by Mary Corran
‘Wait a moment. It’s my fault, I forgot that the smoke affects some people, and you were much closer to it than I. Please — ’
She managed to stand upright. ‘If I may, I think some air would help.’ Idly, she noticed Avorian had a mole on his chin, a mark that was held to foreshadow that he would be gifted with riches and held in high esteem. She was suddenly eager to get away, from the house and from him.
‘Let me help you.’ Menna appeared at her elbow, and Avorian at last let her go. ‘Lean on me, Mistress Asher, and you will be better shortly.’ Her eyes met Asher’s.
‘You’re very kind.’
She allowed herself to be assisted across the huge hall to the main entrance, where she stood breathing in fresh-scented air that smelled only faintly of the sea and rather more of blossom and grass.
‘I saw you were uneasy, mistress. Let me assure you, the Councillor meant no disrespect. He was only afraid you would fall and hurt yourself.’ Menna said quietly.
‘I’m sorry my feelings were so obvious.’
‘Only to me.’ She smiled sadly, and Asher saw she was not so innocent as she had believed. ‘Please, come back inside and let me have wine sent to you. I would stay myself but I have a music lesson.’ She grimaced. ‘Poor man — my tutor, I mean. I have no ear, and no talent for the lute.’
Asher shook her head. ‘I feel quite well, and must be back at the Treasury by noon.’
The intelligent eyes registered polite disbelief, but Menna only inclined her head. ‘Then let me have the carriage brought.’
‘No.’ Asher saw she had been too abrupt and softened the refusal. ‘Truly, the walk will do me good.’
‘If you wish. Then perhaps we shall meet again, mistress. I should enjoy doing so.’ She bowed slightly then re-entered the house, an upright, dignified figure. Asher waited until she was out of sight before walking away towards the gates, but had gone only a few paces when she was brought up by a shout. Turning, she saw Lassar hurrying after her, his arms filled with her ledgers.
‘For you, mistress.’ He held them out to her. ‘The Chief Councillor sends his gratitude, and will speak to you again before you leave the city.’ She acknowledged the message with as much courtesy as she could muster, wishing him far away; his continued watchfulness made her uneasy. He bowed, half-mockingly, or so she thought. ‘Until we meet again, mistress.’ He made it sound like a prophecy.
She could feel his eyes pursuing her all the way back to the road.
*
‘Do you believe now, Ash?’ Margit said triumphantly. ‘This is all providential. Of course I’ll come and do the work, and I’m sure Mylla will, too. The girl in the camp must be Vallis.’
Asher crumbled a piece of bread on her plate, still unsure, but whether from desire or genuine doubt she had no idea; it was still an hour before curfew, and she was restless. The common room of the hostel was crowded, for it was a cold night and rain had been falling since late-afternoon. ‘And you?’ she asked Mylura, who had joined them at supper. ‘How do you feel about a trip south, and a few days spent scrutinizing falsified accounts?’
She grinned. ‘You know me — I hate staying in one place too long. And who better to sniff out thievery than me?’ She winked at Asher. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take your place while you go gallivanting with your councillor. Margit and I’re quite capable of doing your job.’
‘Mallory is not my councillor!’ The note she had received from him in response to her news had been less than enthusiastic, the only high point of the affair to date.
‘Are you sure this is sensible, Asher?’ Essa asked, doubtfully. ‘What if your husband should see you and try to get you back? I think your friend is right, and you should let one of us go.’
‘I told you what the Oracle said — it has to be me.’ Yet despite her words, her feelings about the prophecy were still as unsettled as ever. She wavered constantly between acceptance and rejection, resenting the ease with which the journey south had seemed to fall into place, implying again that her own wishes and choices meant nothing. Afterwards, I’ll know afterwards, she repeated to herself, as if it were true.
‘Perhaps.’ Essa frowned uneasily. ‘I know we must find her, but not at your expense, Asher. And I’m glad the Chief Councillor suggested you take a chaperon or two. Kerrick is not a man to trust.’
‘No.’
‘And I like your descriptions of Avorian and his daughter.’ Essa smiled. ‘I’ve sent them maids from time to time, but they never have anything to report. Our Chief Councillor seems to lead a busy but blameless life.’
‘Yes.’ Asher wondered if she had been mistaken about Avorian’s intentions; Menna could have been right, and he had only held her to stop her falling. She was glad she had kept the incident to herself.
‘It’s a disgrace there should be so much fraud,’ Margit remarked indignantly. ‘Don’t these people know that for every copper they hold back, the more it costs the rest — and the councillors most of all?’
A loud crash interrupted her speech; a dark head appeared round the rear door.
‘Sorry. I just dropped a few things.’
‘It sounded more like the roof caving in!’ Mylura observed quietly. Essa, however, half-rose, looking worried.
‘I wonder — ’
Asher stared moodily at the occupants of the other tables, wishing it were late enough to retire to the solitude of her room; she did not feel like talking at the moment. Everything seemed to be conspiring to upset her fragile self-possession, which was far more delicate than she wanted to believe.
‘What was that?’ Essa sprang to her feet, muttering distractedly: ‘Then it was knives she dropped!’
All conversation died as a high-pitched scream, followed by sounds of a second crash, filled the room. The cry was cut off, then came sounds of low voices and heavy footsteps coming along the passage. The door to the common room burst open.
‘Not again!’
Essa was already retreating to the rear of the room, shoving tables into a defensive position with help from Margit and Mylura. Other women followed her example, hastily grabbing any implement that would pass for a weapon. Most of the hostel’s inhabitants had experienced such raids before, and they reacted quickly and efficiently, forming two lines behind a barricade of tables. Asher stood beside Mylura, Margit next to Essa.
A crowd of shabbily dressed men surged into the room, mostly young, a few rather older, pushing aside the obstructing benches and streaming forwards in an undisciplined rush.
‘Keep together,’ Essa said in a clear whisper. ‘Work in pairs, as we planned.’
Asher gripped the fork she had elected as her own weapon; this was the fourth time the hostel had been invaded since she had moved in, and she knew what to do. Quickly, she counted heads on both sides, relieved to see there were only twenty men for the full complement of the hostel; two to one were good odds.
‘Well, Sim?’ Essa called out wearily to a man who stood at the centre of the line, who checked at the sound of his name; the whole group came to an abrupt, staggering halt.
He came forward alone, an unappealing figure. Despite powerful arms and shoulders, he had the appearance of a man whose appetites had been too often indulged; his grey hair was sparse and oily-looking, and several chins bounced above a tunic stained with grease. His belt strained against the bulge of his belly, and when he spoke Asher caught a strong smell of ale on his breath.
At least he was unarmed. A quick glance showed her none of the others carried weapons, and she breathed more easily.
‘Me and my friends here,’ Sim began, slurring the words slightly, ‘thought we’d pay you a little visit.’ He belched loudly, and his companions let out a cheer at this eloquence. ‘We thought you ladies’d be glad of some company on such a wet night.’
‘We did not invite you or your friends,’ Essa replied icily. ‘And we would be glad if you would leave — at once.’
‘Leave?’ He managed a look that succeeded in being
both incredulous and lascivious. ‘You surely don’t mean that?’ He turned to indicate his companions. ‘Look at these fine and thirsty lads. Why don’t you bring us all some ale, so we can get down to enjoying ourselves!’
‘This is neither an inn nor a brothel, as we have told you before,’ Essa observed carefully, speaking slowly.
‘Isn’t it?’ Sim opened bloodshot eyes in feigned surprise. Raucous laughter erupted from his followers. ‘Ladies, forgive us.’ He swept them a low, mocking bow. ‘Fetch out the master of this house, and we’ll willingly make him our apologies.’
Any minute now. Asher had enough experience to judge the mood of the mob; the scene altered little from raid to raid. Why do they do this? They drink too much, then all together decide to show us how big and brave they are; do all men think with their groins? Why does valuing themselves so highly mean they have to devalue us? She tensed, and felt Mylura ready herself.
‘Get on with it!’ urged a thin voice from the rear. Asher recognized him as a youth who worked alongside Sim in the tannery several streets away. Other voices took the cry up into a chant.
‘Enough.’ Essa raised her own voice to be heard above the hubbub. ‘You should be ashamed of yourselves. What would your mothers, or sisters, or wives say if they could see you now?’
Sim’s face flushed an angry red. ‘Shut your mouth, bitch!’
Is this what the Fates dictate? Asher wondered bitterly. That men should hate us just for not being like them? Although there were times when Asher resented the restrictions of being born a woman, she could not conceive of wanting to be male. For a moment, she would have liked to kill Sim and all his kind, for their stupidity and their drunken viciousness, for the way in which together they ceased to be human and became only a pack, before reason returned. Not all men are like this, not Mallory.
‘What’re we waiting for?’ called a tall youth on the left. He came forward, shoving aside a table, which fell with a loud crash; his friends followed.
‘Shall we call the guard?’ asked a frightened voice from somewhere behind Asher.
‘No!’ she said sharply. If they could not fight their own battles, they had no hope; and in any case it seemed a kind of collaboration, at least in her own mind.
‘Now!’
Sim lunged for Essa, who deftly evaded him. Total chaos ensued. There was no time to think as the wave of men surged forwards, pressing the women back towards the far wall, relying for victory on their greater strength. Asher found, as before, that she was too angry to be afraid. At a signal from Mylura, she dropped promptly to all fours, and a moment later a man crashed over her and fell heavily to the floor. Mylura promptly sat on him, taking and holding Asher’s fork to his neck.
‘One down! Go and help Margit.’
Asher turned to see her friend in the grip of a tall man whose hands were busy at her bodice; seizing a mug from a nearby table, Asher brought it crashing down on his head, wishing it were heavier. He released Margit, putting his hands to the back of his skull; instantly, Margit kicked him between his legs, and he bent forwards in agony, groaning lustily.
‘Thanks,’ Margit panted. Asher made an ironic bow, then looked round to see who else was in difficulties. The battle was raging along its accustomed lines; each man faced not one but two women, negating his physical advantage. Several had joined Mylura’s victim and lay prone, but Sim and some of the others had seen their error and now stood defensively back to back, lunging forwards in formation. She could not see Essa anywhere, but spotted a young man rush and grasp one of the smallest women, picking her up and running towards the exit. His progress was hampered by her weight and her struggles. Asher had time to snatch a brand from the fire; she made for him at a run, applying the burning brand to the seat of his trousers. With a shout, he dropped the girl, who scrambled away and hid under one of the tables. It was the woman who had suggested calling the guard, and Asher guessed she had little heart for the battle.
‘Stop!’
It was surprising that any voice could make itself heard above the tumult. Asher looked up to see Essa standing on top of one of the few remaining upright tables, surrounded by a protective circle of women.
‘That is enough!’
Sim hesitated, then signed his companions to pause as he counted the number of men still standing; there were nine, apart from himself. Nine more lay flat on the floor, pinned down by an equal number of women; the one Asher had burned had made a hasty exit, beating frantically at the smouldering material of his trousers.
‘There are ten of you to forty of us,’ Essa continued in her most carrying voice. ‘No doubt you think your strength vastly superior to ours, but look — and see. We did not invite you here; we do not exist for your entertainment. If you will do so peaceably, we will let you go.’
‘There’ll be a settlement for this!’ Sim shook off several restraining hands and came forward, his face flushed scarlet. ‘I swear it. You may be lucky this time, but there’ll be another!’ he said hoarsely. ‘You may think yourselves high and mighty, answering to no man, sharing your filthy favours with each other. Unnatural bitches!’ He spat, aiming at Margit who was closest. She stood her ground wiping off the spittle fastidiously with a scrap of cloth.
‘I wonder why bitches are always so maligned?’ Mylla murmured softly to Asher. ‘You’d think Sim and his lot hated all females in the animal kingdom!’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ Essa asked wearily. ‘We want nothing from you; we take nothing from you. All we desire is to be left in peace.’
‘Is that what you call it? What use are you, any of you?’ There was deep loathing in his voice. ‘The Fates say nothing’s more unlucky than a houseful of women. You bring down ill-fortune on our city, on all of us!’
‘You do that well enough yourself,’ Mylura observed from her seat on one of the downed figures. Essa frowned at her, but Sim glared, openly malevolent. Asher listened, depressed.
‘ “What can you expect from a pig but a grunt?” ’ Sim quoted coarsely. ‘All right. We’ll go. But don’t think you’ve won.’ He turned on his heel and stalked away; disconcerted, his youthful followers moved after him as Essa signalled to release the fallen.
‘Bar the door after them,’ she called out to Mylura. ‘Is everyone in safely?’
Asher did a rapid head count. ‘Yes — no. Wait. Where’s Sara?’
‘And who let them in?’ Mylura demanded at the same moment; their eyes met and they headed jointly for the door.
A slight figure lay in the passage by the main door, head buried under one arm.
‘Sara?’
The woman stirred. Asher could see at once that her right arm was broken; the angle was all wrong. There were also bloodstains on her head and hand.
‘Don’t move,’ she said quickly. ‘Mylla, fetch Margit. She’s the best at broken bones. And some wine, too.’ There was a dark bruise over Sara’s left eye, and another on her forehead. Asher swore quietly; Sara was a seamstress and would be unable to work for weeks — a financial burden to the others.
‘It hurts.’ There were tears in Sara’s thin voice.
‘What happened?’
The woman tried to move, then groaned. ‘I — there was something blocking the eyehole in the door, and I couldn’t see so I opened it, Then — ’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Asher moved aside to make room for Margit, and, after a brief inspection, two of the women were detailed to carry Sara to her room; Margit followed, looking grim.
‘We shall have to increase our precautions,’ Essa was saying to Mylura when Asher rejoined them. ‘Next time Sim might bring rather more of his friends, and they might come armed.’
‘Surely not?’ Mylura frowned. ‘We can bring the law down on them if they do real damage.’
‘As they did to Sara? Do you really believe that?’ Essa sounded sceptical. ‘And how much value do you imagine a judge would assign a few women, without male relatives to appease? If any of us is attacked or
raped, whose rights would Sim and his friends have stolen? Only ours, which is to say very little in the eyes of the law. And how would any of us prove we were virgin or not? The law has a value system which rates men more highly if they aren’t innocents, and women more if they are. A curious state of affairs, but there it is.’
Gloomily, Mylura nodded. ‘I know.’
‘You’d better stay tonight, Mylla. Share with me.’
‘Thanks. I don’t want to meet the one with prong marks on his neck again in a hurry!’ She grinned at Asher, then frowned. ‘What’s happened to your badge? I just noticed. I saw it earlier today, I’m sure.’
Asher looked down at her lapel in surprise. ‘You’re right.’ The seven-pointed star was no longer there. ‘It must have come off in the fight. It’ll be in here somewhere.’
‘I’ll help you look for it.’
‘I’ve another, just in case. But thanks.’
‘Well, my dears, I’m too old for all this.’ Essa rose to her feet. ‘I shall go to bed and meditate on our defences. Are you coming, Mylla?’
‘In a moment.’ She was already on her knees, hunting around on the floor, holding up a candle in one hand and feeling the surface with the other. At last, she gave up.
‘Don’t worry, Mylla, I’ll find it in the morning.’
‘All right.’ She yawned, then replaced the candle in its sconce and blew it out. Order had been restored in the hall, and there was remarkably little damage; only one bench had been broken. Asher continued to search, but only desultorily. ‘I’m for bed!’
Asher followed her up the stairs, realizing at last how tired she was. She said goodnight to Mylura and went into her own room, performing the routine search with less than her usual assiduousness, but nothing had been disturbed.
She sat down wearily on the bed, wondering again why Sim should hate them so much; in what way did their existence offend his pride?
Because we don’t need him, or his friends, or want them; we act and believe that we have a right to live as we choose, not as they decide. She checked the thought, knowing where it would lead; she would not lump all men together with Sim and his kind, or she was as guilty of blind prejudice as they.
