Last night’s conversation grows to an uneasy whispering in my ear. My heart thuds uncomfortably with thoughts of moeder’s words, and I have to turn my mind to other responsibilities to distract myself. I dress slowly, trying to calm it and take my time. I feel like an intruder in two different parties, half wanting to obey the state of starvation, half wanting to follow in my moeder’s footsteps. I turn away from my small dresser as I finish lacing up the bodice. My fingers feel clammy and I become irritated with my apprehension. I comb down my hair with my hands and ignore the option to properly tie it back with the work of fixing on a coif or another tight cap. Not wanting to remain delaying my assistance any longer, I step for the door.
I stir at our morning brew which is also the luncheon soup. It is hardly soupy, and more like a pitiful bowl of boiled water and what used to be the rest of our unfortunate vegetable garden. I turn as I hear a small thud and am careful to examine what I find on the floor. It is merely Meyleia who dropped her small purse of pebbles. I sigh and she looks at me innocently, knowing that the more she does this the more our floor gets scratched, and how little she needs to care about this since she is still years from being held accountable. I envy her for this freedom, but also love her for demonstrating it to me.
I watch as she goes back to her play, taking out one stone at a time and laying them out on the ground, biting her lip as she concentrates on counting as I taught her lately. I add some salt from our savings after our last import of the condiment. The soup begins to bubble sparsely and I hear the pot groan as if complaining. I had told moeder a few months before the siege that we needed a new pot, but since then I had not mentioned it, especially since food started becoming so scarce that there was hardly a point in cooking anything but meat.
Suddenly, a sheer sound rings high above the groan. The squeal rips through the air and, startled, I nearly tip the soup off the fire. I turn back to Meyleia. She is unharmed. Relieved, I let out a breath. Then turning on her, I let my face mold into scorn.
“Meyleia don’t scream like that unless…” I stop as I follow her stare outside our house.
At first, I think it must be an illusion. It has to be. How could he have gotten inside without alarming our people? As I stare however, his image does not fade from a hunger hallucination as I hoped it would. I freeze, my jaw automatically snapping shut as he gazes into our hut.
“Lya,” she calls. It comes as a trembling whine.
Her nickname for me has not changed since she was saying her first words as a baby. It is what wakes me. I leave the soup still brewing over the fire and step towards her, careful not to take my eyes off the man still staring at us. I reach for her and still holding her purse she lets me scoop her up into my arms. The man does not move. I do not either.
I observe him carefully, making sure there is no weapon within his reach. I cannot see one, but I know he must be carrying his deterrent.
I hold Meyleia tighter as his power registers, and I remember hearing there was a municipal guard now in Leyden who had breached the wall. I had hoped he would stay clear of our people and just watch provisions, and that his friends would not join him, but as he stands here, I see that the first hope was already too much to dream for.
Finally, I know standing here won’t change the vivid stare between us, and slowly I set Meyleia down on her feet. She reaches up for me but I shake my head and dare to break eye contact with the officer to give her a look of promise. She lets me go, her lavender blue eyes round and full of fear but some evident trust. I start for the window I see him through. I stop within three feet of it, avoid it, and go for the open door, his eyes following my every movement. I swallow hard from the pressure rising in my throat. I don’t think I can, but I do my best to force out the words.
“May I help you with something?” I ask it softly, out of habitually practicing the polite etiquette I was taught as a child.
His eyes run up and down my body, as though trying to plan something I resist to be intimidated by. He smiles a little and I almost let fear run through my system and drive me back to the middle of the house where I was safer. I do not, however, allow it to do this.
“What is it that you want?” I ask boldly.
He eyes me contentedly then glances at Meyleia.
I feel that I know all. “If you plan to interact with my sister or me, sir, it will not do much good for either of us, so please kindly leave unless some other business calls you here.”
He smiles artfully, but I can see that behind the warmth there is more than kindness, there is cool desire, a lust, something which can rule man’s actions. “It is neither your little sister nor other business which brings me here to your quarters. Dear Ms.…Telmith? I believe it is…am I correct?”
I swallow hard. “On the contrary,” I say too softly for how I feel. “It is Thimlet.”
My pulse is now thudding just as hard as my heart was at the thought of moeder’s plans. Names are given easily to guards, are they not? If a neighbor was asked they would tell someone of higher rank nobility than they were. I remember Meyleia is still behind me and make myself let it go for later.
He smiles and looks down. “Ah…so it is,” he meets my gaze. “Or it will be until after the siege has been won.”
I clench my jaw shut but open it once again. I don’t know where he is taking me, but in all I don’t like where it seems we are going. “My apologies, but I must ask you to leave me be as I am or there will be many consequences in your future as a loyal officer to the King.”
He chuckles under his breath and looking down comes a little closer. I hold my ground. “You are much too sweet to desert here in this dusty cottage…” he raises his gaze back to mine. “So I must excuse myself from my duties and make an acquaintanceship with a certain feminine rarity of the lower class deserved to be in the ranks of the higher good.” He smiles a dry suspicious smile and I force my legs to hold still. “What harm and how could sightseeing and coming over such a fortune as you possibly do or be indirect to my purpose…I am here on business of the King whom I’ve heard you so graciously admire.” He smiles at his own joke and continues. “He admires you in the very least for your fortunes. Losing you would be costly…but more costly for those who love you if you were demolished by us,” he grins further. “I was given the responsibility of inspecting this…row of cottages…or huts…now I must ask you…do you prefer hanging or drowning?” His words are like the hot soup I just left on the stove, it burns me like I had tipped towards myself at another one of Meyleia’s screams.
I stay firm. “I cannot let you do this…it isn’t…”
“Actually it is…” There was a small whimper coming from behind me and I try hard not to let his closeness envelope and win my calm. I do not move. His hands find my body and I am brushed into the wall. He leans in and I am utterly helpless but for words. “Why else would my immense power over you be so strong if I was not paying respect to the King?” he leers. “Besides…I am here on business…” I place my hands over his and try to redirect them off, but his hands tighten. “No permission is required…”
I feel his hand tilt up my chin and I am not to defend myself. I must not, for fear of Meyleia’s safety. I breathe shakily and close my eyes as I feel his other hand drift and rest over the curve of my hip. I nearly let fear control me. Confusion and Meyleia are all I have left.
I reinforce myself.
“I must forbid this sinful existence of talk and once more I request you to leave.” I can feel his eyes on my face and try to hold back the cry just waiting to be unleashed from my throat.
“I will not venture past my limits…” He informs in a soft, low, humming vibration. I feel his hand whisk a few strands of hair off my neck and know where he plans to start. I let out a small breath as he leans in to my neck. This has to be a mistake. He kisses me.
I gasp out and press my hands into his lower abdomen but there is no pity or courtesy in his mind now. He pushes in forcefully and I smell gun powder on
his uniform. I can’t help it as I hear and feel his ravenous gorge on my helpless body; I start pulling back.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper.
He does not let me go.
I let out a quiet whine into his shoulder and feel him lingering below my ear. I don’t think I can hold back. I writhe. “Please…” I beg. “L-let me go…don’t…stop...oh God have mercy and make it stop…” I press and struggle to unlatch his hold but it is no use, he is too strong. His hands venture to my waist, and slowly settle across the laces of my bodice. That’s when I lose it. I wrench out of his painful embrace and grab at the glass bowl on the window sill, planning to use it for my self-defense. Before I can manage this though, he grabs me and I am forced to drop it at his feet as I am drawn back to him. He pulls at my dress and I feel like I can hear the material at the seams ripping. I choke on my sob and he scoops my head up so that I am in his control. I scream.
There is a hard push and a clattering sound as I see the room go lopsided. I hit the ground with a skidding thud. I smack into the stove with my arm, trying to brace the fall. I think I hear someone screaming and two others gasping for breath, but everything in this moment feels elusive. I bolt upright and find that I am no longer alone with Meyleia in this inequitable fight. Moeder stands at the doorway to our bedroom hallway, holding my little sister against her legs and staring wide-eyed at the two men wrestling on the ground. I feel my heart waver. No…how could he have seen?
It is Zenith, his hands clawing at the abusing officer, strangling and grabbing at his neck. I back into the stove and shake my head, wanting it to stop. I look around for something to grab, but instead my eyes catch on another man outside. I hear him yell and understand.
I have to get my family out…but I am too late.
Spanish soldiers rush in like hungry wolves in a pack of five. I cringe as one grabs me and drags me to my feet as others grab the still raging Zenith and force his fighting figure to stand. I cry out as they throw him at the opposite wall and feel alarm fill my being as he hits it. He tries to rise from the ground but his palms slip against the dirt and his side once again meets the defeat of the floor. He tries but once again he fails.
I sob in protest as they kick at his stomach and he rolls and grimaces, hugging himself and lying wounded and defeated on the ground.
I see the Spaniards helping the one on the ground to his feet and want to spit at him, to beat at him; but I know my place here is lesser, and I know I have to keep my family above that.
“Did they intrude your policy…?”
“Are you alright?”
“Where are the others…?”
“Who started the fight…?”
They all murmur questions to him. For a while, I think he is too beaten to direct his answer anywhere, but then he turns to me and, breathing hotly from his bloody mouth, points and indicates his surroundings. They turn to me and my family still standing out of the scene.
I shake my head and feel myself repent, but I cannot speak…I must not speak…I see a couple men head for moeder and Meyleia. “No!”
The one holding me suddenly jerks me out to face him, slapping me hard against my face and causing me to crumple to the ground. I hit it with a smack and the last thing I see is the man who had cornered me being lead out to the house with a limp and a bloodstained hand over his mouth. My head splits with an unreal pain and I close my eyes, feeling black envelope and pull me down into darkness. I pray to God for light. I feel someone picking me up and my vision starts to swirl back in. That’s when I hear it.
I turn and see moeder and Meyleia being pulled apart and grabbed. Meyleia is crying and screaming for moeder and I hear moeder sobbing pleads and swears. I fight to get to them but I am weak and beaten. I hear the pot burning on the stove. I ignore all else but moeder and Meyleia. I swing and kick, hit and claw, but the one who holds me forces me back. I start to cry, sob like bloody murder.
Then another blurry figure steps into the spinning room. I can’t hear anything over the blood pulsating in my ears. The man behind me is pulled aside and I nearly slam into the ground from my leaning position. When I process the liberty of my body, I use it to my advantage.
I race to my family. I scoop Meyleia into my arms and bury my face in her small, warm neck in assurance that I am here, that I won’t let them take her, and that I won’t leave her. All too soon, however, my promises begin to break. I am grabbed.
I revolt, backing into the far side of the kitchen knowing I am no match for the men around us. I hear another male voice amongst the rest of the commotion.
“What happened…?”
……………………..
“No…”
………………………………………………………….
“Stop.”
It comes soft at first, as though a gentle command.
When no one follows it, it is less gentle.
“Wait…stop! Stop now! Rest! I said NOW!!”
The room falls quiet apart from Moeder’s shaking breaths and Meyleia’s delicate whimpers into my shoulder. I draw her in against me and she clings tight to my neck, her legs locked unbreakably around my waist.
“They belong in the slums…”
“Protestors…”
“Pests…”
“No…” comes the new voice.
I groan out as they start to take Meyleia from me. I tremble out of rage and unbearable trepidation. I am forced to fall to the ground, taking her down with me and draping around her to protect her from their harmful touches. I am pulled to my feet and the floor scrapes at my dress at the knees. I fight to hold on.
“I said let them go…” They continue. “I said leave them be! Don’t. Move. Her!”
They all stop. So do I. Meyleia half between my arms and the rough hands of the men surrounding us.
“Nadeje…she’s in fault for this…”
The young combatant raises his hand in a signal of silence and the one informing him stops abruptly.
I shake my head and pull back a little in an attempt to maneuver myself from their hold on us, but they wrench Meyleia from me.
“No!” I beg.
They don’t listen and I am forced into another suppliant state of watching Meyleia fighting to free herself. The one who had spoken up for us steps into the cluster. Meyleia starts to sob and I try to pull from their hard hands but they grab me back easily, keeping me to the floor in a kneel. Being dizzy, it is hard to stable myself after they jerk me at this angle.
“Stop,” he commands the officer directing his soldiers. The officer ignores him and I am forced back as my Meyleia sobs for me or Moeder. The soldier clenches his jaw. Then, his eyes meet mine. A glimpse of understanding crosses between us and I try to clear my vision as his face swirls with the rest. I push and sob out in protest and need, but the men pull Meyleia farther from me. I strain for her.
“Let her go.” I fight for Meyleia and hardly even hear his words to the officer.
“But Nadeje she’s…”
“She’s innocent. The only mutilation done here was to her, not from…” A soldier drags his arm around my chest and holds me back. I nearly collapse and meet his gaze. His eyes search my own for something unreadable. “She doesn’t need to see this. Let her go.”
The officer hesitates. I turn back to look after Meyleia.
“I said let her go!”
Suddenly, all hands on me turn gentle. I turn my head in the voice’s direction and see the soldier making his way to me. I repeatedly shake my head and feel that I’d rather die than let his skin make contact with my body, but they release me and I am taken by his gentle hands. I stare frightfully up into his face as he squats before me. He gently and unsurely touches my arms.
I keep staring, imploring that he will read me.
He understands. “Her family?” he turns his face to the officer. I follow his gaze.
The officer frowns, another who holds Meyleia is already fuming. “They come with us, and sh
e goes with you…the family is the warning…an example for the people and his highness, proof that we would do it. It is orders. If she is all that is left…then father’s sure to come running home. Giving and taking.”
“It was giving and receiving if I can remember properly…and since General left me in power than I believe I am here to order you, not otherwise.”
The man’s face grows even more disgusted. “Team work, Mr. Gilch.”
“If she is so valuable…then the family must be too,” the one holding me, Mr. Gilch, says it firmly, but it is half a question, as though he is unsure.
“We agree, but he values them as less…costly to be wasted.”
My heart falters at the last part.
“You are in management of the girl, and us the others. He made it very clear to us. Apparently your new placement is no help to your brain as we hoped it would be.”
My savior swallows and grinds his teeth. “It isn’t right.”
It comes out too soft and too rough for the others to hear, but I presume that he didn’t want it to be otherwise.
“We need to get out,” it is another soldier who had stayed out of the argument.
I understand what the auction is and my heart wilts. They were to use my family as an example of what they would do to the city if they didn’t surrender, they were to be the beginning of the blood shed we knew would come…and me…what was I to them? Bait? A prisoner? I am not leverage with my rank. I am just a commoner. Why could they want to hold me hostage?
Mr. Gilch brings my attention to him with a gentle brush of my cheek. His hands gently crib my waist, and I slowly let him help me to my feet. His hands are patient on my waist, and do not leave me when I reach my feet.
“We will converse on this later.” It is the officer, his eyes resting on Gilch.
They start to lead my family away.
My heart stops. I take the chance; I jerk forward. Presently, I am grabbed. I gasp out as they start to drive my family away and the soldier holds me back. I resist him but his grip is too strong. I burst into a fit of chocking sobs but he won’t let me go.
Tears of Leyden Page 2
