Elizabeth of Donatello Bend (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  He bowed low. “You are welcome, my lady. And apology accepted,” Lazlo answered, as the other men made noises of agreement. Lazlo cupped his hands, crouched so she could step up, and boosted her into Snowy’s saddle. They rode to the manor in silence. “The gates all work, and those are functioning murder holes,” he told her as they rode through the outer wall. “The lowest courses of the walls are Lander work, as are the cellars.”

  “Interesting. That explains why the former owner spent most of his time at court.” Selkow’s followers shunned Lander ruins. Well, she reminded herself, so too did a great number of Godown’s followers.

  “When he was here, he preferred the hunting lodge, or so the staff tell me. It burned down not long after our arrival.”

  “Really.”

  He swung out of his saddle and grinned. “Really, my lady. Godown’s own truth: lightening storm hit that night.”

  Elizabeth dismounted, grabbing Snowy’s head as he tried to bite the young man reaching for his bridle. “Quit,” she hissed at the mule. More loudly she warned the young man, “Don’t touch Snowy yet.” She pitched her voice so everyone in and around the courtyard and stables could hear her. “Snowy bites. He kicks. He is a fighting mule. I will care for him, and I will introduce you to him. Until then, give him plenty of room.” Everyone took a step backwards, even those well clear of Snowy’s teeth and hoofs. “Which way to the stables?”

  “This way, my lady,” a calm man in moleskin clothes worn shiny at the shoulders and thighs bowed. He led her to a large box stall. “Is this suitable?”

  “Very much so.” She stripped Snowy’s tack and gave him a hearty “whap” on the rump. He stalked into the stall, sniffed and pawed, and released a large load of road apples. “It suits,” she repeated, shaking her head a little at the mule’s behavior. “Thank you.”

  “Ah, my lady, how many animals do you anticipate having here, in the manor?”

  She caught herself sticking out her tongue as she tried to count. “Ah, hmm. Ten horses, plus Snowy. And a warhorse, but he will come later. The others can stay in the paddocks, depending on what the weather is and what kind of shelters there are.”

  He made a note on a chalkboard. “Very good, my lady.”

  She returned to the courtyard and found Lazlo and Ann waiting, along with some of the current staff. She followed them into the house. The dark paneling and heavy wooden furnishings gave the entry a comfortable and warm atmosphere. She tapped her heel against the floor, noting the stone surface. Boot proof. Good, very good. That’s going to be easier to keep clean. “This way,” Ann gestured. Elizabeth frowned at the curving staircase, until she noticed the slit-windows. Defensive measures mean very old. Old is good. Two maidservants in un-dyed wool dresses curtsied and opened the door to a large, airy room with luxurious furnishings, including an enormous bed.

  “If my lady will inspect her chamber,” the older maid offered.

  Elizabeth shut the door. “No. That’s the royal suite. I need something smaller, warm, and easily defended.”

  The servant, whose hair matched the gray of her plain dress, stared at Elizabeth. “But my lady, you are mistress of the manor. There is a reception room attached to the suite, and a closet for your retirement when necessary. The maid’s quarters attach to this suite, so there is someone to serve you at all times.”

  “Thank you, no.” She frowned, and the maid wrung her hands. “Smaller, warm, and easily defended.”

  The younger maid, a nondescript brunette, leaned over, whispering frantically into the older woman’s ear. Ann began walking down the hall, trying different doors. Before the maids could say anything, Ann peered into an ornately carved doorway. “Oh my! Oh,” and she backed away, blushing.

  Elizabeth rushed to see. “My lady, don’t,” someone called, but too late. She stared at the paintings covering the walls from floor to ceiling. Oh this is… one of those things Sister Amalthea warned me about. In fact, I think these show everything Sr. Amalthea ever warned me about. She walked into the chamber and looked up. There are two years worth of sermons about the evils of lust and gluttony on the ceiling alone. She peered at a detail on one of the walls. Excellent craftsmanship, I’ll say that much. But I’m not sure some of these are anatomically possible, let alone pleasurable. Not that I’m supposed to know anything about these sorts of things.

  “Is the painter still working?” She inquired, her tone as unconcerned and mild as she could manage. What she really wanted to do was fall over laughing, both from the paintings and from the expressions of utter dismay, bordering on horror, on Ann and the servants’ faces.

  “Ah, I don’t know, my lady,” the older servant stammered.

  “If he or she is, let me know. I need the chapel restored, and talent of that kind is wasted on such dull subject matter.” Dull because if I hear one more sermon on the Landers and their purported sexual sins, I will hurl my wig at the priest.

  The fourth room, near the end of the hall, suited Elizabeth perfectly. Good light but the windows are high and hard for someone to shoot into, two exits, no one can sneak in from behind the bed, and a working fireplace. And room for books on the opposite wall. “This is most suitable. Please bring my things here.” She turned to the maids. “I need a maidservant, discreet, who knows how to deal with dirt, bloodstains, and armor.” She raised her hand, stilling the first protest. “Just help getting the armor on and off. I will care for it myself, as I will care for my weapons.”

  Ann nodded. Elizabeth continued, “Lady Ann von Starland is my chatelaine and manager for all things related to the manor house and immediate grounds. Obey her as you would me.”

  “Yes, my lady,” and the maids curtsied.

  “You may go. I’ll be dining with the men in the,” she looked at Ann.

  “Lesser dining room,” came the whisper.

  “In the lesser dining room. Food for ten, nothing fancy. And I break my fast at dawn.”

  They repeated her orders, curtsied once more, and left. Lazlo closed the door behind them and gave Ann a significant look. Ann nodded and turned to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, what do you intend to do about the men?”

  “I assume they will need quarters, probably near the stables if there is something suitable. Otherwise I’d intended to pay them the same as his grace does, perhaps more depending on the status of the estate and what they have to do. I’ll take meals with them when appropriate.” That’s what she’d done on campaign, more or less.

  Ann shook her head, as did Lazlo. “My lady, you can’t do that anymore. And that’s not what I mean.”

  “Why not? And what do you mean?”

  Ann glanced up at the ceiling, as if asking for patience. “Because people will talk.” She gave her employer a firm look. “Elizabeth, you have to be a proper Imperial lady; that means keeping a proper distance between yourself and the men, since you are unwed and underage. And if people talk, they will not obey. You do not need gossip,” Ann stated, hands on hips. “Take my word on this, my lady. Gossip is as deadly as a knife in the back.”

  Elizabeth sat hard in the heavy chair. “Oh. Worse than when I did not go to the betrothal ceremony?”

  Lazlo nodded. “Much worse. Because people will assume that if you do not control one appetite, you cannot control others. It would destroy your political reputation.”

  “Horsefeathers,” she snarled. “Flaming horsefeathers.” But they’re right. Especially if someone looks into my dear mother’s history and decides that I follow her that way. St. Gerald give me guidance.

  She took a deep breath. “Right. We find two maids, one a maid of the chamber and a second to accompany me when I have to go out, if I’m acting as lady of the manor.” She shook a warning finger. “If I’m riding with the men or fighting, I can’t ask a woman to come with me.” Her stomach growled. “And I’m hungry.”

  Lazlo excused himself and Ann supervised the servants bringing in Elizabeth’s possessions, such as they were.

  After supper Elizabeth
read two messages. “Ann, I need you and Lazlo with me tomorrow two hours before noon. The families of three of the women will be coming, as will the parents of one of the children.” She rubbed her forehead. There was nothing in any of Sr. Amalthea’s devotionals or lectures about how to tell someone that their child died as a sacrifice to an evil goddess. Godown, inspire me, please.

  Elizabeth felt very young as she took her place in the manor’s reception hall the next day. The room doubled as the muster point, and an assortment of decorative and real weapons hung in brackets from the cream colored, plastered walls. Heavy, whitewashed timbers held up the ceiling and walls. Light brown flagstones interspersed with strips of dark wood formed the floor, giving the room a surprisingly warm feeling but failing to ease the chill Elizabeth felt. At Ann’s urging, the house servants had moved the furniture, bringing in a heavy chair and placing it at the head of the table to serve as a reminder of who truly owned the estate. Elizabeth sat in a smaller and much more comfortable seat beside the lavishly carved dark wood table. Ann and Lazlo stood behind her on either side. A small heap of white leather bags holding coins sat within Elizabeth’s reach. There’s not enough money in the empire to make up for what the bastard did, she’d thought early that morning as she hefted one of the bags.

  Gary, one of her soldiers from Starland, opened the door at the end of the hall. “My lady, your guests are here.”

  “Bring them in, please.”

  Almost twenty people from five families shuffled, strode, and edged into the room. Most of the men and women looked ill at ease, but two men and a woman glanced around, angry expressions on their faces, their shoulders set. All wore patched, work-worn clothes and Elizabeth growled silently. The harvest had not been that bad, nor had the estate been taxed into poverty. Or had it? A thought struck her and she tilted her head towards Ann, who leaned forward. “Find the tax receipts. I have a bad feeling.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Both women straightened up as the people bowed to Elizabeth.

  “Thank you for coming,” she began. “I will be direct, because flowery words will not soften what I have to tell you nor erase the damage inflicted by the former owner of this estate.” An elderly woman began weeping and Elizabeth swallowed hard against the lump in her own throat.

  “I am Elizabeth von Sarmas, servant of his majesty Rudolph of Babenburg and the new care-taker of these lands. While fighting against the Turkowi earlier this year, my men and I found two of your daughters, your sisters. My lord Matthew von Starland, son of his grace Aquila von Starland, found the third. To our sorrow we were not able to save them, although one woman saved herself from corruption, and a second fooled her captors long enough to carry fire into a gunpowder depot, destroying the depot and killing at least twenty Turkowi, including a priest of Selkow.” Elizabeth shaded the truth a little as she continued, “Her bravery saved his grace’s men from an ambush and attack. We also found badges of service, given to Turkowi soldiers by the man who once claimed these lands, allowing the enemy free passage through the empire and onto his lands. As you know, that man attempted to attack his majesty, and is dead.”

  She stopped, letting her words sink in. One man, a farmer or so she guessed, glared at her, his arms folded, unsatisfied. She continued, “My men found your children’s remains as well. I cannot undo the evil that the dead one committed. Even Godown, in all His mercy, does not turn back the days and years. But I have bloodprice if you will accept it, taken from captured Turkowi treasure and from the traitor’s own stores.”

  “But it will not bring back our dead!” The angry farmer yelled. “Where were you when our daughters vanished from the fields and the count drove us off the land? You’re just a girl, and a foreigner by the sound of you. You insult us with your blood money.” He spat towards her, daring her to react. Lazlo growled in return and started towards the brown-clad man.

  “Hold, Captain,” she ordered before he could take more than a step. She kept her face still and expression calm while clenching her fists on the arms of the chair. “Where was I? I was fleeing from the lands of a king who will not defend his own people from the ferengrazias of the Turkowi. I fought alongside Duke Aquila von Starland, defending his people and all who live inside the empire’s borders. I led a group of wandertruppen at the Battle of Kidron Valley six weeks ago. And I challenged the man who killed your children and sisters. He is dead, his acolytes with him.” She caught herself as her voice started rising. “I am young, that is true, good sir. But Godown brought me here and Godown made me a warrior for all that I am a woman. If you do not wish to accept the payment, you are welcome and you may go in peace with Godown’s blessing.”

  “Then I go.” He inclined in what might have been a hint of a bow and stormed out, heaving the door open with a curse. Gary reached in and closed it again without a sound.

  The other families, and the man’s wife, or so Elizabeth guessed, murmured and whispered. The woman approached, shy and worn thin with hard work. She curtsied. “My lady, please forgive Hans. He,” she looked down, whispering, “he could not stop the men who took our Laural, and he still fights himself, trying to save her.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Elizabeth assured the woman. “A father’s anger excuses much. If he wishes to honor Laural’s memory and to help see that such things never happen again, he is welcome to help with the manor militia.”

  One of the other men asked, “Militia, my lady?”

  “Yes. All estates are supposed to be able to defend themselves, at least long enough for help from the surrounding estates can rally. His majesty’s orders for me include re-forming the militia here and seeing that it is properly equipped. You will be able to help protect your families and homes.” That such service would once again be mandatory Elizabeth kept to herself. “There will also be need for soldiers in season, if you have younger sons and brothers in need of household monies or a groom gift.”

  “Good, my lady. We’ve been disarmed for too long,” one of the women stated.

  Elizabeth stood up and the families came forward, one at a time, and took their money. The other angry man, apparently mollified, bowed and took the pouch. His wife studied Elizabeth from wig-top to shoe-top, and sniffed, then curtsied and followed her husband. The shy woman hesitated before pleading, “Please, my lady, will you hold it? Hans may change his mind, and we need cash for a bride-price.”

  “I will.”

  After the last of the families had left, she sank back into the chair. “I didn’t think I could hate the bastard any more, but I do. He fouled everything he touched.”

  Lazlo walked over to the wall and sat on a bench there. “I will not argue with you, my lady.”

  “And I see why you want those tax books, my lady,” Ann said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Assuming he kept correct records.”

  “If he did, I wager that he encoded them, my lady. Unless he was so stupid as to think that no one would find the real accounts,” Lazlo warned.

  “I need fresh air, and to get a better sense of the terrain and resources here,” Elizabeth announced.

  An hour later she rode out on Snowy, Gary and Lazlo in tow. Snowy balked at his shadow, eyed the cobbled road to the river with great suspicion, brayed at a farm mule in a pasture near the road, and shied from a stick. Exasperated, Elizabeth left the road and worked the mule, doing serpentines between the apple trees in one of the orchards until he settled down and listened to her commands. The men watched, relaxed and probably glad that their horses did not act like mules. Until the horses tried to eat all the ripening apples off the trees. She grinned at the men’s irritation.

  She stopped grinning when they reached the river. Although not as ferocious as Martin’s River, the Donatello still commanded respect. After studying the bridge and low hill, Elizabeth reeled in the saddle as she recognized the place. “No wonder this looks familiar,” she exclaimed. Here was the map problem that Emperor Rudolph had set her a year ago: the hill with the Lander ruins, the bridge over
the Donatello, a ford downstream, and forests and marshes north of the stream. Snowy sniffed the air in a suspicious way, and she eased him away from the riverbank. “We’re not swimming this one,” she assured him, patting his neck.

  “The killer mule swims, my lady?” Gary asked.

  “Yes, twice. Once across a small, quiet river, and once through the Caapmartin Narrows, from Frankonia to the Freistaadter.” She shivered at the memory, hearing again the screams of the horse driven into the river behind them as it drowned. “I do not recommend it.”

  As she turned Snowy back to the manor house, a shriek cut the air.

  2. Fall Respite and Winter’s Worries

  Gary rode towards the sound as Lazlo blocked Elizabeth and Snowy. “No, my lady.” She started to protest when the scream sounded again. A large white bird surged out of the marsh downstream of them, wings flapping heavily, and cried for a third time. It circled, gaining height, before flying over the Lander ruins on the hill and out of sight. “Well damn,” Lazlo managed.

  “I want one,” Elizabeth declared. Lazlo whipped his head around and stared at her. “I want those feathers for my hair, and to put on my helmet.”

  Gary heard her and both men grinned but kept their thoughts to themselves. Elizabeth turned Snowy and began riding away from the river, leaving the men to catch up. They followed a different route back to the manor house, studying the grain fields north of the river. The black soil looked fine, but Elizabeth’s knowledge of farming was limited at best. Plants came from the ground, livestock fed on plants, and people ate both. Plants and animals needed rain but not too much, and people put manure on some plants but not on others. Anything more than that remained a mystery to her. I have a lot to learn, she acknowledged for the thousandth time.