The group became quiet as they considered this. Arrest and imprisonment at the hands of Grenda’s infamous soldiers was a terrifying prospect.
Delinda continued, “But I fear her true intention is much worse. I believe she plans to so inflame the Reliants that they will be unable to control their rage, and they will do violence to me or to my people. Then, when we must fight in our own defense, it will give her the excuse she needs to set her soldiers upon us…” Delinda paused, looking around at the faces that seemed hypnotized in the firelight. “And kill us all.”
Pandemonium erupted. Shouts, screams and sobs could be heard. Korin came to stand beside Delinda, putting her hand on her arm. Letta and Ostyn joined her, followed by Duwall. After a moment’s hesitation, Beteria came to stand beside the group as well. They stood, silently, and waited for the uproar to die down. Gradually, focus returned to the front of the room. One of the twins stood.
“What must we do?” she said simply, and a chorus of sounds indicated everyone wanted to hear the answer to this question.
“We must make a plan together,” said Delinda. “I have a few ideas I will share with you, and I am open to suggestions.” She raised her hand as several people spoke at once. “One at a time, please. Time is short, and we cannot waste a moment speaking over one another. Dorin, go ahead.”
As the morning wore into daylight, the skeleton of a plan began to form. Several of the best horsemen, all males, left to spread out in the directions from which attack was most likely, with an agreement to start a smoky fire in the path of any armed parties they spotted before hurrying back. Sentries were positioned to watch for both smoke and returning riders.
The experienced carpenters were boarding up some of the larger windows, and every container that could hold water was being filled and hauled to the rooftop of the main house and the annex, in case flaming arrows were employed. It was decided it would be impossible to protect the stables, so the horses were turned out and driven toward the beach, with the exception of a few mounts reserved for Delinda and a few others who might have to travel on horseback.
Every farm implement or mason’s tool that could conceivably be used as a weapon was gathered and distributed behind the stone walls that were the half-finished addition to the new building, intended to house the overflow from the already full annex.
Delinda watched as two men loaded stones into a wheelbarrow, which they were carrying into the house and to the balconies, from where they could be dropped on the heads of enemies approaching from below. She returned to the house and found Letta busy supervising her two kitchen assistants, believing that every perishable food item in the house must be cooked and distributed, so that no one would have to leave their assigned post to eat.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, a shout came from a sentry positioned on the highest part of the roof of the main house. “Smoke!” shouted the young woman, pointing across the woods behind the annex. “Smoke is rising from beyond the wood!” Delinda rushed out to her balcony, straining to see.
“How far?” she called up to the sentry.
“About even with the village, and to the south,” came the reply, and Delinda quickly calculated the distance and the obstacles between the signal fire and the estate. They could be here in three hours, she thought, and rushed to tell the others. She found Letta first, and told her what the sentry had reported. Letta removed her apron and dashed out the back door. Delinda followed and went toward the annex as Letta headed for the stables.
She found Duwall and Beteria, and swiftly passed on the news. They headed off to inform those fortifying the wall and blocking the windows, and Delinda headed back toward the house. She came around a corner and almost ran into Ostyn.
“Where’s Letta?” he asked.
“I thought she had gone to find you,” said Delinda, then realized that since most of the horses has been turned loose, Ostyn would have little reason to remain in the stables. “I’m sure she will come back to the kitchen when she does not find you. Did you hear about the signal fire?”
“Yes,” said Ostyn. “But—”
Before he could continue, another shout came from the roof.
“More smoke!” shouted the sentry. “Another signal fire has been set. This one is directly south, coming from near the shore!” Delinda and Ostyn backed away from the house so they could see the direction in which the sentry pointed. Delinda’s heart sank—she had been sure Bloduewedd would be so confident she would not think it necessary to approach from more than one direction. She and Ostyn turned away from the house again, to spread the unwelcome news.
The morning passed quickly—much too quickly—and Delinda found herself unable to return to the house as one group of workers or another called her over to get her opinion on various attempts at fortification or the viability of some object or another as a weapon. When she finally got back to the kitchen, she found the assistants still hard at work but no sign of Letta. Neither man had any idea where she had gone, saying only that she had never returned after rushing out when the first signal fire had been reported.
Thinking she must have gotten involved in another project, Delinda went to the annex. “Has anyone seen Letta?” she called to some men on the roof who were securing a load of logs with rope which could later be cut, causing the load to tumble down on anyone passing below.
“She rode off on a horse right after the signal was spotted,” one of them called back, alarming Delinda greatly.
“Which way did she go?” she called back. The man pointed toward the path through the woods Delinda had traveled when following Jeryl the night before. Delinda was considering what this meant when Duwall ran up.
“The riders have returned, and have some information about the strength of Bloduewedd’s forces,” he said, and she swiftly followed him back to the great hall, where the exhausted men waited by the fire.
Chapter Sixteen
Letta could feel her horse tiring under her. “Not far now,” she told him. “Just a little longer and you can rest, I promise.” She dared not slow the pace. Delinda had said Jeryl would be gone by midday. Squinting at the sun, Letta wondered if it was already too late. She had never approached the cove from this side of the river, and had become increasingly disturbed as she rode farther and farther inland before finding a place shallow enough to cross. She had almost gone back to try to swim her horse across the treacherous inlet when she had at last seen the ford, marked with the hoof prints from Delinda’s and Jeryl’s horses the night before. When she turned back onto the beach, she knew it was not far to the place where the cliffs jutted into the ocean and blocked the small harbor from view.
When Letta finally looked up to see what looked like a sheer wall blocking her progress, she dismounted and ran toward the rock face. She felt panic rise in her throat as she searched for the cleft that allowed passage through to the cove. “Where is it?” she shouted aloud in desperation. Then it struck her.
High tide!
Delinda had said Jeryl planned to sail on the late-morning tide. The opening to the passage was only accessible from land when the tide was low. As she measured the waves crashing in at an angle against the jutting finger of the cliff, Letta felt a frisson of terror well through her body.
Ever since she was a child, Letta had feared the ocean. The first time she had been taken to the shore, Letta had managed to elude her mother’s attention long enough to wade in between swells so that when a larger wave came, it had caught her, tumbled her and then dragged her under. She could still remember the disorientation when, with her eyes wide open, she could not tell the direction of the earth from the sky. Her mother had dived into the waves and pulled her to safety, but Letta had never lost the memory of the swirling, pulling water and the paralyzing fear.
It was this very fear that had prompted her mother to take her to the cove, where the sheltering arms of the cliffs blocked the heavy waves and made a wide, shallow beach where the little girl could play in the wet sand and wade in c
alm water that barely reached her knees.
Now, as Letta stood looking at the churning water, the old fear rose and threatened to send her running for her horse and back to the estate. She resisted the urge to turn away from the sight, and instead looked carefully at the formation of the cliff, until she felt sure she recognized the place where the passage began.
She watched the waves, counting the seconds between the time one crashed against the rock and then pulled back until another repeated the cycle. She noticed seaweed floating on the water’s surface, and tried to judge the direction the water pulled it. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of Ostyn.
“If you do not do this, Letta, and Ostyn is killed, or Korin or Delinda or any of the others,” she told herself sternly, “you will never forgive yourself. You can do this—it is not far.” Thus steeled, she took a deep breath, timed the waves and stepped into the water.
Before she could get three steps, a waved hit her in the middle of the chest and toppled her backward. Fighting panic, she regained her feet in time to meet the next wave. This time, she turned sideways to give the wave a more streamlined target. It worked, and she lost no additional ground.
She moved forward determinedly, turning at intervals as the waves arrived, gauging the right time to move closer to the rock so the next wave would sweep her toward the opening instead of dashing her against the rock on either side of it. When the time seemed right, she dashed toward where she prayed the opening was concealed.
A large wave caught her and tossed her toward the face of the rock. As she felt herself being lifted, she saw with relief that the opening was right where she expected and the wave was carrying her directly toward it. She was caught off guard, however, by what happened when the full force of the water hit the narrow opening. Thus compressed, the force was magnified and Letta found herself being shot forward through the opening, pushed as if by a giant hand.
She banged against the rough walls, scraping skin and tearing clothing. Then the water receded just as suddenly, dropping her unceremoniously on the sandy path. Ignoring her scrapes, she scrambled to her feet and hurried along the passage. She wanted desperately to rest but knew if the tide was high, her time was running out, if it had not already done so. She vaguely remembered that the other end of the passage came out higher on the shoreline, well above the high tide mark, and she desperately hoped this recollection was accurate.
When she finally emerged from the twisting passage, her heart sank. The ship had already left the shore and was about to reach the open water beyond the curve of the jutting rock arms that formed the harbor. With a final burst of energy, she sped across the sand, running as she had in her youth, when she raced with her mother across this very cove.
Letta reached the edge of the water and began to wave her arms as she ran along the beach closer to where the ship receded. Short of breath, she tried to scream. “Jeryl! Wait! Come back!” Her words were lost in the wind and the sound of the sea.
Aboard the ship, Jeryl stood at the wheel and thought of Delinda. He could close his eyes and still feel their last kiss, still taste her tears. She had not begged him to stay. He had not expected her to, but at the same time had half wanted her to. But in the end she had been too kind, too honorable to deprive him of his only chance to go home. He knew he would never meet another woman who was her equal.
His reverie was broken by a shout from a grinning Wilfer. “Looks like we got away just in time, Captain! Someone found the beach and she looks pretty upset we’re getting away.”
Curious, Jeryl gestured to Cristof to take the wheel and headed to the stern of the boat, where several crewmen were pointing at the figure on shore. “Letta!” he said. He could easily recognize the young woman, even from this distance. He could not see what she was shouting, but her gestures obviously meant they were to return to shore. Something has happened to Delinda. His belly filled with ice.
He ran to the wheel, shouting orders. “Come about! Prepare to drop anchor!” The men looked astonished, but most of them hustled to obey his orders out of habit. “NOW!” he thundered, snapping the few who had hesitated out of their indecision.
He ran back to the stern and saw that Letta, not understanding she had been successful in getting his attention, waded into the water as if she would attempt to swim toward the ship. Quickly he gave orders to lower a shore boat, and Wilfer and another seaman manned the oars. Within moments they had reached Letta, who was starting to struggle as she reached deeper water, and hauled her into the boat.
“What is it? What has happened?” asked Jeryl, as Letta struggled for breath.
“Bloduewedd!” she managed to gasp. “Attacking the estate with Grenda and,” she panted, trying to get the words out, “soldiers. Others…probably coming too. Will try to…kill everyone.”
“The estate is under attack?” asked Jeryl, horrified. “Is Delinda all right?” He resisted the urge to shake the answers out of Letta, who was rapidly regaining her breath.
“They were on the way there when I left. They have probably arrived by now,” she said. “Please, Jeryl, you have to come back! No one else at the estate knows anything about fighting or weapons or anything like that.”
“Take us back to the ship,” said Jeryl to the men. Seeing Letta’s alarm, he cut off her protests. “We can get there faster by sea,” he said, and the relief on her face was so great he felt guilty at her trust in him.
“We will do what we can,” he told her. “But this is a merchant ship, not a vessel of war. My men know how to fight. All ships must be prepared to defend themselves against marauders. But they have not been trained for combat against armored men—I mean women—on horseback.”
Once onboard, Jeryl addressed the men. “The lady who visited here last night has been attacked by an armed force. Her estate is filled with men and women who know only farming and nothing of fighting. We cannot leave them to be slaughtered!”
Jeryl held his breath, hoping the force of his command would be enough. Before his extended absence from the group, they would have obeyed him without question, but they had been working without him for three months, becoming a team to repair and outfit the ship with the single purpose of getting home as swiftly as possible. Would they delay that departure to save a woman they had seen only once?
Cristof’s voice bellowed behind him. “Prepare to weigh anchor!” As the men scurried to obey, Cristof spoke more quietly to the captain. “To the south then, Captain?”
Hoping his relief did not show on his face, Jeryl smiled at the young officer. “Yes, to the south. I think we can get fairly close to the beach there, from what I could make out from the shore.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Cristof, and hurried away to comply with the order.
“Are you cold?” Jeryl asked Letta. She shook her head, and he continued. “Why is Bloduewedd attacking the estate?”
“She knows about Delinda’s plans,” said Letta. “All of them, including destroying the Eye.” As Jeryl took over the wheel of the ship so Cristof could supervise the preparation and distribution of arms, Letta told him what they had learned about and from Beteria.
Grim-faced, Jeryl said, “I thought she was rushing this phase three nonsense. She could have waited until spring.”
Letta shook her head. “She could not risk it. What if my baby turns out to be a boy? She could never make me give it up. And she could never give up her own child, especially not after what happened to her mother.”
“Her own child? What are you talking about?” asked Jeryl.
Letta sighed. “She was going to tell you,” she said. “But she did not want you to think she was trying to pressure you into staying.”
Jeryl was dumbstruck. Delinda is going to have a baby. My baby!
Resolve hardened in him. He would get there on time to save her—to save them. He looked at the sails and made a small adjustment in the wheel, leaning forward as if he could will the ship to go faster.
Chapter Seventeen
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br /> Delinda stood in the center of the yard between the annex and the stables. As expected, Bloduewedd’s soldiers were not approaching from the road in front of the main house, but from the woods behind the estate.
Delinda had been relieved when she learned the soldiers and the Reliants had converged on the other side of the small wood, rather than arriving from two different directions. Doubtless they believed themselves to be unexpected and thus not in need of subterfuge or strategy. We just might have a surprise or two in store for them.
Delinda had few illusions about winning this battle. During the early morning planning session, she had offered to give herself up in exchange for the safety of her people. Beteria had managed to convince the crowd, however, that even if Bloduewedd were to make such a bargain, it could not be trusted. Her mother would find some way to make sure Delinda died before she ever reached a cell, and the other women who had dared to defy Bloduewedd would never go unpunished. As for the men, a lifetime of hard labor in the fields was the best they could expect, with death a not-unlikely worst.
“If we are to be killed anyway,” Dorin had shouted, “at least we will die free men!” When Delinda realized this view seemed to be shared by most at the estate, she had consented to plan an aggressive defense.
So when Bloduewedd finally emerged from the trees, flanked on one side by her soldiers—in full armor and bristling with weapons—and by the stern-faced Reliants on the other, Delinda had walked out the back door of the house as if to greet them. She halted at a discreet mark in the dirt and went no further.
A few men were in the fields closest to the house, ostensibly going about their daily farming tasks. That their gardening tools had been sharpened to a keenness not needed in the normal course of weeding and hoeing could not be seen without close scrutiny. A few others were about, carrying small burdens into the mostly empty stables and feeding the already full chickens.
Men In Chains Page 27
