Jeryl did as instructed and Alun tore off a length of the cloth and bound the wound. “If you were to be in the fields, it would need to be stitched,” he commented. “But as your next few days will be spent in leisure, this will do well enough. Follow me.”
“My clothes—” Jeryl started to protest, looking at the ragged pile that lay where he had dropped it.
“Are not worth saving,” finished Alun. “You will not need them. Come with me,” he repeated, heading through a different door than that through which they had entered. Jeryl followed, self-conscious of his nakedness. On the ship it was not uncommon for sailors to bathe naked in the sea, but they covered themselves soon after they came back on board. As the captain, it had not been correct for him to appear unclothed before the men, and an aide had always stood by with a robe when he made his personal forays into the water.
He stepped hesitantly through the doorway, into a room dimmer than the bathhouse. Jeryl heard a buzz of whispered conversation that stopped when Alun entered. The room was indeed like a horse stable. Along the wall to his left were stalls with sides the height of his shoulder and open fronts. On the right were spaces of a similar size, but these had walls that went all the way to the ceiling and were fronted with metal gates, some of which were open. In each of the stalls on his left, a low bench or bed ran along the back wall under a tiny window and on several of these were seated men. All were naked. The more cell-like spaces closest to him were empty. It was to one of these that Alun stepped, indicating with a gesture that Jeryl should enter.
Jeryl halted. “I will not be caged like an animal,” he replied, with a touch of menace in his voice. Alun seemed unruffled by this statement.
“All new arrivals spend their first few nights in the cells,” he said, “until they become familiar with this place.” He stood, waiting for Jeryl to comply. When he did not, Alun continued, “If you give no trouble after a day or two, you will be let out.”
Jeryl looked around to the other men, all of whom were watching with the odd lack of expression he had noticed in Alun. It was very quiet. He glanced again at the knife at Alun’s belt.
Alun saw the direction of his eyes. “I would not suggest it, outlander,” he said calmly.
Jeryl knew that once he was behind the gate there was no guarantee he would have another opportunity for escape. It was now or never.
“I am not interested in what you suggest,” he said, and launched himself at Alun.
Before Jeryl’s grasping fingers could reach the knife, Alun deftly stepped back and several pairs of hands and arms had grasped Jeryl by the arms, legs and—painfully—around the ribcage. The next thing he knew he was tossed into the cell and the gate clanged behind him. As he raised himself to his knees, he heard the unmistakable sound of a padlock firmly clicking shut.
* * * * *
The livestock merchant, a shrewd yet honest woman, was probably accustomed to slaves being present when stock was viewed. It was the males who cared for the pigs, cattle, sheep, chickens and horses, so it was not surprising if their owners asked their opinion about which animals to purchase. If she thought it odd that Delinda deferred to Ostyn a bit more than was usual or he was dressed somewhat grandly for a male, she did not comment. In short order, Delinda had arranged for the purchase of as many beasts Ostyn felt the pens could comfortably hold, as well as a quantity of feed. When more of the pens were repaired, they would buy more.
By the time they finished it was late afternoon and Delinda was famished. She asked the merchant which of the village’s inns had the best food and was told Bretna’s was by far the superior choice. She and Ostyn set off in that direction.
When they reached the inn, Delinda hesitated. She turned to Ostyn. “I know you are hungry and thirsty, and we can probably safely assume they will refuse to serve you in the common room here.” She waited as Ostyn nodded. “But they must have a means of accommodating other…other…”
“Slaves,” supplied Ostyn helpfully.
“You are not my slave, you are—” Delinda began to object.
“Yes, Miss, I know,” said Ostyn. “But these other people do not, and I do not want to cause you more trouble today.”
“You were not responsible for the trouble, Ostyn,” Delinda replied. “But I take your point. We are both hungry and I would prefer not to delay my meal with a lot of unpleasantness. If you do not mind eating with the other men, I shall make the arrangements.” She saw Ostyn was greatly relieved by this plan and she felt a bit ashamed at having put him through so many new experiences in one day. She added, “But I plan to tell them you are very hungry and that I will pay extra to make sure you get something good, and plenty of it.” He nodded his thanks and headed toward the back door, still carrying her packages. We should have stopped by the stables and put them in the carriage, she thought belatedly. She shrugged and entered the inn.
The light outside was dimming and the lamps were already lit inside the room, which looked cozy and clean. Savory scents wafting through the air indicated she had not been misinformed about the food. Delinda stepped up to a counter, where she waited to catch the attention of a young girl serving ale to a group of customers clustered at the other end.
The girl saw her signal and approached, her eyes quickly appraising Delinda’s prosperous appearance. Using respectful tones, she said, “May I get you something to drink, Miss, or would you prefer to sit at a table? There is still a nice one near the fire, I think.”
“A table would be perfect,” replied Delinda. “But first I would like to have something sent to my man, who has gone ‘round to the back. I have given him a rather trying day and I want to make sure he has an especially fine meal this evening. His name is Ostyn. Can you take care of that for me?”
“Of course,” said the girl, with only the most fleeting puzzlement crossing her face, “Whatever you wish. The boy will be around to your table, which is right over there.” She indicated a table in a corner. Delinda went to the table, where she sank gratefully into a comfortable chair. She was worn out from the day’s business and regretted she would have to take a long carriage ride home in the dark before she could go to her bed. She would love to curl up on this chair and fall asleep.
A skinny young slave, barely a man, arrived at her table and shyly asked for her order. After questioning him about the offered fare, she settled on a meat pie and a small bottle of a local red wine, which he timidly suggested would complement her choice. She would have asked his name but he vanished after her order was taken. While waiting for her food, she looked curiously around the common room.
It was pleasant, at least two-thirds full of women. They were a reasonably prosperous-looking assemblage. Most of the tables held two or three, but one large table near the end of the bar held a group of about eight women. Delinda could not tell the exact number because some of the counter customers were floating between the bar and the table.
At the table’s head, farthest from the bar, sat a regal, dark-haired woman. Her clothing was very fine and it appeared to Delinda that the other women at the table were treating her deferentially. She could not hear the conversation but could see that eager eyes followed the woman’s every move, and several of her comments resulted in laughter that may have been just a trifle too hearty. Full tankards and half-eaten platters of food covered the table. Several pipes were in evidence, a habit Delinda detested, and a cloud of smoke hovered near the low ceiling above the party.
As Delinda watched, her server came out of a door between the bar and the table, carrying a covered platter and a small bottle and glass, presumably Delinda’s dinner. A large woman, who had previously stood at the bar with her back to Delinda, turned and prepared to navigate her way to the table with two tankards of ale. With a start, Delinda recognized the woman from the street, the one who had so cruelly treated the tall man with the beautiful green eyes. Having deposited her ale on the table, the ugly woman spotted the youth. With a broad wink to some of her companions, she stuck out a
large booted foot and tripped him.
Amazingly, he managed to keep both his feet and the tray. He stepped out of the range of the woman’s dusty boots and backed away, bowing and apologizing to hooted laughter. He cautiously made his way over to Delinda’s table and, his hands shaking, placed the dish and glass in front of her and prepared to pour the wine. Noticing the tremor in his hands, Delinda stopped him. “Do not pour it just yet—I like to let it settle. I’ll pour it myself in a few minutes.” He looked mutely grateful and would have fled for the kitchens, but Delinda put a restraining hand on his arm.
For the fourth time that day, Delinda summoned the rahnta, sending calm and serenity to him gently so he would not be startled by the sensation. “Tell me,” she said as his shaking began to subside. “Who is that tall woman at the table over there? I feel I should know her.”
“That is Bloduewedd, the Ra-drine,” replied the young man. Delinda withdrew her hand from his arm so abruptly she almost upset the wine bottle. Bloduewedd! The woman who had supplanted Delinda’s own mother and driven them from Glamurhaven more than twenty years before! Could she still be so young?
The waiter, startled by her sudden movement, began to stammer. “Ra, is there something wrong? Did I bring the wrong thing?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I just had a sudden…thought.” She looked at the youth, who was anxiously awaiting further orders. “Please go on about your tasks. I will let you know if I need anything else.” Distractedly, she watched him walk back to the kitchen, this time making a wide circle to avoid the notice of the women in Bloduewedd’s party.
Her hunger was gone, but Delinda poured a glass of wine and reminded herself to remain calm. She had known, of course, she would encounter the Ra-drine eventually. She just had not expected it to be so soon or in such close quarters. She watched the woman surreptitiously, cutting a little of the meat pie and pushing it around on her plate so as not to draw attention to the fact she was not eating. She made herself swallow a bite but barely noticed its delicious flavor. She wondered if Bloduewedd had heard that the daughter of her former rival had returned to Havendrine and if so, what she had made of the information. The Ra-drine would not be too happy if she knew about my plan.
As Delinda forced herself to take another bite, she realized she was not the only one who had taken note of the fact that the current Rahntadrine and the heir to the previous ruler were in the same room. Several faces at nearby tables were turned to hers, and Delinda noticed some nods in the direction of Bloduewedd’s table. I should get out of here before someone brings me to her attention. I am not yet prepared for an encounter.
Delinda looked around for her server, wondering if she should just move quietly to the counter to pay for her food. Before she could make a decision she saw that a woman at the bar was pointing her out to the gray-haired woman. The mismatched eyes opened wide and an unpleasant smile revealed horrible brown teeth. As Delinda measured the distance to the door, the woman put down her tankard and walked deliberately to the head of the table, where she stood behind Bloduewedd’s chair and whispered something into her ear. The Ra-drine straightened in her chair and swiveled her head to stare penetratingly at Delinda, who turned her head just in time to avoid her direct gaze. Pretending not to be aware she had been noticed, she stood and made ready to move toward the bar, but before she could take three steps she found herself looking into the dreadful eyes of the gray-haired woman, who was still grinning disagreeably.
“Ye’ll excuse me, Miss,” said the woman, breathing beer-laden fumes. “But the Ra-drine would like a word with ye.”
“The Ra-drine?” repeated Delinda stupidly.
“Yes, Miss,” said the creature, her tone not at all matching the deference of her words. “Now, if yer please.”
Sighing, Delinda had no choice but to follow this apparition to the head table where she found herself standing before Bloduewedd’s chair. She was not surprised when the Ra-drine did not stand up, but pushed back her chair and tilted her head, looking at Delinda as if at some new curiosity.
“Well, if I am not mistaken,” Bloduewedd said into a room that had suddenly grown quiet, “it is the daughter of my old friend Morenna. Am I correct?”
“Morenna was my mother,” replied Delinda, quelling a rising fury it would do no good to reveal. “But I was not aware you were her friend.” Delinda’s tone was perfectly polite but the subtlety of the rebuke was not lost on Bloduewedd, whose eyes narrowed, if only for the barest moment. She smiled lazily.
“I notice you say she was your mother,” Bloduewedd continued. “Am I to infer she is no longer living? It has been many years since I,” she looked around at the room, where every eye watched the exchange, “since any of us have heard of her.”
Calm, calm, Delinda told herself. I will not let this woman rattle me. “My mother died early last winter,” she said evenly. “I have only just returned.”
“I see.” The Ra-drine looked at Delinda speculatively. “I am sorry to hear of your mother’s death. She was a great woman…in her day.”
Delinda was pleased to note her face did not flush with anger as Bloduewedd no doubt intended. The inference was unmistakable—she wanted to remind all present that Morenna’s rule had been over for many years.
Now that Delinda was standing only a few feet away, Bloduewedd did not appear as young as she had initially thought. Her skin was remarkably smooth for a woman of, what? Forty-five years? Fifty? According to Morenna, Bloduewedd had become the youngest Rahntadrine in the sector’s history when she had taken power. Her eyes, however, were beginning to show the ravages of her age, and the lines at the corners of her mouth gave her a cruel aspect.
Gradually, Delinda began to realize something else. She could actually feel the Ra-drine’s power tingling over her skin, even though they were standing more than three feet apart. Delinda had not known anyone could carry so much rahnta it could be discerned without actual touch. Delinda had a sudden and alarming thought. I wonder if she can feel my power? If so, nothing in the Ra-drine’s half-lidded eyes revealed concern. Delinda felt impatient under their scrutiny. Whatever her family’s history, she was a noblewoman and as such, not required to stand like a schoolgirl being questioned before a classroom.
She made her voice airy and unconcerned. “I am sure you will understand,” she said, bowing deferentially toward Bloduewedd, “if I do not sit and join you.” No such invitation had been issued, but Delinda hoped she had made it sound like this had been an obvious oversight. “I have had a long day of business in town, and I would like to collect my empl—er, my man and get back to the estate. Perhaps next time we meet we can sit down and have a nice, long talk about your time as Ra-drine.”
Bloduewedd’s expression, Delinda noticed, had finally lost a fraction of its equanimity. She hurried on. “I, of course, have only heard about it from one point of view, and I am sure I would learn a great deal from hearing your side of things, would you not agree?” She smiled sweetly and bowed again, just a tad too deferentially. To most onlookers her respect probably seemed sincere, but Delinda knew Bloduewedd was not fooled.
“It was most entertaining to meet you all,” she said to the other women as she turned to leave, regardless of the fact she had not actually met any of them. She hurriedly placed a handful of money on the counter, probably far too much, but she did not wish to take time to count it. “I trust that will be enough,” she said hastily to the barmaid, who nodded her assent. Then, resisting the urge to break into a run, she stepped out the door and closed it firmly.
Once through the door, Delinda hurried to the corner where the alley met the street. She rounded the corner so she would be out of sight to anyone coming through the door and leaned her back against the stone wall of the building. It was twilight and the shadows of the walls should hide her unless someone was actually searching for her, which she doubted. Her heart pounded and she tried to calm herself. She could not believe she had dared to anger the Rahntadrine on their very first me
eting. It would be vastly better not to call too much attention from that quarter until phases one and two of her plan were well underway.
There was a clatter of running footsteps from the alley, which was now dark, sending Delinda’s heart rate racing again until she saw the feet belonged to Ostyn. “Miss!” he panted, skidding to a halt. “Jefred, the serving boy, came into the kitchen and said someone had, well, insulted the Ra-drine in the common room and it was a red-haired woman who wielded the rahnta and I thought…I thought…” He stopped, embarrassed.
“You thought if anyone was causing trouble in the common room, it had to be me,” she supplied, smiling. “And you were, of course, absolutely right.” She pushed herself away from the wall, still breathing a bit rapidly but calmer now. “Oh Ostyn, I fear I may have made a grave mistake with Bloduewedd just now. That ugly gray-haired woman saw me use the rahnta earlier, and even if she did not figure it out at the time, if she tells the Ra-drine about it I am sure they will realize I have my mother’s power.”
“Grenda,” said Ostyn.
“What?” asked Delinda.
“The ugly woman. Her name is Grenda.”
Ostyn did not usually volunteer information, but Delinda got the impression he had more to say. “You know her?”
“Everyone knows her. She is the captain of the Ra-drine’s guards. She likes to…to hurt men.” He fell silent.
“Did she ever hurt you?” Delinda asked.
“No,” Ostyn replied. “But when I was in the sheds before you bought—I mean, before you employed me, there was a slave they brought in to see the healer.” She nodded her understanding so Ostyn would continue. Hesitantly, he did so. “He was from a breeding house,” he said, blushing, “and she had chosen him but he could not…could not…” He stuttered to a stop, unable to supply the more graphic details.
Men In Chains Page 5
