by Kate Elliott
She hadn’t known she was so close to Eika. She stayed within the cover of trees on her daily foraging expeditions into the forest, but every day she had to search farther away from the battered holding of Steleshame to find any pittance to add to the shared pot. In this way, with the young lord growing bored of Master Helvidius’ poetry and Mistress Gisela eager to exclude anyone who didn’t “earn their keep,” Anna staved off the cold knife of starvation. It would not have been like this if Matthias hadn’t died.
She shuddered. She could not bear to think about Matthias. Maybe it would have been better to have died with him, it hurt so much to be without him. But the old poet and the child relied on her as well; she had to go on.
She rubbed her hands and listened. She had been told to stay on the lee of the hill, to save the horses should things go awry. Yet, there was grass atop the hill, yellowed and dry under the winter sky and high enough to hide her. If she could watch the raid, wouldn’t she be better able to protect herself and the horses she had been put in charge of? What if the soldiers’ blades couldn’t penetrate Eika hides? What if Lord Wichman and his men were all killed and the Eika came searching for her and she didn’t know they were coming? What if she were unable to flee, or the reins wouldn’t unwrap from the tree limb? What if she fell from the horse? She didn’t know how to ride.
Maybe it would be better to wait here by the horses, to wait for the soldiers to return, driving captured cattle before them, but she couldn’t bear to wait as if she were blind and crippled.
And anyway, there was nothing she could see on this day that would be worse than what she had already seen in this past year.
She crept up the slope on hands and knees. Grass rustled under her weight and she froze, then slowly crawled to the crest, checking always to assure herself that the foxtails waved above her head. At the top of the hill lay a large gray rock with dry orange lichen clinging to it as if to a scaly hide. From behind this screen she dared to peer down into the vale.
A single ragged byre stood at the far end of the vale. Cattle grazed in their dull fashion, watched over by three slaves dressed in far less than what Anna wore. They leaned heavily on staves. Occasionally a cow lifted its head from the grass to low nervously. Goats strayed over one rise beyond which Anna could see copses of trees and the suggestion of floodplain; if she moved just enough she might be able to see the towers of Gent in the distance. A woman so weak that she frequently stumbled hurried after the straying goats and herded them back. Anna could not count very high, but there were plenty of cattle and goats just in this one sheltered vale where grass still covered the hillside. No doubt these livestock had been stolen from Steleshame or some other unfortunate village. According to the reports brought in by the mounted soldiers, many such herds grazed the lands around Gent now, good cropland which had gone to seed under the stewardship of the Eika.
Lord Wichman and his soldiers weren’t raiding, not really; they were just getting back what the Eika had stolen.
A few trees stood in this pasture, which by the patchwork of grass, some long and dying, some short and new, had perhaps once been a series of long, narrow fields. But cattie, grass, and slaves did not hold her attention for long. Other objects stood in the vale, and these she could not help but stare at with a grim, hungry fear pulling at her gut.
Rising above the grass, occasionally under a tree yet most often atop a gentle rise, stood a number of standing stones the same hue as the stone she lay beside but tall and monolithic rather than low and rugged. No Eika with gleaming skin and ice-white hair, with jewel-studded teeth and fierce spear point, stood guard over the slaves and the precious livestock. Nothing stood here except those dozen stones, yet the slaves did not run in the face of such freedom.
Of Lord Wichman and his soldiers she saw no sign.
She knew these stones, they were somehow familiar to her, each alike, each … a threat.
The stone nearest to her stood at the base of the slope at whose height she knelt. Its pitted surface lay a bit more than a long bow-shot away. Hadn’t it been farther away when she first peeked out? Why would stones stand out here in the middle of this vale, in no discernible pattern? Why did they look different from the boulder she hid behind? Why did no lichen grow on them?
She stared at the stone, frightened. Something was not right here. What was it Master Helvidius had said about illusion?
But it was only a stone.
Her pouch dug into her thigh, the scant reward for her hours of foraging. She had found a few handfuls of acorns which could be leached and ground up into gruel, withered nettle and parsley to flavor soup, and a dead squirrel.
Her thoughts wandered to those happy days when Matthias had labored in the tannery and Helvidius had sung for the lordling every night, when she had begged scraps of food from the soldiers and they had eaten every day. Now they were always so terribly hungry, and little Helen had barely strength to cry. Maybe it would have been more merciful to have left her to die with her mother and infant sibling.
Slowly, while she stared without truly seeing, the stone took shape as illusion toys with the form of things: a spear point, a head, eyes peering up at her, seeing her … it was not a standing stone at all but an Eika soldier creeping one cautious step at a time toward her, easing up the low rise. Terror seized her heart. Goose prickles rose on her arms and neck. She wanted to scream, yet no sound rose out of her throat.
“They find you if you scream,” Matthias had said when they lay in the stinking tanning pit while Eika and their dogs prowled the deserted tanning grounds. “Lie still without a noise.”
Yet would a scream turn it back into stone? Would a scream wake her up and free her from this nightmare? Would the two soldiers come running to save her? They were still out there somewhere, hiding, searching for the Eika guards….
Or had the Eika already slain them?
Did the soldiers see only stones and fail to strike? Had they been cut down unaware that they already faced their foe in the guise of unmoving rock?
Movement stirred in the dark entrance to the byre, a figure ducking out from under the low roof. Smaller than the others, this one had a bad limp and a familiar tilt to his head.
At last the scream rose out of her throat, loud and piercing.
“Matthias!” She could not help herself. She leaped to her feet. “Matthias!”
His name carried upon the breeze and across the vale. Most of the cattle lifted their heads, dull wits responding at last to this unknown sound.
The Eika stalking her froze in its tracks, as if trying to turn itself again to stone, but it was too late. The waning rays of the sun silhouetted every detail of form—no dream at all, but illusion shrouding it: the obsidian leaf-shaped spear; the jut of its lips and the gleam of teeth beneath; the smooth sheen of gold-tinted scales that were its skin. All showed plainly now, illusion banished. A dozen Eika stood frozen in the vale, like statues, and not until the first of the soldiers sprang from his hiding place in the grass and struck a fierce blow did the Eika realize their illusion was shattered.
They moved, dashing to fight, but the trick had worked against them. As a half dozen soldiers rushed in and the pound of hooves alerted Anna to the arrival of Lord Wichman, the Eika ran here and there, almost at random as if, separated, they were confused.
The Eika below her took two great strides up the hill, then, hesitating, turned back toward the vale. From the far slope ten horsemen crested the hill, Lord Wichman at their head, and raced down the gentle slope at a full gallop. Swords held high, they bore down in pairs upon their scattered foes. Another six soldiers appeared from the grass with spears.
An Eika with a large stone ax rushed a spearman. The huge form of the Eika eclipsed the warrior so Anna could see only the Eika as the two met. The point of the spear pushed through the Eika’s back; the two fighters twisted around, both now visible. As he was forced to the ground, the spearman’s spear shaft bowed as the man attempted to shift the Eika aside to avoi
d a blow from the creature’s ax. The haft snapped and the ax fell hard upon the warrior’s leg. A sound reached Anna; she did not know whether it was that of the broken spear or of splintering bone. Still from the ground, first with the splintered shaft of wood and then with a dagger the man rained thrusts and blows upon the face and neck of the Eika until it at last lay still. All over the field Eika fell, most in silence, some in flight.
Matthias dashed back into the shelter of the byre. Of the other slaves, one followed him into the ragged shelter while the other two ran for freedom.
“Matthias!” she shrieked. He had to run now. What if the others retreated and some of the Eika were left alive?
The Eika at the base of her hill turned at the sound of her voice and raced up the hill—whether to flee the fight or to catch her she did not know. But it made no difference. A knife in the hand of a starving girl was no match for a spear wielded by an Eika warrior.
Anna bolted. She scrambled, half sliding, half leaping, down the slope, back to the safety of the tree where she should have remained all along. Distantly, she heard the shouts of Lord Wichman and his men.
If she could only reach the horses, she would have the safety promised her by his soldiers.
But the Eika was far swifter, and quickly he closed to within a few paces. She heard his breath behind her, felt his presence; his long shadow reached out to encompass, to blot out, her slight shadow that danced across the ground as she ran. But though it was useless, she could not stop running.
Another sound drowned out the heavy stamp of the Eika feet—the pound of hooves. A taller shadow, a man upon a horse, overtook them both and a trilling war cry shattered the air. She dove and rolled. The long thin line of a sword leaped ahead of the mesh of shadows upon the grass and then it cut down into the darkness. There was a thud behind her. The horseman passed her, slowing and then bringing his mount around. She stuck out her hands and knees and stopped herself, rose up, hands and face scratched and just beginning to bleed softly. Her breath came in such gulping gasps that she thought she couldn’t get any air in. She twisted around.
The Eika lay behind her sprawled on its belly, cleaved from shoulder to spine. Its ugly head was twisted up to the left, almost all of the way around. Life drained rapidly from its eyes. It wore no wooden Circle on a thong around its neck. It had sworn no allegiance to the kin of humankind. Ai, Lady, it—and its brothers—had killed so many of her people and probably Papa Otto, too. It would have killed Matthias, given the chance.
She stood, bent, and spit in its face, but it was already dead.
“Ai, there, child!” The horseman reined up beside her. He unhooked his helm and pulled it off. She stared up, astonished, at Lord Wichman himself. He had a crazed look in his eyes and a wild grin on his lips. “You’re the one my men found foraging in the woods. Why didn’t you go with the refugees we sent off months ago, to the marchlands? You’re a cursed nuisance, almost ruining our raid like that.”
He had the full cheeks of a man who doesn’t want for food, even in hard times. Terrified, she did not know how to address him. No lord had ever even noticed her before.
At last, stammering, she found her voice. “Master Helvidius is my grandfather, my lord.” The lie came conveniently to her lips. “I had to stay with him, and he was too ill to walk so far when the others left.”
He grunted, sheathing his sword. “He’ll have a victorious tale to sing tonight. A good sixty cattle and as many goats we’ve claimed back today.” His grin was fierce and sure, and he looked ready to ride out this minute on another raid. “Go on, then.” He gestured to the west. Snow blew and skittered round him, white flakes spinning in the wind. “It’s a long walk back to Steleshame.”
Then he turned and rode away to meet a half dozen of his mounted soldiers. They headed east. Anna ran for the top of the hill and there—
All the breath slammed out of her as if she had been struck in the stomach. There! At last she found breath to shout.
“Matthias!”
With the other slaves, rescued now, he had formed up to help the remaining soldiers herd cattle and goats back to Steleshame. Hearing her voice, he started away, cast about, then saw her and limped up the slope.
She burst into tears and ran down to meet him. Ai, Lady, he was all bone with only a layer of skin holding him together.
“You’re so thin,” he said, hugging her tightly. “Oh, Anna! I thought I’d never see you again.”
She couldn’t speak she was sobbing so hard.
“Hush, now,” he said. “It’s over and done with.”
“It’s not done with! It’s never done with! They’ll never go away. They’ll always be here, hunting us, won’t they?”
“Hush, Anna,” he said more sternly. Because she had learned to obey him, she choked down her sobs and quieted. “I just thought of Papa Otto,” he continued. “I thought if Papa Otto could survive even after he lost everyone in his family, then I could, too, knowing you still lived.”
“But you didn’t know I still lived—you saw them attack—”
“I had to believe it!”
That silenced her.
“Come now.” He took her hand. The herd had begun to creep sluggishly westward. “Other Eika will come when this group don’t report back to the main camp. We’ve got to be long gone. Lord Above, Anna, why were you with them? Are there so few of you left at Steleshame that they’re taking children out to fight?”
Like the Eika made by illusion into stone, he appeared to her different than what she had known before. Still familiar, he was no longer the same Matthias. He was not a boy any longer.
“There aren’t any dogs here,” she said softly, to say something, finally beginning to tremble with reaction. Her feet hurt, and her nose was cold.
They fell in line with the others. Matthias used his stave to nudge back a straying goat. “The dogs kill the cows, and the Eika would have to spend more time guarding the cows against the dogs than the cows against—well—a raid like this. Out here with the livestock we don’t see many dogs.”
“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked.
But he only shook his head and would not answer.
It took them the rest of the day to walk back to Steleshame. Matthias’ limp got progressively worse, and finally one of the soldiers took pity on him and let him ride behind him.
Mistress Gisela fell into ecstasies, seeing what a great number of livestock had been rescued from the Eika. At once, she ordered her servants to prepare a thanksgiving feast.
Anna led Matthias out to a hovel in the courtyard where she, Helvidius, and Helen made their home, such as it was. Stuck cheek by jowl with a number of other hovels constructed after the attack, the tiny hut had at least the benefit of lying within the newly reconstructed palisade wall. No one slept outside the palisade now; of course, Steleshame was no longer as crowded as it had once been.
Master Helvidius sent Anna to sit with Helen while he tended to Matthias’ leg, grumbling all the while about Mistress Gisela and her airs of nobility: “Feasting when there isn’t enough to feed the weakest! The biscop of Gent would have fed the poor, bless her memory!”
Matthias was feverish, too restless to sleep, too nauseated to eat much more than a sip of ale and a crust of bread, but at last he fell asleep on their single pallet, little Helen curled up at his chest. Anna heaped all three blankets over him and resigned herself to shivering out the night.
“Nay,” said Helvidius. “You’ll come with me into the hall. No use your getting sick when you have both of them to tend for. And there’ll be roasted cow, I’ll wager. You can grab a bone before the dogs get to it.” Thus coaxed, Anna reluctantly left Matthias and the little girl.
But later that night as Anna sat half-dozing by the hearth, after Lord Wichman had returned from his scouting expedition, after he and his men had feasted and the fortunate servants been allowed to wolf down their scraps, after Helvidius had serenaded the young lord endlessly with his exploits,
a sudden cold undercurrent chilled the girl like a wordless cry for help.
Quite drunk now, soldiers sang a bawdy tune as Mistress Gisela retired to the shadowy end of the hall. Anna heard angry words hushed as though under a blanket. But at last the householder returned bearing the prize which Lord Wichman had so far not obtained.
Gisela’s niece, as pretty a woman as Anna had ever seen, was led forward, decked out in whatever fine garb had survived unscathed from the autumn attack on the holding. The young woman’s expression wore no emotion at all; she seemed, like the Eika, more statue than living being. But Lord Wichman smiled broadly and toasted her beauty with one more cup of wine. Then he took her hand and she went, unresisting, to his curtained bed while his soldiers cheered and laughed.
A servant went outside with a bucket of slops for the pigs. As the door opened, the night’s wind cast a sudden cold glamour over the hall like the breath of the winter sky, turning the ground to frost.
Then the door shut and, as with a collective breath, the soldiers began to drink and sing again.
Much later, when even the most stalwart fellow snored and Helvidius slept with his head pillowed on his arm, she heard the sound of a woman weeping softly.
4
IT was a symptom of the remarkable persistence of lustfulness in humankind that no matter how cold and dreary the weather outside and how cramped the conditions inside, folk did find ways to carry on more—or less—discreet affairs. Certain of Rosvita’s younger clerics had the habit, both annoying and amusing, of keeping track of who was sleeping with whom.
“—and Villam has a new concubine, which I grant you is nothing unusual, but I swear to you I saw her sharing her favors, such as they are, with Lord Amalfred.” Brother Fortunatus was one of the many sons of the robust and prolific Countess of Hesbaye as well as by far the worst gossip among the clerics.
