by Zoe Marriott
“I’m supposed to get you outfitted with a uniform and everything else you need today, but I think you should clean up first.” She added some clean clothes to the pile in my arms. “These are mine, just for the moment.”
“Do I smell that badly?” I asked, mortified.
“You don’t stink, but I can tell you’ve been sleeping on the forest floor for a while. I’m afraid we don’t have a bathhouse. I’ll walk you down to the river.”
“I’ve never been to a bathhouse,” I admitted. “At home we had hot springs.”
“Well, that’s a relief. If I have to listen to one more new recruit bellyaching about the lack of hot water, I might brain them. I don’t understand why they sign up if they want luxury.”
“Is that what I am?” I asked tentatively. “A new recruit?”
The hare in Livia’s tattoo seemed to leap as she frowned in thought. “Seems like it. I suppose you’ll do. Can’t say you’re lacking in gumption, anyway. And I never knew him to be wrong about anyone before.”
As I turned over her words in my mind, she pushed back the tent flap. I followed her outside into early morning sunlight and a businesslike swarm of people.
By day the hill-guard camp was a different place. My head nearly swivelled off my shoulders as I struggled to take in everything that was going on. I followed Livia through the centre of the camp, past a cleared circle of ground where around thirty men and woman were going through some kind of battle-drill, swords rising and falling in perfect synchronization. Near by a pair – one man and one woman – were sparring hand-to-hand, their movements a blur of kicks and punches. Others sat peacefully, polishing armour, repairing tack, sharpening weapons. I glimpsed a man pegging out washing on a line strung between tents. Elsewhere, a woman sat on the ground, a cloth wrapped around her shoulders, while another carefully snipped her hair.
It felt less like a campsite and more like a small town. The tents ranged in size from ones that would easily fit two dozen men inside to others that were clearly meant for only one or two people. As we went past the firepit at the back of the camp, I glimpsed wooden structures – the prison cells where I had been held. Where Birkin was probably being held now.
I hoped that they hadn’t put him into my cell. Not that Birkin would fit through the gap I had made.
The variety of skin and hair colours among the camp’s inhabitants was bewildering. At home, nearly everyone had the same coppery brown skin and dark hair as me; the same wide, broad cheekbones and flattish noses. In Southern Uskaand, where I had grown up, even the slight variation of my grey eyes had been enough to mark me as an outsider, the next worst thing to a foreigner, although I knew that in the North, both grey and blue eyes were common.
Among the hill guard, hardly any two people shared the same looks. I saw a man who would have caused whispering and stares in Uskaand, with his round face and button nose and skin so pale it looked positively unhealthy, especially against the fiery red of his hair. The man was talking to a woman who had skin that shone a dark bluish-black and a cloud of hair that stood out around her head like dark thistledown. She had a flat nose like me – yet her cheekbones and chin were pointed and sharp.
And there were so many women! I had assumed that the soldiers would be mostly male, as in the army at home, with the odd female cook, or healer, like Livia. But here it seemed around half the soldiers were women, and while I was glad that I wasn’t the only female recruit, it was strange to see all the camp dwellers, regardless of sex, in the same clothing – plain shirts and breeches – with weapons strapped to their bodies.
Many of the people we passed stared at me unabashedly, pausing in their tasks to watch as I walked by. I did not meet anyone’s eyes. Hostility, wariness and suspicion were all too familiar to me.
“Never mind them,” Livia said, hooking her arm casually through mine. I tried my best not to flinch from the unexpected contact. “Some wild tales have been flying around camp ever since the captain and Arian first brought you back. People will soon get used to you.”
I tried to smile. It would have been nice to accept her kindness without forcing myself to look for hidden motives – but I still wasn’t sure I believed her. No one had ever accepted me. No one had ever got used to me.
Luca wants me here, I told myself, squaring my shoulders. Livia thinks I’ll do. I’m good enough. I will be good enough.
Livia led me to the edge of camp, where trees began to encroach again. The passage of many feet had worn a trail down the high, moss-furred bank to the wide river bed. The water was a deep, mysterious green, glassily smooth on the surface. There were other women already bathing there, laughing and splashing each other.
“The men wash at night, and the woman in the morning. No mixing, unless by – er, prior arrangement.” Livia cast me a sidelong look and I felt my cheeks heating up again. She laughed. “There’s a strict no-peeking policy too, so you’re safe.”
One of the women in the water caught sight of me. She nudged her nearest companion. I couldn’t hear their voices over the sound of the river, but the immediate flexing of fists and crossing of arms was all too obvious. They didn’t want me there.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Livia said, apparently oblivious, as she began to walk away. “When you’ve finished, come back to Luca’s tent and I’ll take you to the seamstress.”
The whole group of women was now staring up at me, their relaxed poses hardened into wariness. If I got into the water, would they leave? Or would they attack me? What if I hurt someone? The goatherd would have an excuse to carry out his threat, after all. Or, worse, Luca would realize he’d been wrong, and send me away.
Stay quiet. Don’t fight. Stay out of trouble.
I tried to force the familiar refrain out of my mind, but the sensation of coldness lodged. Hugging the things Livia had given me to my chest, I made my decision and turned from the river towards the shelter of the trees. I felt the women’s eyes on my back every step of the way.
As the sounds of the camp faded away behind me, my ears were filled with birdsong and the busy muttering of water. Golden clouds of pollen danced in the shafts of sunlight and made my nose itch. I tramped over trailing roots and mossy rocks, struggling for balance on the steeply sloping ground. Sweat sprang up on my face, and I began to pant a little. I also began to feel guilty. Livia had known what she was doing, taking me to the river. She probably expected me to brazen it out, introduce myself and make friends. Instead I had run away again. So much for my “bravery”. The further I got from those women and their watchful eyes, the more the knots in my neck and shoulders loosened.
I found a narrow goat-track and followed it, looking for a place where I could climb down to bathe. But the trail curved away from the barely seen glint of the water, and the river sounds grew fainter. I thought of turning back, but … the women might still be there, waiting.
I cursed myself for a coward and tramped on. The trail curved sharply. Finally I heard the roar of water again, ahead of me now, and much louder than before. The trees opened up to reveal a pool of clear green water rippling and glinting in the sun. I gasped at its beauty.
The pool was fed by a thin waterfall that splashed down a rocky cliff-face. Vivid yellow saplings and bluish ferns sprouted from the rocks. A dry crescent of smooth river pebbles edged the pool. I was about to run forward and explore when I saw the man.
His back was to me as he waded from the water to a neat pile of clothes on the dry pebbles on the opposite bank. Unsurprisingly, he was naked. Heavy muscles clenched and shifted smoothly under warm brown skin as he began to dry off.
I had seen naked men before. Uskaand is a land of icy rivers and hot springs, where it is common for men and woman to swim together. The polite thing would have been to simply look away until the man had finished dressing himself.
But I didn’t.
His back, shoulders and buttocks were a mess of scars. Long, straight scars that looked as if they had come from a whip. Thick,
uneven welts that must have been caused by burns. Thin, silvery marks left by some weapon with a cutting edge. The wounds were long since healed, but some were still livid. I realized I was looking at the result of months – years – of abuse. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could endure so much pain.
As he pulled on his breeches, I began to back away into the trees. This man, who took such care to bathe in a private place when no one else was around, must never know that he had been seen.
A sharp snap rang out above the sound of the waterfall. I looked down to see that my boot had broken a branch in two. I cursed under my breath – but it was too late to run away without being spotted. Shirt still unfastened, the man was already turning.
“Back early, Luca?” he called. He was smiling, and the look transformed his face so utterly that for a moment I barely recognized him.
It was the goatherd. Arian.
We stared at each other, both shocked and unmoving.
Then he swore, low and vicious. He lunged forward across the pebbled shore to seize my arm. His fingers bit into my flesh, and he shook me hard. Although we were the same height, he almost wrenched my feet off the ground. “Get an eyeful, did you? Now I suppose you’ll run back and tell everyone?”
“No! I’m s–sorry!” I stammered, my bundled-up things dropping to the ground as I fought to keep my balance on the shifting river stones.
His free hand twitched up, as if to strike me. “Luca was mad to drag trash like you here—”
Anger and panic combined in a fiery burst and I brought my closed fist down on his wrist. “Let go!”
He released me with a grunt of pain, and I used both hands to shove him back. “How was I supposed to know you’d be here? Does this p–place belong to you? Does it?”
“You followed me here – you spied on me.”
“Why would I do that? Why would I want to be anywhere near a horrible bully who keeps threatening me?” I shoved him backwards again, too incensed now to be cautious. It had been such a long time since I’d lost my temper. “You’re not the only one in the world with scars, you know! They’re not that interesting.”
He let out something dangerously close to a snarl. “Get out of here! Before I do something you’ll regret!”
“I’m not leaving,” I ground out between gritted teeth. “I didn’t do anything wrong. All I wanted was a b–bath, and you’ve already finished. You go!”
He took a slow, careful step back. When he spoke again, the words were low and flat, as if he were spending all his energy to restrain himself. “Listen carefully. Pick up your things now and leave. Go back to camp. Get away from me.”
“Or what?” I demanded, the heady mix of fright and rage driving me on. “Like hurting unarmed women, do you? Your mother must be so proud!”
He flinched visibly, turning ashen before my eyes. I went still, my feverish temper cooled by the sudden look of icy despair in his face. Before I could think to apologize, or ask what was wrong, he had spun around and was walking away, forging a path straight into the trees. In less than a heartbeat, he was gone.
“What did I say?” I whispered.
But I wasn’t sure I truly wanted to know.
Eleven
Scrubbed to within an inch of my life, half-dry hair fluffing up around my face, and with the seams of Livia’s slightly too small clothes itching at my shoulders, I slunk back towards camp. I felt as if I had been tested twice this morning, and failed both times. First by running from those women when I should have stood my ground, and then by arguing with Arian when I ought to have walked away.
I half-expected to be greeted with drawn swords when I emerged from the trees after my bathe, but no one paid any attention to me. I kept it that way by scurrying around the edges of the camp, eyes down, shoulders hunched.
“Oh, dear,” Livia said, as I arrived in Luca’s tent. “You look like a whipped dog. What happened?”
“I had a run-in with the g – er – with Arian.”
She laughed, pulling a face. “Don’t let it worry you. You’ll soon find that the only person in the hill guard who manages to get along with Arian is Luca. For the rest of us, it’s like trying to be friendly with a–a rock. I’m not sure he has feelings, other than the urge to smash anyone who gets in his way.”
I thought about the horrified look Arian had given me just now. The man clearly did have feelings. But, I cautioned myself, that doesn’t mean it’s safe to feel sorry for him. It just means he’s capable of hating you all the more.
“I’ll keep away from him in future,” I said, mostly to myself.
“That’s what I try to do,” Livia agreed cheerfully as she creaked to her feet. “Right, to the seamstress with you.”
Once again the healer strode straight through the centre of the camp when I would have stuck to the outskirts. After walking beside me for a minute without speaking she suddenly whopped me hard in the centre of my back. My shoulders shot back as the air oophed out of my lungs.
“That’s better,” she said. “You stand out more when you hunch over, you know.”
I noticed people grinning at this exchange. Well, at least they’re not glaring. Or laughing.
The camp seamstress, Atiyah, was a short, round woman with masses of dark hair, and tattoos of cotton flowers covering the bridges of both cheeks.
“Oh, this is the new one, then? She doesn’t look so fearsome,” she said, snapping a long measuring tape between her hands. I jumped at the sound, and she let out a surprisingly girlish laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite if you won’t.”
Livia reeled off a long list of instructions for Atiyah that had apparently come from Luca. I discovered that I was to have “special” armour – lightweight boiled leather that would cover my vulnerable points: gauntlets, vambraces, a neckguard and helm. The seamstress, rather than being annoyed at the extra trouble, as I had feared, seemed intrigued. She measured me quickly and efficiently, peppering Livia with questions all the while, and finally said that she would have to speak to Luca about materials as soon as he got back. Once Livia had extracted a promise that I would have at least one basic uniform to wear by tomorrow, she took me on to the weapons tent. There I was measured again and given a practice sword made of blunt, soft metal, and a wooden stave capped in brass at both ends. When I protested, pointing out that I had my axe, the weapon’s master laughed in my face. “You can’t train with that!” He snorted. “You’ll kill someone, probably yourself.”
“How am I going to learn to fight better with the axe by training with a sword and quarterstaff?” I asked Livia, as we left the armoury.
She pursed her lips. “Talk to Luca about it when he gets back. Here we are – your new home.”
I looked up to see a long, thin tent, its flap pegged open to reveal dozens of bedrolls lined up neatly on each side, with a few inches between each one. Only one or two people were sleeping within now, but the air that wafted out of the entrance was stuffy and humid with the smell of warm bodies. I could imagine how it would be at night, with the women packed inside like potatoes jostling one another in a sack. How did they breathe?
I backed away, shaking my head. “No. I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t sleep in there.”
Livia’s brow furrowed. “This is where all the women sleep.”
“Do you?” I challenged.
“Well, no – I stay in the healer’s tent. In case of emergencies.”
“Then not all the women sleep here. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll put my bedroll outside; that’s what I’m used to anyway. I couldn’t even close my eyes in there, let alone sleep.” I shuddered.
“We can’t let you sleep outside! What if it rains?” Livia said, appalled. “I’d offer to let you stay with me, but I need to keep the space clear for patients. Let’s just leave you in Luca’s tent for now. He can decide where you should go when—”
“He gets back,” I echoed, thinking that it seemed to be the standard reply for all the tricky questions around here.
> “Yes,” she said, cheerful again. “Now I’m starving. It must be nearly time for a midday meal.”
She hooked her arm through mine again – ignoring my instinctive flinch – and towed me towards the largest tent in the camp. Spicy smells drifted my way, making my mouth water and my stomach gurgle.
“This is the mess,” Livia said. “They provide three meals a day, although you can normally coax food out of them in-between times if you missed eating because of duties. It’s permitted to carry a tray of food away if you wish, but you must bring your plates and utensils back to be washed. And smashing them doesn’t count.”
I ground my teeth. Was I ever going to live that down?
One side of the tent was pegged out with long poles, creating a sort of canopy where people sat on blankets or the grass, eating and laughing. The interior was filled with long, roughly hewn tables and low stools. At one end of the tent there was a counter covered in plates and trays and dishes, and behind that, men and women laboured over metal cooking pots, moving through clouds of steam and smoke.
By the time Livia and I had reached the canopy, everyone was staring at us. Laughter and chatter had died away, replaced by low whispering.
“Maybe I should just—”
“Not a chance,” Livia said flatly. “You might’ve got your way about sleeping quarters for the moment, but I’m not letting you hide from everything that makes you uncomfortable. We’re not ogres. We’re your new family, your comrades-in-arms. You need to get to know us and we need to get to know you – which will never happen if you keep running away.”
Her wiry arms turned out to have surprising strength. She almost dragged me over to the counter.
Turning my back on the whispering people, I tried to concentrate as she showed me where the wooden trays were stacked, and selected various cold dishes from the covered bowls that waited on the counter.
“You can just … take it?” I asked incredulously. “As much as you want? Don’t they run out?”
