Elissa had caught up by now and came up behind her with a sniff.
“How do you get away with it?” she asked,
“Maybe he likes me,” suggested Annis lightly. The female warrior snorted.
“He likes no-one,” she asseverated.
The bell for Prime was starting to ring as the girls left the castle, to the surprise of the gate guard as Elissa told him,
“She have permission from the old man.”
Annis had allowed plenty of time to argue with Gyrfalon as she thought she might have to; and was happy to have got away fairly quickly. The sun was still low in the sky; it were not so long since sunrise and dew lay heavy still on the ground, that had Annis hold her skirt well up to prevent the heavy woollen hem dragging in the wet, unaware that the gate guard was appreciating her neat ankles. She pulled her grey cloak up to cover her head to enter the church, wherein she had to endure the surprised stares of such villagers as chose to attend this early service. Work being forbidden on the Sabbath many peasants would attend more than one service for something to do but doubtless some took the opportunity, if they did not have stock to feed, to have a rare lie in. Most however would have been up long since to feed chickens and hogs if nothing else.
Work of course did not cover such; nor, thought Annis cynically, did it cover the preparation of food that was in all but great houses and castles the lot of the women. She headed for the screened pew of the castle family, genuflecting to the altar as she approached it. Elissa, behind her, did not.
The service began and Annis found it moving. However, soon the sermon was interrupted by the loud rhythmic snores of her companion. Annis tried an elbow in the ribs but to no avail. She stood and walked to the lectern.
“I prithee excuse me Father,” she said, picking up the great Bible. It was something of a struggle to carry it back to the pew and heft it over her head; but her arms were strengthening under Gyrfalon’s tutelage and her own exercises. And it was very satisfying to bring the great book down on Elissa’s sleeping head. The woman woke with a startled yelp.
“Feel the weight of the Word of the Lord!” cried Annis wrathfully “If you must sleep, do it quietly, or outside, not grunting like a rutting pig!”
Elissa gaped at her; and there were one or two chuckles from the assembled peasantry. Annis looked scorn on her guard and went on,
“As a hostage I am sacred; and it is your duty to guard me, which task Lord Gyrfalon set you to do. Yet you sleep on such duty and in a place outside the castle; from whence I could escape, were I so minded, or from whence some rude impious person might attempt a counter strike to carry me off. Lord Gyrfalon has trusted you; is this how you mercenary rabble generally repay trust?” She left Elissa gaping, shamefaced and burning red with embarrassment, as she had not in many a long year; and returned the Bible to its customary place. “I apologise, Father,” she said softly. “I was carried away by indignation.”
The priest made the sign of the cross.
“Ego te absolvo, my daughter,” he said “Righteous indignation has also been our Lord’s speciality at need.”
Annis smiled at him and returned to her pew; and the sermon concluded without further opposition.
After the service the priest, a man in his fifties, approached the girl.
“You are a hostage of Gyrfalon’s, my lady?” He asked confirmation of her earlier words to Elissa. Annis nodded and the man’s eyes softened in sympathy. “It must be difficult for you, daughter; at least he permits you to attend Mass. Will you wish the confessional?”
“I would if you are prepared to hear my sins,” said Annis. “Bless me father, for I have sinned,” she used the time honoured words and began her confession. She told him of her killing of Solly and the circumstances; that she had feared for her virtue. It was a relief to talk about it, and how horribly easy it had been to kill a man and how she regretted making the death slow for her lack of skill, that she had cut his belly not stabbed him in the heart. And as she spoke she felt a weight lift from her of having carried the horror to herself. The priest readily absolved her.
“And then you fell into the hands of that man’s master; whom they say is the devil himself, my poor child,” he said. “A hostage at the disposal of Gyrfalon – I cannot begin to imagine how hard that is for you.”
Annis smiled at him in thanks for his kindness.
“I do thank you for your sympathy, Father, but truly my position is by no means insupportable,” she explained quickly, unwilling to act a lie to the kindly priest in letting him think she be an object of pity. “I have a very great deal of freedom, for giving my parole, and Lord Gyrfalon has indeed shown me every courtesy that I have no plaint at all.”
The priest blinked.
“Forgive me, my daughter, but that does not sound like the tales we have heard of Lord Gyrfalon when holding hostages.”
Annis shrugged.
“Perchance it be that I have given promise not to escape and not irritate him. Well not too much,” she amended.
Elissa interposed dryly
“What she means, priest, is that she is not a milksop that annoys him by tears and whining and is quite capable of holding her own in a slanging match with him. My Lord is enough impressed by her to give her much leeway,” Elissa grinned at the thought of the taunts that Gyrfalon had used as part of the swordplay exercises, calling Annis a whey-faced brat with no strength; and Annis had retorted cheerfully that if she lacked strength she would have to use her superior youthful speed to kill an aged foe of at least thirty who would surely be either slow for his eld or make a mistake in senile dementia. And how Gyrfalon had laughed and called her a nasty tongued little virago in as close to an affectionate tone as Elissa had ever heard him use to any save Buto.
And perchance even more affectionate a tone than he had used to Buto, who was often enough a disappointment to his adoptive father.
The priest shook his head, not sure how to take the woman warrior and her deliberately mannish garb and stance. Annis took pity on him.
“I am able to make myself useful to Lord Gyrfalon with my skill as a herbalist,” she told him. “He is pleased that I am able to treat him and his men when needful,” she smiled “It gives me a position to bargain with, though Elissa puts it more picturesquely.”
The priest made the sign of the cross
“Then may God be with you in that demon’s den,” he said softly. “And may he not go back on any such bargain as you have managed to make with him.”
Elissa wondered on the way back to the castle what it was that gave Annis her charisma; for no other would dare so tease Gyrfalon, and though Annis had hit her and rebuked her in the church yet she felt herself no resentment, only chagrin at what had been, after all, a just criticism. Even as she took the odd blow from Gyrfalon himself for failing to perform to his stringent standards – rare for Elissa – without resenting him for it.
Fearing him that he lose his temper with her and kill her outright, yes; but not resenting a rebuke from a lord.
And she also wondered that Annis had not left her sleeping and crept away, as well she might have done. She decided not to ask the girl why she had not; the answer was probably something to do with the parole Annis considered herself to be under. Elissa respected her for keeping her parole, though she wondered why the girl might do so when none would expect her to do so..
Annis strode purposefully to the ‘demon’s den’ and knocked purposefully and firmly, entering when she was so bid and dropping a polite curtsey to the warlord.
It always startled him, even after so many days and that was one reason Annis did it.
He took in her finery this time, having failed to notice it earlier, for the shock of her declared intent to attend a church service. She was beautiful; her hair loose as it was not when she practised swordplay nor when keeping it tied back to undertake her healing ministrations and it flowed like a ripple of pale golden water down her back, framing her piquant little face. That face w
as serene and the eyes soft from Annis’ enjoyment of the Mass, yet by no means devoid of her fire; for in her determination there was a glow within the indigo orbs that were set off by the gown that matched them. The fabric was well cut and clung almost as closely to her gentle curves as did the sweat-soaked linen of her tunic and Gyrfalon wondered if there could possibly be a more beautiful woman in the world or one with as little consciousness of how breathtakingly lovely she was at the moment. He tried to conjure the vision of Alys to compare the two; and found it hard, for Annis was so vibrant a personality recalling his dead love was difficult. And that made him frown and speak brusquely.
“What?” he demanded “I’ll not hear your catechism you know.”
“I have a question to ask,” she said quietly, ignoring the jibe.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Ask then; I may even answer it,” it pleased him to sound whimsical.
She gave him a quick affectionate smile for his games, though in sooth she was in serious mood.
“Do you intend to hold this castle and its demesne or do you intend to be a second-rate warlord in charge of scum and rabble forever capable of no more than thievery and half-baked banditry?” she asked.
He stared outraged.
“I intend to hold it, thou insolent whelp!” he roared. “Thievery and half baked banditry? What say you, naughty wench? How dare you!”
She nodded as though satisfied, unmoved by the bellow that made all the men within earshot cringe.
“So you will then be making sure to reassure your peasants and advise them that when my father’s army comes – as assuredly it will come – that they will be brought within your walls here; and that you will pledge aid from your warriors in bringing the harvest in as is shortly due.”
Gyrfalon stared at her.
“What?” he demanded.
She sighed and let him see her impatience.
“Knowing that contented peasants work better, you will wish them to feel secure that you will protect them without oppression and protect them from the rapacity of an outside army; which will encourage them to raise a greater harvest, especially as they too will be eating it themselves inside the castle. And you will then still have peasants left to plant in spring for the coming year’s harvest; so you continue holding the land, not having to rely on banditry on the lands of others. It make sense after all.”
“And you are an expert on land management and siege warfare?” he asked sarcastically.
She shrugged.
“I have had a hand in running my father’s castle since I was nine years old; and made most of the decisions pertaining thereunto from my twelfth birthday until the old sot came home from the rear ranks of the Holy Wars whence he protected his skin and grabbed all the loot he could,” she explained “Will the Steward guided mine hand but I have learned enough to run a castle even if my knowledge of siege craft be but scant. Doubtless you will feel that four years is little enough time, but it is a quarter of my life and I have been learning almost half my life. And you already know that I learn fast and remember lessons well and fully”
He glowered at her.
“I know the process of training a noble boy goes through – as your Will Steward seems to have treated you – well enough” he snapped “I too was trained to take my father’s mantle – HAH!” he snorted “Well what you say does make sense; I do want my peasantry there for the spring. But,” the corner of his mouth twisted, “I note that a good little Christian girl fresh from church does not mention my duty to the peasants or kindness and Christian charity.”
“Feudality goes both ways,” said Annis. “It was not a question of Christian charity but of good economic sense. Besides, you pride yourself on being amoral so appealing to your non-existent better nature would be a waste of time. However my sense of what is right is able to coincide with what is also good sense; which is convenient. That way everyone can be satisfied – even the peasants.”
He stared at her; then he laughed.
“I am glad to see that your devotion to that weakly religion has not robbed you of your wits. But be careful how you try to manipulate me, my girl!”
She twinkled at him.
“Oh I will, my lord,” she told him; and later it occurred to him that she had not told him she would not manipulate him but only that she would take care of how she did it.
And he laughed again at the chit’s temerity.
The reeve of the village came trembling before Lord Gyrfalon on the morrow; and left a relieved and happier man for the interview with the harsh featured warlord about the fate of the peasantry.
And the men were ordered out to aid with the harvest that there would be plenty of food for a siege and sent too to cut hazel to weave hurdles and use them to build rude shelters that might be plastered with mud for places to house the peasants and their livestock within the castle walls. And with the reassurance of Gyrfalon’s avowed intent to protect his peasantry, the reeve felt able to bring to the warlord’s attention to an incident that had occurred during the harvesting.
Annis was trotting along behind Gyrfalon as he inspected his men. She had an apron full of potions, physicks and salves for those who had approached her tentatively; and some for those who had not. The boy with the hacking cough was stunned to be presented with an old wine bottle full of medicine and tart but specific instructions as to how much to take and how often; and the grizzled warrior who had been concealing an ulcer on his leg for months blinked in amazement when Annis presented him with a salve and a cryptic
“You know where to put it.”
She had too salves for the haemorrhoids of another, medicine for the man with worms and a warning to take no more than she had indicated if he wish to live himself, and a draught for the man with painful urinary stones and the pithy advice to keep drinking and pissing as much as possible. Gyrfalon found her treating of his men as though they were naughty little boys in the way she addressed them highly amusing; and that they pulled forelocks to her as though she were the lady of the hall and they her servants as well as his.
They had finished the rounds of the men when Gyrfalon’s captain, whose name was Foregrim, approached. Annis had had little to do with him to date, save to tell him to chew on a clove for a painful tooth.
“My Lord,” said Foregrim ,“The Reeve Bullard is here; with a girl. Will you see him?”
Gyrfalon frowned.
“Yes, very well; let him approach.”
Annis caught up after advice to a man with a problem of constipation and stood by Gyrfalon as the reeve approached with a tearful young girl. Gyrfalon’s mien was forbidding as always and Annis saw Bullard quail and almost change his mind. Swiftly she took the decision from him by stepping forward to the girl.
“Now, child, what it this? Tell me your name and all about your trouble,” she asked matter-of-factly, putting an arm around the girl, who was much her own age. A fresh gale of tears ensued and haltingly the story emerged between much sobbing.
Gyrfalon’s lip twitched amusement at Annis’ use of the word ‘child’ to the girl and he looked at Bullard.
“A straight tale from you, reeve, if you please” he said “I do not intend to unravel the hysterics.”
Bullard shuffled, then began.
“Raped she were, my lord, by one of your men. They was supposed to help with harvest as you ordered them, me lord; but this one was more interested in sowin’ than reapin’ an you take my meaning!”
“Indeed. And can you identify the man in question?” said Gyrfalon softly.
Bullard nodded.
“There was several witnesses, me lord; him didn’t care; said you’d not care what a warrior of yours did with peasant scum. He is the one with half an ear missing.”
Gyrfalon nodded and turned to Foregrim.
“Bring Barthol here. He is to be hanged,” he said.
A ruffle went through the ranks and Gyrfalon raised his voice.
“You are my men. You are but a rabble
but you will be an army and you may someday be warriors. An army has discipline and that means that you do not steal, murder or maim your own. This village is my village. By touching the girl without her consent and mine, then my property is damaged. Is that clear?”
It was clear.
The trembling Barthol was dragged before Gyrfalon. He attempted a sneer.
He also leered at the girl, whose name Annis had discovered was Avis, causing her to burst into fresh sobs of terror. He had been one that Elissa had fought on Annis’ behalf and who was always there to leer at her when she fought. Annis had wondered before if she might have to kill him one day.
“A suggestion, my lord?” said Annis, comforting Avis.
The warlord turned his gaze on her.
“Suggest,” said Gyrfalon.
“It would be an object lesson to emasculate him instead,” she said coldly. “That will not prevent him from working but will prevent him from repeating the offence and will provide an example.”
There was a gasp of sheer horror through the ranks of Gyrfalon’s men.
Gyrfalon regarded her thoughtfully.
“Emasculate him; and then hang him,” he told Foregrim “You,” he said to Annis, “can be considering why I have the fellow hanged as well. I will expect you to be able to tell me later if you would continue your training in holding a demesne.” He turned to Barthol. “Anything to say?”
The man spat at him.
“’T’ain’t right, a man need his recreation. Ain’t that so cullies?” He called to the other soldiers, trying to rally them to action against Gyrfalon. “And we be more than you, my fine lord as can take the castle, and please ourselves with the fine wench you keep to yourself, that you even take her suggestions, ain’t that so, my friends?” Gyrfalon gazed at him, his one eye hooded. There were some mutters in the ranks. Gyrfalon turned his gaze on the assembled soldiery; and such was his charisma that they froze.
“Recreation,” he said, softly, though his voice carried to the furthest of his soldiers. “Recreation is implicit as a reward for labour. And you, Barthol, were not labouring at all but wasting time that could cost your fellows sufficient to eat in the coming winter. Your momentary rutting might have made the difference between holding the castle and having to surrender it to a siege. But you are not the only offender. You have all grown lazy,” he scowled upon the assembled men. “When,” he voice raised, “when you are an army worthy of the name you shall have recreation. An army with a reputation attracts the female followers you crave. Until then you have no recreation. You have me instead,” he added with black humour. “And excess energy obviously needs exercise to work it off. In your companies you will all undertake twenty mile route marches daily as part of your patrols. That will do as a start. Now get on with the execution.”
Falconburg Divided (The Falconburg Series Book 1) Page 6
