by Robin Hardy
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“Gone. And you will never find her without my help,” she replied, not looking up.
Roman drew his sword in a fit of anger. “I am here now, witch, and you will tell me where she is.”
“Will you slay me, O warrior?” she chuckled sarcastically. “Nonetheless, I will tell you that, and more. Your wife has been taken to Corona. She has gone to join the Surchatain of Lystra, who will soon regain his rightful throne.”
“Surchatain of Lystra . . . ?” muttered Roman.
“Karel, the true Surchatain. He is not dead, as you assume. Oh no! He is planning his revenge. It is a certainty that Galapos will die within the year, and the rightful Surchatain will reign,” she predicted.
A chill ran down Roman’s spine. He turned away in agitation, then hesitated. “Tell me she went willingly to join him, and I’ll know you’re full of lies.”
Varela smiled. “She did not go willingly, but she will gladly stay to receive a husband of legitimate royalty,” she replied, unerringly hitting the most vulnerable spot.
Roman stared at her as the urge to kill her surged up in him. She laughed at him, seeming not only aware of his murderous rage, but approving of it. Appalled at himself, he withdrew backwards, stumbling from her hut. Mounting, he noted with dry satisfaction that Lady Grey had freed herself from the post and run off.
Roman rode back toward the palace slowly at first. Then, setting his mind, he urged the Bay Hunter on to such a pace that, upon arriving, the horse was in a lather. He shouted orders into the kitchen for provisions and was rushing to gather gear when he collided with the Surchatain.
“Whoa, son!” Galapos laughed, holding his shoulders. Seeing his dark face, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“To Corona,” Roman answered, winded. “To get Deirdre.”
“Wait, now, just wait.” Galapos seriously turned him aside. “That is lawless and dangerous country now, son. The renegades have made a hell of the place. What makes you think she’s in Corona?”
“She’s there,” insisted Roman, “and Karel is also. He’s plotting your overthrow, Galapos!”
The Surchatain’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows gathered in a scowl. “What—? Roman, at the outpost, Tremaine himself announced that Karel was dead, remember? Do you think he would have made a mistake about that? Don’t you know he would make sure of it? Think, son!”
Roman set his face stubbornly and would not answer. Galapos asked quietly, “Who told you Deirdre was in Corona?” Again Roman was silent, and Galapos added, even gentler, “I think you have been ill advised, my son.”
Roman relaxed slightly, acknowledging the possibility: “Perhaps. But I must go, on the outside chance that she is there. . . . I must find out. . . .”
Galapos studied his face, then released him in resignation. “I see that you must, and I’m sorry. God go with you, son.”
Roman lowered his eyes and turned away.
Before departing, he stopped in the half-finished nursery. The nursemaid, Gusta, had just laid his son down to sleep. Roman caressed the tiny head and whispered, “I must leave you now, son, but I will return and bring your mother with me.” He leaned over and kissed the soft, dark hair. “Farewell.”
On his way out the double doors, he was stopped by Basil. “The Surchatain tells me you believe Deirdre is in Corona.”
“She may be. I’m going to find out,” Roman said crisply.
“Then you will need this.” Basil handed him a sturdy pouch. “It’s the last hundred royals from the treasury, which I held back for a crisis. Spend it carefully, Roman—and good journey.”
“Counselor . . . thank you,” said Roman, touched. Looking at Basil, the thought occurred to him, Is it worth it? He left with downcast eyes.
Galapos stood watching from the window in the northern tower as Roman rode out of the gates alone. The Surchatain closed his eyes as if deep in thought, but now and then a whispered plea escaped.
Kam entered the room quietly. “Surchatain, the Chataine’s horse has just trotted up to the rear gate unridden. We’ve no idea where she came from.” Galapos merely nodded. Kam continued, “How many men shall I send out to search for her?”
Galapos shifted. “How many would you say, Kam?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, Surchatain, I would send a hundred . . . if I thought there was any chance of them finding her.”
Galapos nodded. “Send two to the east, two to the west, and two following Roman to Corona. Dress them as peasants and have them conceal their weapons under their clothing. They’re to alarm no one, nor is Roman to know he’s being followed, except if his life is in peril.”
“Yes, Surchatain.” Kam bowed and left to carry out the orders.
Galapos stood still watching the point on the earth where the forest had swallowed Roman. His eyes were distant and sad. Shaking his head, he murmured, “I don’t know why, but I am certain I will not see him on this earth again.”
Deirdre came to groggily at the baby’s first cry and put him to her breast. Hungry again! It seemed she had fed him at every hour during the night. She yawned and turned her head. Just enough morning light filtered through a shuttered window for her to see that Old Josef was gone.
Shivering, she pulled the lightweight blanket over her and the baby. The air was chilly—winter would soon be coming. How could she spend the winter in this nasty little cell? She would die of cold. Deirdre sniffled, wiping her nose. I’m already becoming ill, she fretted. She grimaced, remembering her miserable experience with the villagers’ disease.
The door creaked open and Old Josef hobbled in. “Ah, good! You’re awake.” He set a warm bowl of meal and cup of milk before her. “Sevter got the milk from the kitchen,” he chuckled. “He knew you would need it.”
“Thank you.” She gratefully drank it down. “I was thirsty—I seem to be thirsty all the time . . . Sevter?”
“The official who was here last night. He is palace overseer, in charge of the domestic slaves.”
“Domestic slaves?” Is that what I am? she thought in horror.
“Those who work in the palace and stables. We’re fortunate God has placed him over us. He is a just and kind man,” Josef said, settling down to the straw. His ankles were cruelly bent and knotted, and he unconsciously stroked them as he sat.
“If he’s so kind, why doesn’t he release us?” she asked bitterly. She stuck her fingers into the meal over the orphan.
“Why, child, Sheva would execute him for such folly, and put who knows what in his place. And you and I, when we were caught, would be flogged and put out to work in the fields.” He picked up a skimpy pan of meal to eat as he talked. “You would not survive a day’s work in the fields. The official over the field slaves is a blood-loving beast. His name is Caranoe. Don’t cross him at any time. By the by, what is your name?”
“I am Chataine Deirdre, daughter of Surchatain Galapos of Lystra,” she recited almost as if to convince herself.
The old man paused in astonishment with meal on his fingers halfway to his mouth. “You are! That is most strange. . . . Does Lord Troyce—the administrator who bought you—know that?”
“No, I don’t think he does,” Deirdre said.
“Well and good,” he breathed. “Don’t tell anyone who you are! If it were known, you would suffer greatly. Sheva hates Galapos with all the will she possesses. If she knew she had his daughter as a slave. . . . How did you fall into slavery?” The fingers with the meal went into his mouth now.
“I was kidnapped after my baby was born.” Placing the empty bowl on the straw, she lifted the fussing child to her shoulder. “I was sold so many times, I lost count. . . .” She fell silent and Josef eyed her keenly.
“God’s hand is largely in this,” he observed.
“How can you say that?” she cried. “Do you know how much I’ve suffered? What my father and my husband must be going through?”
He shook his white head resolutely.
“The path you are walking now has been carefully smoothed and paved for you. I’m sure you have suffered, but look—you are unscathed. You are a slave, unfortunately, but under the kindest slavemaster who ever lived. No—God is protecting you on all fronts in this matter. You must trust His care.” For some reason Deirdre thought of the would-be buyer who preceded Lord Troyce.
At that point, Sevter opened the door and said, “Josef, your duties wait.” The old man nodded and got to his feet with some difficulty. To Deirdre, Sevter said, “I’ve arranged for you to do nothing but rest and nurse for a few days before your service begins.”
Josef glanced back at her with a knowing smile, then turned to Sevter and said in a low voice, “We must speak.”
Left alone with the baby, Deirdre lay down again wearily and tried to untangle her thoughts. Was God with her? But why then had He allowed her to experience such misery? Her thoughts ran together in confusion, and soon she was deep in sleep.
And Deirdre had a dream in which she was sitting alone and abandoned in the midst of a wretched grey wasteland. There was no sun in the sky and no living thing in sight. Strange, cold winds howled around her, blowing dead grasses and gritty sand. She huddled, frightened of some nameless evil in the air.
Suddenly Deirdre was aware of light coming from one side—there was warmth, too. She turned and beheld the most wonderful warrior she had ever seen. His face was hidden in blazing light. His clothes were white and his golden breastplate gleamed fiery red. In his right hand he carried a formidable, two-edged sword.
Her heart leaped when he held out his left hand toward her and spoke her name: “Deirdre.” His voice was soft, yet so piercing that it reverberated through her. “Come walk with me.”
She sprang to her feet to take his hand. He began to lead her down a winding, rocky trail that she had not seen from where she was sitting. “To walk with me, you must not leave the path,” he said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Faithful and True.”
As she walked at his side, holding tightly to his hand, she saw that he used his sword to clear the path before them. He brushed aside large, sharp rocks and hissing snakes. Yet when they came to a boulder that completely obstructed the path, they stopped. As Deirdre looked at that rock, it seemed to grow larger and larger, filling her vision until it threatened to crush her.
Terrified, she whirled to plead with the warrior. But she had hardly spoken when he bent down and lifted her over it effortlessly. Once past it, she looked back and saw that the rock was actually no larger than a loaf of bread.
Walking with him was pleasant, and soon Deirdre saw grasses and flowers growing tenderly along the path. Then she noticed that no matter how hard she peered, she could not see the road ahead more than a few feet at a time. “Where are we going?”
“To the mountain.” He pointed with his sword, and Deirdre saw in the far distance a shimmering purple mountain that radiated light and life. But the path unexpectedly veered away here and there to the left or the right.
“Surely there’s an easier way to get there,” she grumbled.
“There is no other way,” he said.
Deirdre sighed and looked around. This was all well and good, but she was tiring. All at once she spotted a lovely willow grove on the shore of a lake—why, it was her lake! She so wanted to go lie down. But he had said she must not leave the path.
Timidly, she looked to him again, and as she gazed, she felt strength and refreshment flow from him as profusely as the light. She forgot the lake entirely. She never wanted to leave him.
From nowhere she heard a precious, familiar voice calling her name: “Deirdre! Deirdre!” Roman! He was standing just forty feet away, beside the willow trees.
“Roman!” She rushed to his outstretched arms. But instantly he and the grove melted away into black shadows. All was desolate again, as before, but now the shadows were dancing around her. “Roman!” she sobbed. “Where are you?” He was not to be found, but the shadows closed in on her.
She cried out and blindly reached for the warrior. As she did, she felt his strong hand take hers. Opening her eyes, she saw him shattering the shadows into pieces with his sword. Immediately she was back safely on the road with him.
“Why did you leave me?” she gasped.
“I warned you not to leave the path. Yet even then I did not leave you, but you didn’t know it until you reached for me,” he said.
They continued on, and Deirdre clung tightly to his hand. Yet the cinders in the path were sharp and hurt her feet. And she noticed too that now, the warrior did not brush aside every obstacle. Some she stumbled over, others tripped her up, although he never let her fall. She complained, “My feet hurt! Why won’t you clear the path for me?”
“Little one,” he said, “if I remove every pebble in the path, there will be no road left for you to walk on. And look! Our destination is near.”
Deirdre raised her eyes, and the mountain burned with a radiance that almost blinded her. She squinted and blinked awake as the sun struck her face through the shutters of the little room.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to hold on to the fading brilliance of the dream while Sevter entered to unfasten her leg shackles. “You may go outside for a moment and have yourself a look around,” he said. “Don’t wander far, and don’t hinder anyone’s work.”
She nodded, sleepy, stiff, and sore. But she found her legs still held her up, so she slipped shyly out into the corridor behind him, leaving the baby in the straw.
Outside, she blinked in the brightness of the morning. From this side of the servants’ house, she could see stables and a barn, and pens for the animals. Servants buzzed all around, working. One girl left the henhouse carrying a basket of eggs to the palace. Several men were laying posts for another pen. Nearby, another fellow was butchering a pig.
Deirdre grimaced and edged away, in the direction of the palace. In the midst of the courtyard she caught sight of a massive gallows. Someone must be scheduled for an execution, she thought uneasily.
Shying away from that area, she walked to the front of the servants’ house and looked over the fence on its northeast corner. An orchard! How lovely. And from where she stood she could see fruit hanging heavy on the branches. She slipped over the fence to the nearest tree and picked up an apple that lay under it.
“You want to be hanged, or what?” She wheeled at the surly voice behind her. A soldier reached over and plucked the apple from her fingers.
“I—I’m hungry,” she said pleadingly.
“You won’t ever be hungry again if they hang you. Don’t be stupid and don’t steal food.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, the tears coming readily. “I didn’t know it was stealing. I won’t do it again.”
“I’ll be silent this time, kitten, but you owe me.” He leaned over and gave her a solid whap on the rear before turning away.
Deirdre, shocked to her bones, stood immobilized as two servants with bushels passed her on their way to the palace, eyeing her velvets curiously. Then she roused and fled back to the little room.
Safe within its narrow walls, she plopped down in the straw. The baby jerked his arms outward and turned his face toward her. She leaned over him, then, to study him more closely.
Such a scrawny thing he was, with his tummy all distended. He had wide-set brown eyes and sparse, light brown hair. And so dirty! She moistened a finger and wiped a clean streak on his tiny cheek. “Poor thing,” she cooed, touching his palm. His little hand closed on her forefinger and held it while she wriggled it back and forth delightedly.
Her eyes fell on the rags he was wrapped in. They were rough and heavy with imbedded soil. He sorely needed cleaning up. While she was pondering this, Old Josef poked his head in the door. “Are you resting, child?”
She leaned back toward him. “Josef, this poor baby needs to be bathed!”
His grey eyebrows arched as he considered this problem. “Let’s see what can be done,�
� he said, and was gone.
In a short while, he returned with a small basin and some rags. Water slopped out as he struggled to lower the basin to the floor without spilling it all. “I have brought you wash water, a cloth to wash him, and a new cloth to wrap him in.” Leaving those items, he was gone again.
Deirdre gingerly unwound the dirty wrap and tossed it aside with disgust. She dipped the small bit of rag in the warm water and carefully rubbed the baby’s splotchy skin. He waved his tiny arms and fussed, but she scrubbed him gently all over, until his whole body was clean and pink. Then she wrapped him up snugly in the large cloth and cradled him. He closed his eyes.
“Now you smell rather human,” she declared, kissing the top of his tender head. Almost immediately she felt something warm and wet, and dismally looked to see that her accomplishment was manifestly short-lived.
Chapter 9
Sevter creaked open the door to her little room and unlocked her leg chains. “Deirdre . . . it has been three days since you arrived. . . . I can no longer justify treating you with special favor. You must begin your service this morning.”
He helped her rise and Josef crossed the room crookedly to join them. “Sevter we can trust, and I told him who you are. But we must not allow anyone else the suspicion that you are someone of importance. It will be hard, I know, but your life hangs on it,” Josef said gently. He gave her a plain little servant’s dress. “You will need to wear this.”
Deirdre regarded the servant’s dress, then glanced downward at the tattered, soiled remains of her costly velvets. “What will you do with these?” she murmured.
Josef’s face contorted in amused sympathy. “My child . . . they must be burned.” She sighed.
Sevter left them and Deirdre undressed behind Josef’s back. Stoically, she surrendered the velvets and stepped into the thin, drab servant’s dress. It was very similar to the little dress Roman had made her wear for their trip to Corona—Roman! Forgive me for making you leave me at the lake! she cried inwardly, momentarily collapsing with grief. But with supreme effort she collected herself and said, “I’m ready.”
