Retribution

by Benjamin J Boswell

  - - -

  After the Madrausan prisoners had been escorted away and everyone had left, Marigold went to see if Esther wanted help changing out of her formal costume and cleaning off her makeup. She found her in her sleeping quarters. Esther had already stripped off the ceremonial shalwar kameez and laid them neatly on the bed, and was now just sitting in front of her vanity in nothing but her undergarments, staring into the mirror with a washrag lying limply in her hands, the chill night air raising gooseflesh on her bare arms.

  “You’ll catch a chill sitting there in the cold wearing only those Hadiqan undergarments Esther,” she said.

  Personally, Marigold greatly preferred the silken two-piece Hadiqan undergarments to the traditional one-piece Ardmorran shifts, but a cool November evening was not the time to be lounging in them…or staring off into space. Marigold stepped over to the small wardrobe— everything was small aboard a warship, even for a Queen—and pulled out Esther’s winter nightgown. The nightgown wasn’t very fashionable and reminded Marigold of something that her grandmother would wear, but Esther liked it and it would keep her friend warm.

  “I should have pardoned those men, Marigold,” Esther said quietly.

  Marigold turned to her friend. Esther’s face was calm and composed, but her eyes looked troubled.

  “Heaven knows we need all of the help that we can get,” Esther continued, “and if they are willing to join us because of some blasted prophecy, then I should have taken advantage of it…but I couldn’t.”

  Marigold sighed. She had heard that the audience with the Madrausan defectors hadn’t gone well. She laid the nightgown on the narrow bed and walked over to stand behind Esther, looking at her friend’s face in the mirror.

  “We aren’t always who we’d like to be,” Marigold said, reaching out and gently placing her hand on Esther’s shoulder, hoping that a comforting touch might help her. “But we are who we must be. I know you Esther, and I heard what happened. You did the right thing, for that moment. You resisted the temptation to punish those men for the crimes of their people. You decided to wait…and that is more than the rest of us would have done sitting on that throne. It was much more than I could have done.” Marigold paused. Esther was the only thing keeping the madness she’d experienced at the time of her father’s death and capture by the Madrausan’s at bay—and Esther needed her right now. She hoped what she was saying would help. “When the time is right…when you are able…then you can do what you believe needs to happen.”

  Esther smiled and looked up at her in the mirror, her hand reaching up to hold Marigold’s. “Thanks,” said Esther as they smiled at each other, “You’re a good friend.”

  “I know.” Marigold smiled back. She turned and stepped over to the wardrobe, pulling out a clean towel. “Now, let’s get that makeup cleaned off.” She unfolded the large towel and wrapped it around Esther’s bare shoulders to keep water and paint from dripping on her while she worked. She gently took the washrag from her friend’s limp hand, dipped it into the wash basin that sat on the vanity, and gently began scrubbing the makeup and gold paint away. Marigold wasn’t sure, but it seemed that some of the pain and worry came away with the paint, because the troubled look in Esther’s eyes seemed to lessen just a bit as she scrubbed.

  - - -

  Marigold stood in the center of the great cabin, the dim light from a single lantern illuminating her surroundings. She had just finished helping Mac remove the throne and tidy up the room. There hadn’t been much left to do. Mac had been almost done by the time she had finished getting Esther cleaned up—there had been a lot of paint and makeup. Esther had retired to bed a few minutes ago and would hopefully be sleeping. It had been a very long and difficult day for her friend.

  “Well, I’m off to bed then,” said Mac, looking exhausted himself, “Unless there is anything else you need me to do?”

  “No, I think we’re good,” Marigold responded, “Thanks Mac.”

  He nodded and walked out.

  Marigold walked over to the small buffet that stood against the starboard wall and picked up the neat stack of folded decorative fabric Mac had used to adorn the room. She noticed Esther’s finest dupatta scarf lying on the buffet next to the material. She should probably put this away in Esther’s wardrobe since the beautiful white dupatta was very expensive, and the gold trim around the edge was masterfully embroidered. People often made fun of her for paying so much attention to clothing, but her keen eye for fabrics and fine tailoring was very helpful in her present position as Esther’s wardrobe designer.

  She picked up the scarf and walked over to the door to Esther’s sleeping quarters, slipping quietly inside. She froze as soon as she entered. Esther was kneeling next to the small, luxurious bed, head bowed with her hands clasped together in front of her. The problem with being on a ship with royalty is that everything is very well maintained. All of the door hinges are greased and none of them make any noise. Esther hadn’t heard her enter.

  “…and, merciful Creator,” Marigold heard her saying, “Please forgive me…and place forgiveness in my heart, that I may do my duty, as thou wouldst have me do, and leave the fear, anger, and hatred that I feel behind, so that I may…”

  Marigold slipped back out, closing the door carefully, a tear in her eye at hearing her friend plead for help and guidance. She laid the dupatta gently back on the buffet. She could put it away tomorrow. She walked out of the great, heading for her own small cabin that she shared with Dani two decks below.

  Chapter 7

  To Lancaster

  My dear Asserius…I want to establish a naval rank titled ‘Queen’s First Officer’ with equivalent stature and pay to a full naval Captain. If the Navy won’t do it—I know how much trouble you are having politically right now—then we could establish a separate structure within the Royal Guard with that rank and title. In addition, please promote First Lieutenant Abdel Najafi to that rank forthwith as he has more than earned it. The days continue to…

  Esther woke and leisurely sat up in her bed, yawning and stretching slowly, the fabric of her gown brushing against the growing and unfamiliar baby bump. She marveled again that she was showing this early.

  There were no windows in her sleeping quarters, but she could hear the sound of activity on the deck outside, so she knew she had slept much longer than she normally did. She swung her feet over the side of her bed and slipped them into her slippers. She stood and turned around to make her bed, grateful for the sturdy build of the Retribution and her comfortable winter gown to keep the morning chill at bay. Mac always told her that making her bed was his job and that she had much more important things to do with her time. Being raised on a farm without servants, however, had ingrained certain habits in her, and she didn’t want to leave the good ones behind.

  She opened the door to her sleeping quarters and walked out into her great cabin, squinting as the sunlight shone brightly through the bay of windows along the aft wall. It must be even later than she had first thought.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty.” Esther turned and Mac stood up from where he had been sitting at the small round table. Marigold and Nkiru were with him and stood as well. “You are looking well,” continued Mac, “I take it you slept soundly?”

  There was a standing rule aboard the Retribution that no men be allowed to enter her great cabin without express permission from Esther for the simple reason that she had to walk through it to get from her sleeping quarters to the quarter galley on the starboard side where the privy was, or her bathing area on the port side where Asserius had installed her private bath. Mac was one of three men—the others being Najafi and Oluchi—who were the exception to that rule. Normally, standing in front of a man in her nightgown would have felt awkward, but over the last few months, she had become accustomed to the older man as her personal steward and thus, any awkwardness was only an after-thought.

  “Good morning Mac. Marigold. Nkiru,” said Esther, nodding to them all. “I did sleep wel
l, thank you. What time is it, Mac?”

  “It is almost ten in the morning, Your Majesty.”

  “Ten?” She was incredulous that she had slept so late.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said with a wink. “Would you like me to get you a cup of hot apple nectar and prepare some breakfast for you while you wash up and get dressed?”

  “Yes, Mac, thank you,” she said, padding her way across the deck towards the quarter galley.

  “Esther?” said Marigold, following her. Esther turned to look back at her friend. “Mr. Najafi wanted me to let you know that he would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”

  Esther nodded and turned back towards the quarter galley, walking briskly. Lately, her pregnancy was causing her to need to use the privy more frequently and the need was currently quite urgent. “Send for him as soon as I get dressed,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing through the door.

  - - -

  Several minutes later, after using the privy, washing her face and hands, and getting dressed, she sat down at the small table with a steaming cup of hot apple nectar in front of her, feeling refreshed and much more prepared to face the day. Marigold and Nkiru had left to see to their various duties, and Mac was preparing her some breakfast.

  Normally aboard ship she would wear a kameez tunic and shalwar trousers to avoid any embarrassing situations, like having the wind blow her skirt up, or if she needed to climb up a companionway or into the rigging, but today she had decided to wear a lehenga skirt with her kameez tunic. Wearing the skirt reminded her of Ardmorr where women typically wore dresses and she felt like she needed just a little bit of home today. The skirt was pleated with intricate embroidery, and very long, almost brushing the deck when she walked. Back in Hadiq, there were longer kameez that were more like dresses, but she hadn’t brought any because she didn’t think she would want to wear them aboard ship, but now she was regretting that decision. She’d have to send for some with the next set of dispatches.

  There was a knock at the door and Najafi stepped through.

  “Good morning, Abdel. Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing at the empty chair next to hers.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Can I have Mac get you something to eat or drink? I was just about to take breakfast.” She felt her face flush slightly in embarrassment at eating breakfast so late in the morning. “I apologize if you were waiting for me to wake up.”

  “Please don’t apologize, Your Majesty. It relieves me to know that you were finally able to get some much needed rest. Thank you for the offer of refreshment, but I’m fine for the moment.”

  Esther nodded, lifting her mug to her lips and sipping the warm liquid. Mac walked in and set a bowl of hot cereal and a small glass of milk in front of her.

  “Thank you, Mac.”

  “Your welcome, Your Majesty. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not right now, thank you.”

  Mac bowed and left. He was spending too much time with Hadiqan’s, she thought. An Ardmorran steward would never bow except to royalty—. She stopped herself. She was royalty now. It still felt weird. She gave herself a mental shrug and turned her attention back to Abdel.

  “We received a communication from the Flag this morning,” he was saying, “Admiral Marsena says that now that the Madrausan invasion fleet has been driven back, the fleet is awaiting your orders.”

  “To Lancaster,” Esther said without hesitation. She had been sent to establish a formal alliance between Hadiq and Ardmorr, and she intended to see the task done as soon as possible, even if she felt highly unqualified for the task and didn’t understand how simply marrying someone suddenly made that person best suited for it.

  “Request the Admiral detach the first battle squadron from the rest of the fleet,” she continued, “and accompany us and the Admiral’s ship to Lancaster while the remainder of the fleet is sent to Port Bergen with orders to assist in the defense of Ardmorr against invasion and all raids by Madraus or Madrausan allies as requested by the Ardmorran naval commander in Port Bergen.”

  Najafi nodded. “I will relay the message, Your Majesty.”

  “How long will it take to get to Lancaster?” she asked.

  “Under current wind and weather conditions, I’d say twelve hours. But I believe the Admiral will rightly insist on stopping at dusk in order to avoid the unnecessary risk of flying a large battle squadron of ships together at night. By the time preparations are complete and we can detach from the rest of the fleet, we should be able to make it to Lancaster by tomorrow afternoon sometime.”

  “Excellent, I—”

  There was another knock at the door.

  “Come,” Esther called.

  The door opened to reveal the marine sentry in his navy blue overcoat. “Dr. Scott is requesting to see you, Your Majesty,” he said.

  Esther nodded. “Let him in.” She turned to Abdel. “If you want to see about sending those orders, that’s all I really had.” She stood, smoothing out her long skirt

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Najafi said, standing as well and bowing slightly before turning to leave. He nodded to Geoffrey as they passed each other before ducking through the door.

  Geoffrey walked over, giving her outfit appraising glance. “You look very nice,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she replied with a smile, reaching out and gently squeezing his hand. “I felt like trying something different today.”

  “Well, it looks good on you. How are you feeling?” Geoffrey asked, “I heard you actually slept in this morning?”

  “Yes, I did,” Esther replied, sitting back down to eat her cereal, “And I must say, I feel much better.”

  Geoffrey sat down in the chair that Najafi had just vacated. “Good. Any problems or concerns with your pregnancy?”

  “No. I suspect that a mid-wife will be arriving with the next set of dispatches, so be prepared to have your toes stepped on,” Esther joked.

  Geoffrey just smiled. “So now that the Madrausan invasion fleet has been driven back, what’s the plan now?”

  “Well,” she said after swallowing a mouthful of hot cereal, “That’s what I was just discussing with Abdel. We will go to Lancaster to try and get an alliance treaty drafted. We should be there tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Home,” Geoffrey said.

  “Yes, home,” Esther replied softly.

  Esther ate and let her mind drift, thinking of home. Geoffrey must have been doing the same. It was a full minute later before he spoke again.

  “Lancaster is a magnificent city. I’d love to show you around if you have time.”

  “I’d like that,” Esther replied, scraping her bowl with her spoon.

  He stood and slid his chair back under the table. “I had originally just come to check on you and report that Airman Cutha is recovering very well, but it sounds like we have several hours of travel time ahead of us and I’m still feeling inadequate with the sword. Do you want to meet me up on the stern deck and practice after I check on my patients?”

  “I don’t think I can bear beating you again,” Esther teased.

  “It will teach you patience,” he said. “You’ll be needing a lot of that in the near future. Besides, I insist.”

  “Are those official doctor’s orders?” she said playfully.

  “Absolutely,” he replied with mock authority.

  Esther laughed. “Alright then, it doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes then, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing with a flourish before turning to leave.

  Chapter 8

  Yvonne

  Yvonne stood at the bow of the Madrausan Interceptor—a long narrow ship built for speed and agility—and looked down at the countryside flowing by beneath her. She was tall, like her father, and could easily see over the railing without needing to lean over it. The province of Coorg was one of the richest, and the one from which her father, the Madrausan High Warlord Jahan, had t
aken power and began his rule. She hated to be leaving it, especially at this time of the year when the weather was turning cooler up North, but her father had sent for her and she would obey.

  She had braided her platinum blonde dyed hair—long on one side and shaved on the other—into many tiny long braids and pulled it back over her right ear. She wore her armor, consisting of a breastplate that pulled her breasts tight against her chest and a form fitting heavy leather tunic under the breastplate covering her abdomen from her waist up its high neck. Leather trousers covered her legs. Chainmail had been strategically placed along her arms, legs, and other areas, all to allow her the greatest degree of protection while maintaining the flexibility she needed for her style of combat. The many knives placed in various locations around her figure completed her ensemble. She’d left her cloak in her cabin—the November temperatures of southern Madraus were too warm to wear it at the moment, though she’d need it after she reached Dunai.

  Her normally provocative attire was hidden underneath the armor. She didn’t need to manipulate the ship’s crew with her looks like she did with her father’s generals. Their fear of her—and who she was—accomplished that. Yvonne felt that same fear and respect for her father, and that was the primary reason why she dared not refuse his summons—growing up for twenty years with his threats, raised fists, and dark bruises guaranteed that.

  Besides, if he needed her to come north to help keep the Warlords in control, she would. If they were too busy fighting over her, then they couldn’t cause as much trouble for the Empire. And they would fight over her. Yvonne held no illusions; she knew she had been blessed—or cursed, depending on the situation—with a fundamental natural beauty, and she worked very hard to cultivate that beauty to her advantage.

  It wasn’t simply her beauty that the Warlord’s would fight over, however—there were plenty of beautiful women in the world. It was the crown that would follow if one of them could bed her, because the one who took Yvonne to wife would eventually receive the Priam Scepter after Jahan, along with the title of High Warlord, and that was main reason she remained unmarried at twenty years of age.