by Candy Rae
“Some of his cabins are damaged but it is as nothing compared to the village. He was lucky that the ryz was close by and galloped to the rescue.”
“Does Jim Cranston know?”
“He knew almost as soon as we did if not before,” answered Robert, “have you forgotten that our friends are telepathic? A Vada patrol is on the way, also the Lindar of pack Malkei but they’ll take more than a week to get here.”
“So, we’re on our own?”
“’Fraid so.”
“We don’t have enough people to guard the entire coastline.”
“I am well aware of that and so is Jim Cranston. The Vada have agreed to contribute their time and expertise in our defence on a more or less permanent basis but their numbers are still too few to be really effective.”
He stared at the map on the wall.
“I wish our people hadn’t been quite so eager to get away from the immediate area. I fear that this attack is just the beginning.”
“What are we to do? Pull everyone back from the coasts?”
“Definitely not,” Robert said, thumping the table hard with his fist, “we fight them off!”
“With our bare hands?”
“Station guardsmen and women at each settlement.”
“There are not enough of them.”
“Everyone who can hold a weapon fights. I will not be intimidated by these scum.” He frowned, “I wonder why they took the men as well as the women and children and what they are up to now.”
* * * * *
The men, women and children, captured by the pirates, could have told him.
The successful galleys rowed back into the main current, met up with the disappointed men and Larg who had fled from pack Jalkei’s ryz and proceeded eastwards, letting the current take them. They used their oars to navigate through one of the two deep passages through the island chain and then raised their sails.
The galleys proceeded rapidly northwards along the coast but out of sight of land. There they attacked again, the colonists too few to make more than a token resistance. In another lightning raid, they carried off a full forty of the men, women and children, fighting off the two Lind that were patrolling the area with aptitude and ferocity. Both Lind were badly injured and could only watch helplessly as the forty were ferried out to the waiting galleys.
But they now knew the reason behind the raids. One pirate had been captured, badly hurt but able to tell why Brentwood had sent them. The Councillors realised to their cost that guarding the island chain would not be enough.
In Justin Wright’s hamlet, the celebrations were quiet, the original joy at their salvation muted when they learned of the disappearance of the others.
“We will move the cabins away from the shoreline, rebuild them up the hill,” Justin decided once they had settled in a temporary shelter provided by the one remaining building that still had a roof. He pointed to the hill, “right on the top with a defensive palisade around us and a very large ditch.”
“Water?” asked Iain.
“Pump it up or dig another well. This area has abundant water. We’ll manage. If these attackers return we’ll be ready for them.”
“Perhaps we should return to Settlement?”
“No! I will not flee. If anyone does want to go though,” he added, “I won’t hold it against him.”
It was a sure sign of the indomitable spirit of the colonists that none took him up on his offer.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 19 - KINGDOM OF MURDOCH
Lord Bryan Brentwood watched his ships dock with satisfaction, a satisfaction that grew ever greater as his men began to unload their unfortunate booty.
The man Brentwood had appointed overseer, in charge of their disposition, stood beside him, an unpleasant smile on his handsome face.
“A fair haul,” Arthur Borsley said, “I’ll get them sorted out and then you can decide what we are going to do with them.”
“I already know what we are going to do with most of them,” Brentwood answered.
He turned a cold eye on the ex-officer, “and no spoiling. Get the men separated from the women and children.”
“I understand my Lord.”
An impassive Brentwood watched as the men and boys over twelve were herded away from the women and children and pushed, shoved and even whipped if they proved reluctant, into a dank cavern-like structure at the pier’s edge. These thirty-one would become slaves, condemned to live out their lives rowing the galleys as he continued his campaign to plunder the north.
He wandered over to the knot of terrified women and children and looked them over.
Brentwood’s nose crinkled with distaste, “they stink. Get them washed and tidied up as we arranged earlier then load them on to the barges. No point waiting.”
“All of them?”
“Keep the oldest women and mothers with children under four and these smaller ones. They can be sold later. We must keep the men happy.”
Arthur Borsley consulted the lists.
“There are three women over forty, two pregnant and another two with toddlers.”
“Right. Give me the final list by nightfall.”
Brentwood strode away.
News of the imminent slave market spread rapidly amongst the male population of Murdoch. Many a man was sick and tired of having to queue at the whorehouses for the use of a woman for an hour. The barge carrying the forty-three unfortunates selected for sale berthed at Fort’s dock-facility in front of a large crowd of interested sightseers.
Lords van Buren and Cocteau were amongst them, the former, keen to purchase more women for his lucrative brothels, the latter, eager to acquire the boys for enlistment into the boys’ battalion where they would be trained and indoctrinated.
When the lists went up that evening he was quick to lay claim to the six boys aged between seven and thirteen and, after some thought, marked the four younger ones as his as well.
As a Lord he was able to push his way through the crowd of milling bystanders until he came face to face with Brentwood himself. “You’re asking for two gold circles apiece for the six elder boys and one for each of the younger?”
“Bidding could go higher,” countered Brentwood, “I certainly won’t accept less.”
“Shall we say I’ll pay two and a half gold circles apiece for all ten,” Cocteau offered, with a commitment to take all you can get me in the future as well.”
“At the same price?”
“Yes.”
“Done.”
Brentwood spat on his hand and the two Lords shook on the deal in time-honoured fashion.
Cocteau left with the ten frightened boys within the hour.
At least, he thought as he led them away, they would be spared watching the sale of their mothers and sisters.
Despite the pleas, Brentwood refused to make any pre-auction deals on the females. He was sure that each and every one of them would go for far more than the starting price. “Females go to the highest bidder only,” he announced as he headed back towards the barge.
Brentwood had decided to do his own auctioneering this first sale. He rose early the next morning, dressed with care, exited his cabin and went to the hold.
“Hose them down,” he commanded the two men guarding the hatch.
He watched as the two grinning men proceeded to carry out his orders, ignoring the squeals from below.
Then he beckoned to the other guards to come do their duties. The women and girls he wanted stripped of all clothing. Brentwood had decided that the buyers would want to see what they were getting for their coin. It would also add to the excitement and encourage higher bids.
He ignored the cries as the men divested the women and girls of anything remotely resembling a garment and went to take up his stance on the platform in front of the bidders.
When the first female was pushed forward, he could see many of the men licking their lips. She was exceedingly pretty, with long blonde hair and an exquisite figure. T
here was much jostling amongst the crowd to get a better view.
Bidding was brisk and surpassed all his expectations. When every female was sold, even the very youngest, there were many disappointed men clamouring for more.
“Same time next month,” promised Brentwood as he vacated the podium, the coins jingling in his belt pouch. It felt very heavy.
As he travelled back north in the now empty barge, he discussed his success with Albert Borsley.
“Very profitable. Let’s get back to base as soon as we can, get the maps out and decide on our next port of call.”
“They’ll be waiting for us now, won’t be so easy next time,” Borsley warned.
“Yes, but there are not enough of them to guard everywhere at once and I still have some tricks up my sleeve.”
* * * * *
Anne was now Lady Baker. Awkward and ungainly in the last month of her pregnancy, she walked round her apartments like a caged rudtka, the only person she could relax with being the old doctor. Sam Baker was coldly attentive at all times, he did not touch her, the only thing he did insist on was that she be at his side during any public engagements. At least during these excursions she had contact with others. Carla, the wife of Henri Cocteau and her mother Ulla were old acquaintances of Anne’s and it was pleasant to talk about happier times together.
She had heard of Lord Brentwood’s raids on the north and of the slave-market down at the docks where the unfortunate captives had been sold. With disgust, old Doctor Arthur told her of how the women and girls had been sold naked and that many men had appeared at the market just to watch the show and to ogle and leer at them. He predicted that, as these slave markets were now scheduled monthly, they might prove more popular than the other monthly entertainment, that of the public punishments.
Anne pursed her lips; her husband enjoyed the latter and told her about them in graphic detail; public floggings and the occasional execution.
Anne managed to absent herself from such entertainments until one day, towards the very end of her pregnancy, a punishment with a difference was decreed. A young slave girl was to be executed for the murder of her master and Lord Baker ordered that all women must attend. He intended that the lesson be brought home that such acts would be punished with the utmost rigours of the law. The young girl was to be sacrificed to drive the lesson home, however valuable she might be to the breeding programme.
A covered platform and seating was arranged for those powerful enough to be invited to what Sam Baker called ‘The Royal Box’. The market square was cleared of stalls. Lord Baker expected a large number of spectators, nor was he disappointed. Anne was escorted to her seat through a seething mass of men all trying to get a good view. Carla Cocteau was seated by Anne’s side, her face set and white. Anne sat down. She felt hot and queasy and hoped she would be able to keep down the contents of her stomach. Her husband would not be best pleased if she made a spectacle of herself and shamed him in front of his friends.
The spectacle started with the floggings, the punishment for theft and vagrancy. Excitement began to mount within the crowd with each swathe of the whips, then the first execution, a long and bloody flogging followed by the hanging. Excitement grew as the man was cut down.
There was a roar as the next execution party arrived behind the platform and forced their way to the base of the steps. In the midst, her clothes in tatters, was the next victim. The terrified young girl was dragged on to the platform where the rope hung ready but unlike the condemned man before her she would not only be flogged then hung.
Her sentence was read out. The audience grew more expectant.
To the steady beat of a drum, the rags were ripped from her body.
Anne felt the bile rise in her throat at the sight even as she sensed her husband’s rapt enjoyment of the spectacle.
Then the whipping began until her body was a sea of bleeding welts. Her body sagged, kept upright only by her wrists tied to the whipping-post. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see any more and felt a painful pinch. Sam Baker was making sure his wife learnt the lesson too. The girl was dragged over to the waiting noose. She wasn’t capable of standing on the box unassisted. Two guards held her up as another fitted the noose round her neck and kicked the box away.
The body twitched twice and then was still.
The shocked women were ushered back home by their menfolk, sickened at the brutality of what they had seen. Some men put their arms round their own women to give some comfort.
Sam Baker had watched the entire scene with satisfaction, as had some others, notably the ex-lieutenant who had once served under Pierre Duchesne.
Anne left the square with Carla Cocteau and her mother and was escorted back up the hill to Fort by four of Cocteau’s men. She felt sick and uncomfortable; her gravid state made the trek purgatory, however slowly the escort chivvied them along.
When Sam Baker arrived back at Fort after the post-execution entertainments some hours later, well pleased with the way the event had gone, he entered his apartments and was met with confusion and panic. This confusion was centred round Anne.
There were women everywhere. Greatly daring, one of them hurrying past, intent on some errand or other cried, “the baby. It’s coming!” before heading outside as if she had the very devil at her heels.
News of the imminent birth travelled fast. Henri Cocteau arrived at the run, Smith and van Buren shortly afterwards. The three of them would be sufficient to proclaim the baby King of Murdoch.
No one mentioned the possibility that the baby might be female. It would make no difference to the Larg, their only stipulation that the area ceded to the humans be held by a child of Elliot Murdoch’s blood. In fact, Baker would almost prefer it if the child was a girl. In a land where female rights were minimal, a ‘Queen’ would have no ‘coming of age’ and would not expect to rule in person. Having tasted absolute power, Sam Baker was in no mind to ever give it up.
He spent the next few hours waiting and pacing up and down just as if he were the expectant father.
“Wish it’d hurry up,” he fretted.
“These things take time but it shouldn’t be long now,” said Henri Cocteau, he knew these things, his baby son not long out of the womb, “first time takes the longest and this is her fourth.”
“Fourth?” asked Raoul van Buren. “I only know of the two. What happened to her first?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” growled Baker. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Brentwood missed a few when he chased after that party. Numbers didn’t ever really add up.” He turned to one of the guards. “Andrew Snodgrass nearby? I’ll want him to tell our Larg friends the good news as soon as it is over.”
It was dark when Doctor Arthur left Anne’s bedroom and made his weary way to where the Lords waited. He had a smile on his face, which told the interested bystanders that mother and child had come safely through their ordeal. Andrew Snodgrass watched him pass; his was the duty to report to Aoalvaldr the Larg that no child was smuggled into the bedchamber in the event of a stillbirth.
Lord Baker got to his feet in a hurry when the doctor entered, his wineglass smashing into a hundred and one pieces on the stone floor.
“Well?”
“Lady Anne is fine.”
“The child, the child?”
“Twins! Healthy and perfectly formed; a boy and girl. The boy was born first, a sturdy little fellow though premature. The little girl is fine too. Pretty little thing.”
“Insurance,” breathed Henri Cocteau, “if anything should happen to the boy, childhood ailment, accident or whatever.”
“Tell Snodgrass to inform the Larg,” ordered Sam Baker, “and tell my wife that I will visit her and the young king tomorrow.”
Doctor Arthur bowed and made his way to the door. It appeared to him that Sam Baker was holding himself that much taller, assuming the mantle of Lord Regent and surrogate father.
“What will we call him?” asked van Buren.
“Elliot after
his father. King Elliot the First,” was Sam Baker’s immediate reply.
“And the girl?”
“Let my wife name her. She is of little account.”
When told of this, Anne was pleased to be allowed this concession.
“I will call her Ruth,” she said to Doctor Arthur, “after my Peter’s mother.”
She then slipped into a fitful sleep. During the night when she woke, she caught sight of a dark shape sitting on a stool beside her bed.
“Doctor Arthur?”
“Anne, go back to sleep. I am here.”
“Lord Baker?”
“He celebrates with the other Lords.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
“No visitors until I say you are ready but the Lords will wish to come and see their young king and little princess. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop them. There may also be a deputation from the Larg. You must be brave. Tomorrow your women will come and prepare you. Your babies are fine. Now will you rest?”
“You will stay with me?”
“I promise.”
Comforted, Anne’s eyes fluttered shut.
Doctor Arthur continued his vigil.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 20 - ARGYLL
Towards the end of the second winter on Rybak the Vada had settled down to training and patrolling, although the active Ryzcks were still somewhat short of full strength.
Wilhelm Dahlstrom did his best to train as many as he could and a steady trickle of vadeln-pairs joined the active Ryzcks.
Un-partnered Lind continued to search out likely humans but there were not as many as before, the Lind realising that, if they continued to remove more and more of the human population, especially in Argyll, their popularity might well take a downward turn. To be chosen by a Lind was still an unusual and tremendous occurrence and greeted with glee and pleasure by most families. Single Lind were welcomed and vadeln-pairs given much honour, few forgetting their valour during the Battle of the Alliance and their ongoing protection against the piratical slavers.
