by Robin Hardy
Galapos clenched a fist. “Are the renegades banded together or acting alone?”
“From what I hear, they’re loners, or they go in twos and threes. I doubt they can cooperate enough to form a large band. There just seems to be more of them than ever before,” Kam said.
“Do this, then,” Galapos instructed. “Send two soldiers to every village that has been harassed. They’re to stay three months, longer if they wish, before being relieved. They’re to deal forcefully with any renegade attacks. If two men prove to be too few, send as many more as they request.”
“Yes, Surchatain,” Kam bowed and began to move away.
“Wait—Kam—” Galapos stopped him, concentrating. “There is more to be done. . . . I fear it will take a good portion of the men away from Westford, but—send a unit of twenty men each to Outposts Two, Three, and Four to clean up and salvage. Any unattached soldiers found are to be brought back to Westford. If they’re unfit for the army, they’ll farm. But they won’t be running loose all over the countryside.” Kam and Roman both nodded at this.
“Send a unit skilled in war machines to Outpost One, to disassemble that battering ram and get it back here. The gates also must be repaired . . . but that will have to wait. Also,” Galapos continued, “send a unit to find the holy man and the villagers at the coast—what is his name?” he turned to Roman.
“Brother Avelon.”
“To Brother Avelon,” Galapos went on, “and communicate to them my offer of land for each family to own. And send to Avelon my invitation to live here in the palace—be certain to tell him the full story of what happened at the outpost.”
“Yes, Surchatain,” Kam saluted vigorously, then paused.
“Yes?” Galapos asked, lifting a bushy brow.
“In order to carry out all these instructions . . .” Kam began uneasily, glancing at Roman.
“You’re excused from drilling your unit,” Roman said.
“Sir.” Kam saluted and strode out.
Having been interrupted in their chore, Roman and Galapos sat back from the maps to rest. Galapos, yawning, rubbed his face and Roman stared blankly out the window.
“I think,” Galapos said abruptly, “that I should take me a wife.” That elicited an amused glance from Roman, at which Galapos protested, “I need something else to do besides work!”
“That will only add to your burden,” Roman remarked before catching himself.
“Problems with Deirdre?” Galapos asked delicately.
Roman shrugged. “I don’t know. She—she is different toward me. Cooler. I can’t find out what I have done to put distance between us.”
“You married her,” Galapos observed wryly.
Roman winced. “I was afraid that was it. What shall I do, Galapos? How can I revive her love for me?”
“I don’t know there is anything you can do. Some people—children in particular—must learn by hard lessons to value the blessings they have.”
A soldier entered with a knock. “Surchatain—Commander—the noon meal is ready.” They stood in relief and made for the hall.
On the way, they met up with Deirdre. “Hello, Father—Roman. I haven’t seen either of you all morning.” She was freshly attired in one of her old dresses with a large skirt. By leaving the waist uncinched, and disposing of the petticoats, she had made it into a suitable maternity gown. Atop it she wore a rose-colored surcoat which covered her shoulders nicely while accentuating her expanded belly.
The men fell to each side of her as Roman held her bulky waist and kissed her. “And I’ve missed you,” he said. She smiled indulgently.
“Have you kept busy, Chataine?” asked Galapos.
“Oh, yes! I’ve begun furnishing the nursery. It’s so much work—I’m fairly exhausted,” she complained.
“When do the women say you’re due?” Roman queried.
“Early winter, perhaps December. I wish it would come sooner.”
“I also,” Roman added so quickly that she glanced down her nose at him.
“All things in their season,” Galapos said brightly as they entered the hall.
Basil and the other guests at table stood until the three were seated. The wine was poured by a rugged-looking soldier who accidentally spilled a little on Deirdre. She glared at him with a reprimand on her lips, but Galapos said quietly, “Forbear, Deirdre.” So with the look of a martyr she held her peace until the meat dish came before Galapos.
“Rabbit!” she moaned. “Stewed rabbit again! And they don’t even know how to cook it right!”
“If you know how to prepare it better, perhaps you could help them in the kitchen,” Roman said innocently.
Deirdre’s mouth dropped open and she began, “Are you suggesting that I—”
“Counselor,” Galapos demanded cheerfully, “Have we anyone to entertain us today?”
“Surchatain—I’m not rightly sure,” Basil said hesitantly. “Wait—yes, it seems there was a juggler here. Shall I send for him now, or at the evening meal?”
“Now seems appropriate,” Galapos said. Basil gave the word to a nearby soldier. In a moment a young man with a painted jester’s face appeared, bowed, and began juggling three, then four, then five colored balls in progressively faster circuits.
Watching him, Galapos sighed to Roman, “That is what I feel like I’m doing.”
Deirdre muttered, “Perhaps we could have him serve the wine.”
“Or prepare the rabbit,” Roman added slyly.
“If he can do that right, he should be given charge of keeping accounts,” Basil suggested. The juggler, hearing, bobbed the balls.
“Well then, let’s also have him drill the soldiers!” exclaimed a captain one seat down from Basil.
“If he can discipline those rogues, what say we just give him the province to rule?” Galapos proposed. “Then we can all go to our homes and forget this great mess.”
“Hear, hear!” lauded the soldier who had spilled the wine. The juggler ended his act abruptly, bowed, and fled the hall amid laughter.
“There goes a wise man,” muttered Galapos. Roman nodded, stroking his brow.
A soldier approached Galapos to whisper, “Surchatain, one of the townspeople has an urgent grievance and asks—” but he was interrupted by a merchant striding into the hall.
Galapos lowered his fork in surprise as the merchant demanded, “Surchatain, you must do something about the problem of these peasants!”
“Can’t your grievance wait until tomorrow morning’s audience, man? And would you make demands on me?” Galapos returned scathingly.
The merchant bit his lip and forced a slight bow. “Pardon, Surchatain, but it is a severe problem. These peasants are hounding my shop—”
“What is your business?” asked Galapos.
“Why, I’m Lewyn, the butcher.”
“And how do the peasants wrong you? Are they stealing from you?” Galapos asked.
“No, not precisely, Surchatain.”
“Then how, precisely, Lewyn?”
The butcher composed himself in the extremity of his complaint. “Surchatain, they pester me endlessly for the hooves and heads of the animals I butcher, but they cannot pay for them, and—”
“What do you do with the waste parts?” Galapos asked, picking up his fork again. Deirdre suddenly lost her appetite and pushed away from the table petulantly.
“I feed them to my dogs,” Lewyn answered.
“The hooves? And heads?” Galapos asked skeptically.
“Well, no . . . those are burned. For fuel,” Lewyn added defensively.
“I suggest,” Galapos said in steely tones, “that you feed your dogs, but give the peasants any waste. I will send a soldier with you to see they wait quietly for what you have to give them.” He waved to the sentry nearby. “You may burn useless brush for fuel, Lewyn. You are dismissed.”
Dissatisfied, Lewyn stood his ground until the sentry firmly nudged him out. Roman muttered, “He bears watching.”
> “That, my boy, is why I sent Cole with him,” winked Galapos. “Where is that juggler now, anyway?” he wondered.
The weeks sped by as the remnant at the palace labored to rebuild Lystra. On one vexing day, Basil came to report to Galapos in his chambers: “Surchatain, we’re faced with a rather immediate problem. We have all but exhausted the treasury. Already we owe the soldiers pay, and have not enough to buy meat and beverage for them through another week.”
“You mean we can’t even feed our own men?” Galapos asked, exasperated.
Basil was hedging around a reply when Roman entered the chambers. Galapos turned on him. “What is the situation with the soldiers?”
Roman braced his jaw. “We’re getting by. I suppose the Counselor has told you we can’t actually pay them . . . even so, our numbers are dangerously low. We must have more men. There are barely enough to maintain the horses and arms, with their added responsibilities.”
“Added responsibilities?” Galapos’ thick eyebrows arched.
“Ah, yes.” Roman shuffled uneasily. “They’re working in the fields with the few servants who remain. And I have sent teams out hunting game.”
Galapos muttered, “I see it must be done, if they want to eat. How do they feel about it?”
Roman shrugged, “They see the necessity for it also. They are intensely loyal, being so few. But overburdened and not paid a piece.”
“So,” Galapos summed, “our basic problem here is that we need money and men, and much of both.” With confirming nods, Roman and Basil stood looking to him for answers.
He gazed out the window in thought a moment, then shook his head. “I’m empty-handed, men. Perhaps God will take time out to grant a prayer or two on this matter. And Counselor, be certain to inform all those wanting land that their crops will be taxed. We’ll begin dividing up the land as soon as possible. I’ll need both of you to help me. Counselor, please gather the list of names and maps and bring them here.”
“Surchatain.” Basil bowed and departed while Roman sat with a sour look on his face.
“My boy?” Galapos questioned, surprised that he would balk at helping.
“More parchment, Galapos?” Roman pleaded. “I am weary already with all the records and payments due.”
“You should delegate that work.”
“I have, to Basil. But he is only now learning the soldiers’ names and how to keep the records. Teaching him all he has to know takes as much time as doing it myself,” Roman complained.
“That’s the advantage to delegation within the army,” Galapos observed carefully. “You need to appoint a Second.”
Roman did not answer at once. “I don’t know whom to select.” Here the greatest drawback of his guardianship became apparent: deprived of routine service, he had not formed those associations necessary when selecting aides. And so many good men died at Outpost One. . . .
Wrinkling his brow, Galapos offered, “If you need a recommendation, I believe Kam would be well suited to that position.”
Roman dropped his eyes to the padded arm of the chair and fingered the fine upholstery, then said, “No. Not Kam.” Galapos looked surprised, but held his peace.
“So.” Roman straightened. “Do you wish to see the wealth of arms our men have gathered from the outposts?”
“Certainly,” Galapos agreed. “In the time that it takes Basil to fetch all that parchment, we could inventory the whole armory.”
Roman quickly advised him, “There was not space enough in the armory for it all, so we’ve filled several storerooms near the kitchen with them. I thought to show you those rooms first.”
“Very well,” said Galapos, and they headed downstairs.
Passing the chapel doors, they also passed a soldier exiting who dreamily sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Not even seeing the two, he strolled leisurely away. Galapos and Roman stopped on the same stride, frowning. “I smell perfume,” said Roman.
“I saw red tapestries,” said Galapos. They turned to each other with puzzled frowns, then ran to throw open the chapel doors.
There they stood gaping at a room filled with love couches and lewd tapestries. A barely dressed woman leapt off a couch and escaped through a rear door.
Roman stood speechless. Galapos shut his eyes and bellowed, “Hylas!”
He appeared at the rear door and came up to them bowing and smiling. “Yes, Surchatain?”
Roman laughed in disbelief. Galapos turned a deep shade of red and growled, “What are you doing here, Hylas?”
“Why, teaching the love of God, Surchatain.”
“The love of God! You’ve turned this prayer room into a bawdy house!”
“Precisely so, my lord.” Hylas was still bowing and smiling.
Galapos gritted his teeth. “Explain yourself quickly, while you can still talk.”
“Why, Surchatain, I’m merely demonstrating to the men that God forgives all their sins. How can they know His forgiveness until they know they have sinned?”
“You are a fool!” Galapos sputtered. “They all have sins aplenty, without your adding to them. These men have been baptized! They’re to follow the old ways no longer. Now get yourself and your blasted teachings out of here!”
Hylas drew up in righteous coolness. “It pains me to see that your views on God’s love are so narrow and intolerant. I had thought the religious persecution under Karel had ended. I see I was wrong.”
“You’re perverting the meaning of the Scriptures,” Roman said earnestly. “Yes, they say God forgives completely, but they also say we are to put aside immorality.”
“And so the men do. Once they have tasted the bitterness of sin, they can experience the freshness and cleansing that come with repentance. And they do it as often as they like,” Hylas said happily.
“No,” grimaced Roman. “You’re leading them into a life of presumption. The whole point is that they’re to try to live rightly, and depend on God to make them stand. The point is lost if they don’t choose rightness, pursue it and desire it more than any beautiful woman.”
Hylas studied Roman with a mixture of condescension and incomprehension. “You have a strange manner of speech.”
Galapos uttered, “Then understand this, Hylas: You are banished from Lystra. Practice what you will, but not in my palace!” Seething, he turned his back.
At that moment a soldier appeared at the door. Seeing the Surchatain and the Commander, he turned to run. But Galapos collared him. “Your arrival is timely, fellow. You may haul out all these furnishings and dump them outside the gates. And spread the word that the gospel of Hylas is finished. Go!” The soldier went in to begin yanking down tapestries over Hylas’ anguished protests.
Galapos strode to the storerooms. Roman caught up with him after pausing to grab a lamp from the chapel. He opened a storeroom door and set the lamp on a table. Surveying rows upon rows of chest plates, helmets, swords and shields, Galapos muttered, “If we had the men to wear all this gear, we would be formidable. Am I dreaming, to see armor stored where grain had been?”
“The grain will be supplied in time,” Roman assured him. “But we never could have hoped to buy so many arms over the next hundred years. With a disciplined army, we could withstand anything.”
“A disciplined army!” Galapos slumped his shoulders. “What am I to do, Roman? These men are like children, ready to follow anyone with a good song. How shall I hold their attention for any length of time?”
“You really needn’t worry, Galapos. You’re the only one who can lead them. And I’ll be here, for you to lean on when you grow weary.” He smiled steadily at Galapos in his wry way.
Galapos returned his gaze. “I do need you, Roman. I need you to help me prepare those blasted maps. Are you willing?”
Roman’s eyes flicked downward at the gentle chastening, but immediately met the other’s again. “I am now.” So they left the soldiers’ toys to return to parchment and lists.
Chapter 5
The
following morning when Deirdre awoke, Roman was not there. She was not in the least surprised. He was an habitual early riser, and she had never yet awakened in the morning to find him still beside her.
Yawning, she rolled out of bed and stretched. She put a hand to her belly, feeling that she had grown larger overnight. She scrutinized her reflection in the looking glass, then pursed her lips and turned away, remembering a time when she had been proud of her nymphlike shape.
She dressed in a flowing gown and wrapped her hair in strands of pearls just to make herself feel pretty again. Then she descended the stone stairs in time to hear Roman below giving curt instructions to a soldier. He turned to her with a sigh and a smile just as she gained the floor. Lazily, she twined her arms around his neck to kiss him.
“I hope you got some sleep,” he murmured. “You seemed restless last night.”
She admitted, “I can’t seem to lie down comfortably. I feel like a cow.” That drew such a sudden laugh from him that she widened her eyes and inquired, “Do I look like a cow?”
“In no way,” he assured her, then coughed. “Only vaguely.” Her eyes widened further and he hastened to add, “But no cow so beautiful ever existed!”
She was speechless, floundering for a retort, when Galapos entered roaring, “Oh no! Is he talking of beauty? Such arrogance! We will earnestly pray that this child favors you, Chataine!” Roman grinned and she was satisfied.
Galapos took her arm and the three entered the dining hall, where the Surchatain instructed a soldier who stood as sentry to bring her breakfast. “Only rolls with honey and milk, Father,” she said. “I don’t feel like eating much this morning.” Galapos nodded at the soldier, who bowed and moved off.
As they sat at the table to wait, Roman’s eyes rested pensively on Deirdre’s belly. “When do the women say you’re due, Chataine?”
She sighed at the question he asked almost daily. “In a month, perhaps. Hopefully before the winter storms.”
He nodded, eyes in the future. “He will be a great warrior,” he murmured.
“She certainly could be,” she returned testily.
