at the stream, her eyes blind to what was before her as memories floated in her mind.
“My mother was one of the faith, and she passed it on to me. She died in childbirth when I was eight. The baby was a boy, and he died only days later. My father felt thwarted and angry at God and forbade me to believe or pray. I didn’t openly, but I begged God every day to give me a father who would love me. I tried everything I could think of to make him love me. I became his son; I fought; I battled; I wanted his love more than anything. I prayed for years, and then when God finally gave it to me I gave it all away. I told my father everything that had happened in his absence.
“He was so
calm. He rose to his feet, told me to stay there, and said if he wasn’t back within the hour to ride like the wind. I waited for him. It was over an hour but I couldn’t bear the thought of just leaving, so I waited. I waited until I heard the hounds. Then I fled, and I have been doing that ever since. But still God has been good to me,” she said, dropping her eyes to the ground.
“How can you say that?”
“Some things look awful; other things look beautiful. Whatever His purpose, I know they are perfect. My mother’s death was sad and I was left alone, but because of my grief I came closer to God. Because my father was captured, his life was changed forever. He came back a father; a man I admire and love. God has even sent you to protect me. I don’t know what God is doing now, Ransom, because I can’t see the whole plan; all I see is my little world. Does it frighten me? Yes, it does. But He has taken care of me in the past, and I know He will take care of the future. He knows when each sparrow falls, and the hairs on my head; He will not forget me, Ransom. I know He will not.”
Ransom looked into her blue eyes. They were almost filled with tears, so earnest. He searched those eyes looking up into his for anything that would betray the way she really felt. There was nothing; she honestly felt that way with all her heart.
Ransom slipped his arm around her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against his shoulder, letting out a sigh of weariness.
I will protect her always, he promised in his heart.
“Do you think you could eat something now? You need to keep up your strength.”
“I think I could manage it.”
Rising, he took her hands, pulling Annabeth to her feet.
Chapter 11
The day passed slowly. Ransom returned to the river to fish for dinner while Annabeth elected to stay back at camp to keep the fire burning and watch for her friend. When Ransom returned an hour later with the fish cleaned and ready to eat, Annabeth was waiting, the fire in the state of perfection, with a surprise. She had made a basket out of fresh leaves and sharp twigs. In the little basket were cradled some late berries.
“Where did you find those?” Ransom asked, snatching one up and popping it into his mouth.
“Not far from here. They are late because they grew so much in the shade, but aren’t they splendid?”
Ransom took another and nodded.
“Now don’t eat too many of them. I was saving them to eat with the fish.”
Ransom watched as Annabeth put some of their food by for travel and left some close to the fire to stay warm.
“So, who is this friend we are waiting for?” Ransom asked, settling himself down and looking at her rather sleepily across the fire.
Leaning forward, Annabeth stirred the coals with a stick, sending sparks flying like dancing orange fireflies towards the sky. Distractedly, she put on another log.
Ransom sat up and leaned forward, staring at her though the fire.
Her chin was resting on her knee as she held it close, gazing into the waving flames. Their eyes met; she stared into the coals and stirred them with the stick again, and looked away into the night, waiting, watching.
“Why does Raburn want you so badly?”
“Secrets. Secrets about him he doesn’t want anyone to know about. You see, I am the only one who knows them, and the moment I am dead...” She sighed and met his eyes. “He can kill Prince Alfred.”
“What?”
“I know what his plans are, and what he will do, but as long as there is a threat of me telling the whole story, the prince must stay alive. For if he kills him, I will let the whole world know and he will be destroyed.”
“Why not tell the whole world now?”
“And make the people more afraid and terrified of him? No, I couldn’t do that. Very few of the people are armed since the king left; Raburn has seen to that. The town you first met me in is one of his greatest resisters, but they could not face an army. My hands are tied. If I tell everyone the truth, the people will be in a rage with nothing to defend themselves but their anger, and if I don’t say a thing, he gets away with murder.”
Ransom looked at her questioningly.
“I saw him kill Prince Alfred’s lord protector. They were having a disagreement. Lord Raburn would not compromise his position, and neither would the lord protector. So, he pretended to compromise, agreed on a handshake, and then choked the man to death. He dragged the lord protector to his room and had the doctor swear that he died of a heart attack in his sleep. Before anyone else could see the body, there was an accidental fire that destroyed the lord protector’s chambers, and the doctor died of a stroke the next day, drinking to Lord Raburn’s heath as the new lord protector. You see, I am running for not only my life, but others as well. The moment I am in his grasp, he will have something new to torture my father with. Then, when we are both dead, he will kill the prince and be done with it all. No one dares to stand up to him.”
“Why do you dare to stand up to him?”
Annabeth looked blankly at him. “I don’t have another choice unless I want to become one of his tools—and I don’t. If he lays a finger on Prince Alfred, the whole country shall know it. I will raise them up in arms if it comes to that.”
“And how is that?”
Annabeth smiled elusively as she gazed into the fire. “You might say a little birdie knows.”
“The phantom Song Lark?”
Annabeth nodded with a little smile.
“I haven’t heard of it singing in a while.”
“The bird knows when to warble and when to be silent, just like the wild ones.”
“And does that little bird happen to be close by?”
“I don’t know,” she said, glancing up into the trees. Suddenly, there was rustle in the forest and both laid hold of their swords and crept to their feet, sliding slowly away from the fire in opposite directions.
There was a strum of a lute.
“Oh, oh, I pray thee hark, and my words thy heart will spark.”
Annabeth put down her sword and answered back.
“I pray thee welcome, I pray thee mark; thy name must be Song Lark.”
A hearty laugh burst from the forest.
“That’s a new one, Annabeth!”
“Hello, Lark.”
“How is the nest?”
“It is safe and snug. It’s only my friend and I.”
“Ah, so you have brought your friend to meet me. I have heard about him. Raburn doesn’t like him.”
Annabeth laughed. “There is nothing that he does like. But allow me to introduce you. Song Lark, this is Ransom.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And I, you,” said Ransom, stepping forward and offering his hand.
Song Lark shook it, then thrummed his fingers over the strings of his lute with a smile at Annabeth.
“What news do you have for me to hear? What food do you have for me to eat?”
“There is fish if you want it, and a few berries.”
He sat down promptly and began to eat.
Annabeth sat and waited in silence for him to be done.
“So, what news do you have, Annabeth?”
“When I was in the south, I was able to make contact with Christina’s maidservant. She had a note from Prince Alfred. He doesn’t think he has long. Lord Raburn is getting more irritable and threatening than usual.”
“Did you hear he moved the prince up to Anondorf?”
“Anondorf?” she asked, paling.
Song Lark nodded.
“It makes sense; he has spent years fortifying the place and making it a labyrinth of death.”
“Have you heard anything about your father?”
“No. I don’t think he is dead yet though...but then again, he could be. It all depends on how badly he wants me to hope or die.”
“If the prince is running out of time, we need to do something. There is no knowing when the king will come back, and I would like to know that his son is safe,
sound, and ready to take the throne.”
“But how, Lark?”
“I am not sure, but it has to be done.”
“I know.”
For a long time they all sat around the fire in silence: thinking, scheming, planning.
Slowly, Annabeth looked over at Song Lark, her eyes filling with hope and questions.
“Song Lark, do you have those old monk robes yet?”
“Of course I do; what else would you expect from the master of disguise? Why, what do you want them for?”
“I was just wondering if,” she smiled in her excitement. “Do you think that Ransom is about the same height as the prince?”
“What are you getting at there, you little schemer?”
“You and Ransom could go up to the prince’s room to inquire about his soul and hear his prayers or something. Ransom could change clothes with the prince, and the prince could escape as the monk, and Ransom could escape out the window as the prince. When they go to check on the prince later, they will find a rope out the window and will chase Ransom and not the prince. We can agree on a place to meet, and then the prince can cross the border and be safe and...”
Annabeth paused, paling, as she realized that this action could very well seal her father’s fate in death. Lord Raburn, in anger, might take his vengeance out on him...if he was still alive.
“Would it work?” she asked, forcing her voice not to tremble.
The men looked at her curiously.
“Ransom, stand next to Annabeth.”
Both rose and faced Song Lark.
He tilted his head.
“Face each other. Annabeth, don’t be shy; look up at him. Now, Ransom put your hand on her shoulder, I need to know for sure if you are tall as Prince Alfred, and that is the way I saw them together last.”
Annabeth’s cheeks flamed red, her dagger withdrew and she threw it in the direction of the minstrel. Her dagger sank into the log he leaned against.
“Song Lark!” she scolded.
He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s true.”
“I had just received word that my father was captured.”
“And he was trying to comfort you, I suppose.”
Annabeth's War Page 7
