by Alma Boykin
They waited for almost an hour before Jeronimo Montoya returned from his other business. “You survived! Well met, Lady Sarmas,” he smiled, extending his hand.
“Ah, your pardon, my lord,” and she offered her left hand.
“What happened?”
“Saber slashes and fall off a horse, my lord. Nothing serious.” He gave her a look of pure disbelief and she added, “The blood is not mine, mostly. I apologize for the dirt, but I came straight here to report.”
Count Montoya looked past her, his face settling into a cold expression. He said more loudly, “Good. I will take your report. Then you need to report to his grace Duke Starland and his grace Archduke Lewis. Come.” He turned on his heel and she followed, the Windthorst officer right behind her.
She recounted the bare bones of the mountain battle. “And where is the cannon?” Montoya asked.
“Capt. Sabino sent it to your artillery troops.”
“Good. And the captured animals and equipment?”
She noticed the Windthorst officer leaning closer to her and she stepped sideways. He seemed slimy, making her uncomfortable. “Capt. Sabino has the list, and the animals should be in your picket area, in the quarantine section.”
“And how many have you claimed?” The brown-haired Windthorst captain demanded.
“None. I serve under Count Montoya, Duke Starland, and his majesty. Animals belong to them, as does the equipment taken. It is for them to divide any spoils.” She had already given the Wandertruppen their share, as per her instructions from Montoya and Starland, but Slimy did not need to know that.
“Really.”
Montoya sat back in his camp chair. “Lady Sarmas, why did you not force the sisters to evacuate?”
She blinked at him. “Because the Reverend Mother said they would not leave.”
“And you did not question her or try to persuade her of the danger?”
“I warned her, but she remained adamant. They are retired sisters, my lord.”
“So?”
Did he not know what that meant? “My lord, the Reverend Mother said no. Who am I to question or order her otherwise?”
Both men’s jaws dropped and they stared at her, both dumbfounded. Montoya asked, “What if the Turkowi had been after the convent? What then?”
“Then we would have fought as hard as possible to stop them, my lord.”
Montoya started to speak, then stopped, shaking his head. “Thank you Lady Sarmas. Here are your orders from his grace,” and he offered her a sealed letter.
The Windthorst man snatched it out of her hand. “My orders,” he announced, breaking the seal before the others could stop him. He read the contents and frowned, then shoved the page at Elizabeth. “You report to Starland tomorrow. You encamp with him tonight,” he told her. “My men will keep you under guard.”
I am not in the mood, she snarled. Then her survival instincts overrode her temper. Let’s see if I can make you as miserable as you’re making me. She smiled with all the sweetness she could muster, pitching her voice to a proper woman’s warm murmur. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your most generous offer. But I should warn you, rumor has it that I am more familiar with the battlefield of the bedchamber than with the fighting field, as are the men around me.” He paled and then flushed bright red as her meaning sunk in. “I assure you that those rumors are untrue, and my men remain completely true to their wedding vows, but you ought to be prepared if someone questions your reputation. My lord?” She bowed to Count Montoya as best she could.
Montoya struggled to keep his expression properly stern. “You are dismissed, Godown be with you.”
“And with thy spirit,” she replied, bowing again.
She found Lazlo, Captain Sabino, and others waiting, along with horses and mules. “No rest for the weary, Captain?”
“Not until you are safe in the Starland encampment, my lady,” he told her, bowing from the saddle.
Lazlo and another man helped her into the saddle of a placid, fat gelding. “Whose was this?”
“Found it wandering after the battle, my lady. We have not tried to check the brand against local records,” one of the Montoya men explained.
“Ah. Thank you.” Lazlo stayed beside her. Two of the uninjured Wandertruppen fell in behind her, separating her from the Windthorst soldiers. Their captain fumed but appeared unwilling to argue with the smelly, angry soldiers. Elizabeth used the opportunity to fish the pouch with the badges and embroidery out of her saddlebag and stick it in the pocket of her split skirt.
Not far from the Starland encampment, she drew rein. “Captain, a moment so I can be in proper uniform?”
“Of course, my lady. Do you need assistance?”
“Yes, if you do not mind. Captain, could you untie the jacket from behind my saddle? I don’t trust this horse enough to get it myself.”
He rode along side and did as asked; unfolding the garment and helping Lazlo drape it over her shoulder after she got her left arm in the sleeve. “Thank you.” As he did, she pressed the pouch into his hand. “Give this to his grace the Archduke,” she hissed. “Items from the battle.” She’d written a note before the battle explaining what and where the items came from, and had folded it up inside the pouch.
“On my honor,” he swore under his breath, tugging the jacket straight over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she repeated, loud enough for all to hear. Sabino returned to the head of the group and they rode to the Starland camp without incident. “Thank you, Captain,” she smiled, nodding a salute. “I won’t impose on your rest any farther.”
He and the other Wandertruppen saluted. “It is no imposition, my lady. Godown bless you.”
“And may He guard and guide you and your fellows, Captain. It has been an honor to serve with you.”
He bowed in the saddle. “The honor is ours, my lady.” The Windthorst officer made a choking noise as the Montoya contingent turned and trotted back to their encampment.
Once in the camp, Elizabeth discovered that no one had told the Starlands about her self-proclaimed escort. “My lady, who are these men?” Arnold Mou, the quartermaster, frowned at the Windthorst contingent.
“Damned if I know, Arnold, but they insist that I am under arrest, although they have yet to say under whose authority.”
“Under the authority of Count Eric Windthorst and her majesty Margaretha of Babenburg,” the Windthorst captain snapped.
That’s odd. What happened to his majesty? Elizabeth met Arnold’s eyes and shrugged as best she could.
“Well, we have some room, on the northwest side,” the quartermaster told her. “And if they are fresh, they can take over the second watch for that section. We’ve found a few Turkowi stragglers who seemed to miss the message that their fight is over.”
The Windthorst men grumbled. “We’re not here for guard duty. We’re here to escort the prisoner to trial,” the captain informed Arnold.
The blacksmith-turned-quartermaster crossed his arms, reminding everyone in sight just how strong he was. “You’re in the Starland camp. We found a guard with his throat cut last night and his attacker made it into the first row of tents. If you want to die in your sleep, that’s your problem. Otherwise you are on second watch.”
Captain Slimy Shiftlizard, as Elizabeth named him, changed colors again, turning a faint green. “Second watch then.”
As they rode to their assigned area, she wondered if the men had ever seen battle. Their captain certainly seemed ignorant of things military. Which, sad to say, suggested what had happened to the poor women from Windthorst. Holy and all-knowing Godown please may he be the least competent member of the Windthorst forces, for the sake of the rest of Windthorst’s people.
Elizabeth found her tent and started trying to take her tack off the borrowed horse. “No, Lady Elizabeth,” a groom said, appearing at her elbow and startling her. “Allow me.” She didn’t argue, glad of the help.
A messenger walked up and saluted. “M
y lady, his grace sends his respects and wishes to meet with you tomorrow morning at dawn, in his headquarters.”
“Please give my deepest respects to his grace and tell him that I will be at his headquarters at seven tomorrow morning, Godown willing.”
The young man gave her a hard look. “Is there difficulty, Lady Sarmas?”
“My injuries slow me down, but I anticipate no great problems.”
Captain Shiftlizard sidled up as the messenger departed. “I will secure your quarters,” he informed her.
She planted her fist on her hip. “No you will not, Captain. I am a woman of rank, the granddaughter, niece, and cousin of the Dukes of Sarmas, ruling lord of Sarmas. My father held the rank of count,” she informed him and anyone else around. “I cannot allow my honor to be questioned. If you wish to bring two ladies of good repute and breeding with you to serve as matrons and escorts, then you may come into my quarters. Otherwise you will remain outside.” And it will snow on the southern peninsula before you find two gentle-born serving ladies in this valley today!
He turned red again. “You are under arrest,” he spluttered.
“And that changes my rank and sex how?”
Shiftlizard hemmed, hawed, and looked around, blanching as he realized that at least a dozen angry Starland men surrounded him and his troopers.
“I’m waiting, Captain.” She looked around and found the person she needed. “Alois? Could you have someone bring water for washing when they have a moment to spare? And something from the mess when it is ready?”
“Of course, my lady,” the black man called back. “Do you need a churigon?”
“No, thank you Alois, but the captain might. He seems to be confused, and I’ve been told that confusion is a sign of heat stress.” The men laughed and Shiftlizard turned red again. She almost felt sorry for him, if the blushes hurt as much as hers did. “Thank you for checking on me, gentlemen, but all I did was fall off a horse and onto a log. Unless you need anything?” Headshakes and quiet laughter answered her and the men took the hint, drifting away now that they knew there would be no trouble. She smiled at them and retreated into her tent.
It would have been very nice to have a woman to help her, Elizabeth sighed. She got the jacket off, and after some uncomfortable wiggling and twisting managed to get the shirt off. She’d need help with bandaging the arm again in the morning, but for now she stripped off the wraps so it could air. “Your water, my lady,” a voice called. “The pitcher is drinking water.”
“Thank you.” She waited until he left, then reached out and pulled the buckets and pitcher into the tent. She washed what she could reach, rinsed her clothes in the remaining water, and set the buckets outside to be used by the washerwomen or for cleaning horses. The drinking water tasted like fine wine, she’d been thirsty for so long. She pulled a skirt and loose blouse on, then laid down on her cot. I’ll just rest a little before writing my…
The sound of clattering woke her up. Lazlo had brought in a lantern and her field table. He supervised as an orderly assembled the table and put several covered dishes on it. The two men left and she tore into the hot meal, devouring whatever floated in the sauce and using the hard bread to sop up the last bit of juice. She cleared the dishes from the little table and used it to write another report, or at least an initial outline with the bare facts in it. She scolded herself for forgetting to ask Count Montoya’s aid to make a duplicate of her first report to give to Duke Starland. Her arm stung from the effort and she had to prop her elbow up with her other hand. It was awkward but it could have been much, much worse. I hope we can relearn the Landers’ tricks for healing wounds and easing pain. Even St. Mou’s followers would agree that easing pain is a blessing. The pain was not enough to keep her from falling asleep again as soon as she finished.
She’d told herself to wake up at five the next morning. She dressed, more or less, and walked through the sleepy camp to the churigons’ tents. “Yes?” a medical orderly in a blood stained white coat yawned.
“I need this looked at, please, and to replace these.” She held out the bandages.
“This way, please, my lady.” Once inside a tent, the orderly poked and inspected her arm. “Good stitch. Any fever, my lady?”
“No. The medic dusted it with bitterbark before he sewed it up, and it had bled freely before then.” Wound rot scared her almost as much as the Turkowi scared her.
“You’re lucky, my lady. Saber cuts?” He wrapped the wound snugly but not too tight, and helped her get the arm into her sleeve again.
“Yes. And I have broken ribs but there’s nothing you can do for those, is there?”
He tipped his head to the side. “No, my lady. Ah, if you have something with stays in it? Wear that, not tight laced, but it will help you stand and sit straight and remind you not to bend or twist too much.”
“I’ll see what I can find. Thank you,” and she offered him a few copper coins.
He waved her away. “Give them to St. Misha the Healer. You’re the first person with enough sense to bring good bandages back so we can boil and reuse them.”
She returned to her tent and finished dressing, as much as she could. Someone had brushed the worst of the dirt off of her heavy skirt and jacket, and she managed to drape the jacket over her bad arm. And how, pray tell, am I supposed to lace a stayed bodice with only one hand? Not that I’d lack for volunteers eager to assist me, I suspect. Rank and her ugly face be damned, she was a woman in a military encampment. She tied back the flaps of her tent.
“My lady, what are you doing?” Lazlo protested, rushing to help her.
“I’m airing a stuffy tent and letting my escort see that nothing is going on.” She tipped her head towards the Windthorst tents. “Get my report from the table, please, and let us be on our way.”
“Ah.” He did as ordered and walked at her shoulder, both of them alert for trouble. They were halfway to headquarters when they heard someone puffing and trotting behind them. She glanced back and then winked at Lazlo. He winked in return and they slowed their steps so Capt. Shiftlizard could catch up. She didn’t want him calling to them and disturbing other people, assuming he could catch his breath enough to yell.
Duke Starland’s guards refused to allow him into the headquarters until Matthew Starland intervened. Shiftlizard hovered in the background, ignored by everyone, as Elizabeth and Lazlo reported to Duke Aquila and Archduke Lewis of Babenburg.
“You may be seated Lady Sarmas, Lieutenant Destefani,” his grace the Archduke informed them. “And eat.” Lewis could have been Emperor Rudolph’s twin and not his five-years younger brother, except for his unusual pale green eyes and the extra meat on his frame. Aquila deferred to Lewis, who asked most of the questions once Elizabeth finished her basic report. Neither man mentioned that she might be under arrest.
“What about the cannon and gunpowder that you captured?” Lewis wanted to know at last.
She shrugged as best she could. “I do not know, your grace. I need to learn more about artillery.”
“Who has it?”
She poured herself more tea after offering it to the men. “Count Montoya, although I suspect he will give it to Lord Kornholt to study.”
“Who will probably take it to bed with him,” Aquila muttered into his cup, drawing laughter from everyone.
Archduke Lewis leaned back and wiped his mouth. “Well done, Lady Sarmas. Very well done. I’ve heard good things about you and your actions this week have only confirmed the stories.”
“Thank you, your grace.” She bowed in her seat, as best she could.
Lewis glanced around and seemed to notice Captain Switchlizard at long last. The Archduke’s eyebrows rose like levitating black caterpillars. “In light of recent events, I think it best to send you with the dispatches to Vindobona. I’ll follow as soon as possible, once I’ve taken the full measure of what’s going on here.” He finished his tea and added, “My brother will want to speak with you, Aquila, but not until we sec
ure the pass. Right now we have two open doors. This one must be shut.”
“Certainly, your grace, and Elizabeth can move very fast when she needs to.” Aquila gave her a significant look that she took as a warning. He knew something but couldn’t tell her, or so she guessed. She nodded very slightly.
“Your grace, I can leave tomorrow. With your permission I’ll draw another horse from the line, in case Snowy needs a rest en route.”
Lewis gave her an odd look. “Snowy?”
“The killer mule, my lord,” Aquila told him, grinning broadly. “That killer mule.”
From the corner, Shiftlizard made a strangled noise. I wonder if he is afraid of mules? A plan began developing in Elizabeth’s mind.
Aquila continued, “What about the horse his majesty gave you?”
She felt her eyes tearing up and clenched one hand, fighting to keep her emotions under control. “He was injured in the fight, your grace, and then broke his off-side hind leg when he stepped in a nosedigger hole. They put him out of his misery while I was being sewn up. I’m sorry, my lords, for losing him, and will make a proper accounting to the royal herd-master.”
“Oh, for the sake of St. Michael—Herdsman, Elizabeth,” Aquila snorted. “You capture a new type of weapon, you keep Montoya from getting flanked any worse, you spend all spring and summer fighting fanatics, you find solid proof that Frankonia is aiding the Turkowi, and you worry about a scrub horse?” He shook his head. “If anything I owe you at least a dozen beasts.”
“And I want to meet the famous killer mule,” Archduke Lewis declared. “While it is still cool out.”
Elizabeth took the hint. “I was planning on checking on him, your grace, as soon as Duke Starland dismissed me.” The men got to their feet and she and Lazlo followed.
“Then you are dismissed, Lady Elizabeth. Pick two horses, any two, and a pack mule if you wish,” Aquila told her. “You will leave for Vindobona tomorrow, and I will give you the dispatches and other things tomorrow at dawn.”
