Immortalibus Bella

by SL Figuhr

  The sound of rough voices floated on a breeze. He stopped his mount, listening. The valleys could distort sound and the distance it travelled. He was fairly sure the outlaws’ camp remained ahead. It was only by chance he’d overheard where the meeting was taking place.

  I must go slowly; I do not want them to know I am here, but how much farther? They could be off a mile or more, or right around the next rock.

  He sat a moment before deciding to ride closer. Saizar rode a good while before the voices came again, louder. He stopped, tying his horse to a low-hanging branch. He continued on foot, expecting a few scouts to keep an eye on the approaches to the camp. He didn’t need to be found. After twenty minutes, he saw the glow of several fires through the trees and outlines of some sentries, slithering as close as he dared. When the wind blew, he could smell animal and human dung.

  Occasionally, laughter broke out, or the bark of a dog. Saizar crawled into a patch of bushes, lay waiting, hoping he was not being a fool. From the sounds he heard, the females were treated as slaves, made to wait upon the men, cooking, pouring drink, or being used by any man who felt like it.

  These are not a band of wild, roaming raiders, but of outlaw men making their own place to live. By rights, Jake and my fellow lawmen or even the king’s army should be hunting them down and arresting them. He recognized a few men who once belonged to the army, or thought he did.

  Saizar learned what few townspeople knew: the kingdom had no decent standing army. After the last war, it had never been replenished, a fact few remembered. The king, in a fit of madness, thinking they were trying to kill him, had ordered the lot of them disbanded. Lord Nicky stepped in, stopping it, but even he hadn’t been able to save everyone. Most of the men were dismissed; only a small number remained to guard the town’s borders, receiving little pay or reward. Were the men former army or recent deserters who had taken to other means of making a living?

  Saizar thought he saw runaway slaves amid the group, even a few criminals he recognized who by law should have been hanged. What can the king be thinking, allowing this group to exist? They could loot the town, slay the king. I must warn His Majesty, but how to do so without losing my head in the process? Should I ask Lady Illyria to speak on my behalf? She championed the rebel slave’s cause, even though he is now her property.

  He brought her ladyship’s face to his mind’s eye. Her eyes seemed fever bright in the sun, skin pale as death. He didn’t know why, but he felt a shiver of fear go up his spine whenever he was around her. He also didn’t care for Lord Nicky’s pardon for her slave. The young man would collect, and that collection was always rumored to bring about a person’s eventual downfall.

  All the dogs began to bark, men rushed to grab weapons. The leaders stood to face the threat. It was only a small party of even rougher-looking men, escorted by some of the sentries. They made a wary peace, sitting to break bread and drink.

  “You tell the bastard we aren’t scared of his threats. There’s more of us than of him and his men. We won’t be paying. The loot is ours by rights. We fought for it, and many of us got wounded in the process.”

  The leader laughed. “What is to be our reward? That street is the best-guarded of all. Many highborn have men of their own to defend their property and lives.”

  The speaker’s voice betrayed anger. “It is to be a night attack. By the time anyone knows what is going on, it will be too late. The reward will be whatever you can carry off from their houses. Don’t tell me you are scared of a few men with swords.”

  “Why should we? We have it good here: food, shelter, security, and witless fools who ride into our traps to be plucked like the birds they are.”

  “His lordship does not tell me why, only that he wants it done.” “I bet he also wants us to spare his house?”

  “What if we say no?”

  “He will pay each man who raids ten gold coins.”

  “Ten!”

  “Each man? Let me see his gold first!”

  “Do so, and you seal your deaths.”

  “He can bugger himself trying to find us.”

  The other man said nothing, only raised one hand. A slew of arrows came out of the dark and found their marks. It seemed the hidden bowmen did not care who they hit. The outlaws roared in anger; the leader jumped up, drawing his sword. He was felled by an arrow through his throat.

  Some of the men charged; more arrows came raining down. The camp was a boiling mess with people crying out for the death of the hard-faced man, others yelling they would comply.

  “Hold, hold, HOLD!” a different man shouted. A tall, massive, heavily muscled individual, he carried an axe upon his back and a large hammer on his belt.

  “I don’t care to do some lord’s dirty work, but neither am I ready to die! You fools! Sit down!” It took a few minutes, but he cowed the others. “You will rue the day you fired upon us. We are free folk who don’t take kindly to being told what we must or mustn’t do. If we agree, we will be paid first.”

  “You must take my lord for a great fool. Pay up front only to watch you run away with his gold and nary a thing in return? I think not. You will show up three days hence at the darkest hour by the hanging tree. Then, and only then, will you get half the gold before the battle. Once it is complete, you shall receive the other half. If any of you think to make your profit greater by betrayal, I can guarantee a long, painful death.”

  More grumbling ensued, but the massive man spoke up, “We will consider all you have said and done tonight. You will receive our answer in three days. Now go, and leave us be.”

  The hard-faced man and those with him were escorted back out. Saizar still didn’t know who he was, nor who the great lord could be. He didn’t know anyone with so much gold at hand, not even the advisor. Except perhaps Lady Illyria. He heard she had already paid a fortune in coin for services. If she were behind the plot, why, and to what purpose? What would she gain by such a move?

  The party who had come to treaty dressed plainly, and bore no crest. Saizar picked up two arrows which had landed near him. He hoped the fletching on the arrows would identify the attackers, but they used common goose feathers. He eased himself out of the bushes. Saizar had to get word of what he’d witnessed to the king, but how, and how to be believed? There was one person to whom he might go. Earl Sydney.

  “Countess, might I join you today?” Sydney stood by his wife’s chair. When she nodded consent, he seated himself, waiting for the slave to serve him hot spiced fruit juice and meat pastries. “I have had a royal decree from the king, on the subject of the meeting with the new foreign duchess upon whom I had been commanded to attend.”

  His wife grimaced, replying, “I had the misfortune of meeting the woman myself.” She sniffed contemptuously. “She was in Burkes, replenishing her wardrobe.”

  He made no reply. Elizabeth continued, “You should have seen what she had on! She thought herself some warrior woman! I find it hard to believe she even is a duchess. His Majesty must pass a law against such things.”

  “What would those things be?” her husband asked politely.

  A withering look was sent his way. “Foreign commoners coming here claiming to be noble-born, the ass of a king believing them, allowing them to stay and dirty our country’s noble bloodlines. Really, Chadrick, it’s bad enough our daughters can’t find decent men to marry, but to have a woman like her allowed to stay?”

  The Countess sat back, disgruntled, as her cup was refilled, oblivious to the warmth of the afternoon, perhaps the last of the fall season. Oblivious to the last leaves turning colors, swirling down, the last flowers bravely blooming. If she’d cared to look beyond the garden wall, the highest mountain peaks already had snow. She had made inquiries about the foreigner, and had not been able to find out anything to her satisfaction.

  “It was rude of her to presume. She even sent some nobody of a guide—a guide, I tell you!—over to bargain on her behalf. I let her know in no uncertain terms I would not sell to th
e likes of her.”

  The countess gave an insulted sniff. “Well, with that behavior, it won’t be long before we are rid of her. His Majesty will not put up with it.”

  He sighed, taking a sip of his juice to fortify himself. “His Majesty seems rather taken with Lady Illyria, and with the rumors of her wealth she managed to save from bandits.”

  “Nonsense. Wealth does not make up for supporting rebel slaves, or bad breeding, nor should it.” Elizabeth gave a decisive nod. “She will have to go. Our king can’t chance she may be here to provide distraction while assassins try to kill him again.”

  His wife set her cup down with a sharp click, straightened her already-perfect posture as she turned the full force of her glare upon her husband. “I care not for your tone.”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but you will like even less what is being considered.” He paused as her face whitened in rage, plunging on. “The king is granting the duchess a three-month leave to stay, with full citizenship and restored rights to her title, contingent upon certain conditions being met. Aranthus sent word I am being considered for the favor of sponsoring her ladyship; should I be chosen, I am to see she learns our laws.”

  Silently the earl handed it over, drinking his juice as his wife read the king’s demands. Her mouth tightened, eyes flaring, whole manner stiffening in outrage. Elizabeth tossed the letter carelessly onto the ground.

  “How dare you?! How dare you presume to lecture me on duty? I have always done what is correct. I will not have you instructing that woman on anything. I know how you get.”

  The sound of a sharp slap rang out in the garden. The countess trembled in rage, her hand stinging from the force of flesh meeting flesh. “You still visit whores, only they are common ones now. When I say you will not be alone with that upstart woman, I mean it. Send your steward to teach her the laws, or better yet, tell His Majesty to command she place her money in trust to be administered by a loyal countryman.”

  A red handprint stood out on Chadrick’s cheek; his sapphire eyes blazed bright as his lips compressed in a thin line. “Do not slap me again. I have done my best to honor our marriage.”

  A polite cough interrupted. Their daughters stood just inside the terrace door, and when they had imparted their message, the countess felt her rage flare anew.

  “How dare she disobey me?! How dare she question why a slave was enslaved?! I will have her stripped of title and lands!” The king paced around, storming.

  “She does not have any lands, Majesty,” Aranthus wearily reminded his sovereign. “You have not granted her any, she has not bought any, and you have already forbidden her use of her title.”

  “She will lose her head! And her wealth!”

  “She is not from here; she can move to another country.”

  “I am merely pointing out the truth, Sire, which you have commanded me to do many times before in the past.” Aranthus would have to somehow charm His Majesty out of his rage. He rather liked their new foreigner, and would be sorry to see her leave. He also had a feeling clapping her in chains would be an even bigger headache than tossing her out of the kingdom.

  “I do not think arresting her will help. Perhaps her faults lie with the fact she doesn’t seem to have had a proper home or upbringing; therefore she is ignorant of what is required of her as a noble-born.”

  The king eyed his eunuch over the rim of his gem-encrusted goblet as he drank. “And where do you recommend I get such a paragon? Most of the females in my realm are silly, flighty women.”

  Aranthus thought a moment, as if he didn’t already know who he would suggest. “What about Lady Elizabeth? Or her eldest daughter, since Lord Sydney is already in charge of teaching her our laws?”

  “No, the eldest only looks for another husband after the knight she married died. Her mother is a rigid prune. I don’t want our spicy lady turned into another turnip like the frigid bitch. I just want her to learn some manners.”

  “She will have no choice but to do as you command or risk your wrath.” If you admitted to Lady Illyria you only want her to warm your bed and fill your coffers with her gold, she would be more receptive. The eunuch knew if he dared voice the idea, he might become a guest of the dungeon, and Rablias scared him.

  The eunuch bowed. “Your pardon, Majesty, but might he feel some resentment over what may appear preferential treatment and give you bad counsel?”

  The chamberlain barely ducked the goblet hurtling toward his head. He scurried across the room should the king decided to follow with more objects. A slave hurried to fill a new goblet and present it to the king as another knelt to clean up the mess

  “Tell Lady Elizabeth to attend me at once! AT ONCE! Do you hear me? Not an hour from now. At once!” Maceanas roared. "You will fetch her yourself after you have my ladies attend me.”

  “Of course, Sire,” Aranthus hurried to do the king’s bidding. Shortly, he found himself being ushered inside the Sydney household and greeted by the daughters.

  “Indeed, but I am here for your mother. His Majesty has commanded she appear before him, and I dare not stop with you lovely ladies. Is she at home?”

  The chamberlain winced. Everyone at one time or another had been treated to one of Lady Elizabeth’s “discussions.” It was a wonder the man even stayed home, but, ever since he had lost his first love, he was a mere shell of a man.

  They curtsied and hurried out, leaving him with a moment’s peace. The household was cold and rigid as its mistress. The chairs and sofa all had hard, straight backs and seats. He refused to sit, knowing from experience it would be uncomfortable. The colors of the room were somber. The windows had the luxury of glass but they were closed to the beautiful day outside. The light barely penetrated the gloom. The floor was of varnished wood, and remained uncovered.

  Aranthus could remember Sydney’s first wife, Alise. She was given to smiles and laughter, not unlike Illyria. It wasn’t long before the girls’ mother came hurrying out to meet him, the earl not far behind. No doubt he had to look concerned about the unexpected summons, or she would have yet another “discussion” with him.

  “Nothing of the sort, but he has a delicate matter at hand he needs a woman for.” At her disdainful look he hastily added, “It, er, um, concerns another of his nobles, a woman as well.” He paused to give her a meaningful glance. “He thought another female would be better equipped to help advise him on what to do about the problem. I am to take you back now.”

  She was quick to grasp his intent. “Another woman, you say? Noble-born? I . . . see. I am not sure what I can do, but I will do my best to help.” She turned to the earl. “I shall return later, and we will continue our conversation.” It came out sounding more a threat than a request.

  The eunuch bowed, hurrying out to the royal conveyance and helping the countess in. Upon their arrival at the palace, Aranthus escorted Lady Elizabeth inside the king’s private apartments. Her face gave away nothing of the honor, but her eyes gleamed as if she had spotted her holy grail. They only had to wait a moment for the king to finish with his harem, in which time the countess had swiftly absorbed the contents of the room to recount later at home to her daughters. Lady Elizabeth gave a deep curtsey, trying to keep her face neutral. Maceanas wore only a robe, loosely tied, and reeked of wine and sex.

  “To some extent, Your Grace; he only mentioned you have problems with a noblewoman and wished for some advice on the matter?” Her tone was questioning as if not sure she had gotten it correct. “May I inquire as to who the noblewoman is?”

  He grunted as he lifted the goblet placed at his hand and drank. “Her . . . shall we say . . . less-than-conventional life seems to have left her illsuited for the realities of being a proper subject and noblewoman.”

  “Aranthus thinks our noble lady might benefit from instruction on what befits her station in our country. Even though she cannot legally lay claim to her title per my decree, she is still of noble blood. I am making it a part of the condition for her to regain use of
her title and live here.”

  She finally picked up the goblet to take a sip. “Your Majesty, if I may speak freely?” At his nod, she continued, “Is it truly the wisest route? Gossip indicates she has the capital in an uproar. Her wild, unfounded accusations against the sheriff, her support of rebel slaves, her free ways, and her . . . dress. Would it not be better if she was thrown out, so she will not foment rebellion? All the single men—and some of the married ones—pant after her already, like dogs after a bitch in heat.”

  “No, naturally not, Sire. You are the one man sufficiently resolved to resist her...charms. Why, even Lord Nicky is rumored to be obsessed with finding out about her, and he a confirmed bachelor!”

  Aranthus mused, I bet Earl Sydney would even ignore his vow to his countess and bed her. Rumor has it he frequents the worst of the brothels just to spite his wife.

  The king made no reply, only drank some more wine as he thought before saying, “I will make it a royal command the lady attend such lessons. She dare not disobey. Not if it means forgoing the right to live here; I have my reasons for wanting her to stay.”

  The chamberlain had to turn a laugh into a cough as the countess’s face looked as if she had spotted a large, nasty bug swimming in the dregs of what she had just drunk.

  “I am not unmindful of the amount of work required of you, nor the fact it will limit your time with your family. You will be amply rewarded.”

  “I trust your judgment in these matters. If you will wait but a moment, I will have the paper drawn up so you may start immediately. The Harvest Ball is not far off, and I mean to have my jewel polished and perfect on my arm.”

  The king was scribbling upon a piece of parchment when the doors to his apartment banged open. Lord Nicky charged inside, king’s guards on his heels.

  “Speak thus again to your king and I’ll strip you of your title and station and have you clapped in the dungeon for such insolence.” Lord Nicky gritted out an apology and bowed but refused to leave.