Back From Chaos (23 page)

Marja loved to ride, and this afternoon she could almost believe she was home in Catania again. Except, back home she and Brensa would have ridden out alone. She shook the thought away. One of the guards had spread a blanket under a tree, brought the food out of the bags and moved off at a small distance with the others to eat their more simple meal.

“
Brensa, we will never finish all this food. Take the remainder and give it to the guards. They will enjoy it,” she instructed.

Brensa hesitated in fear, but at Marja’s encouragement she quickly took the bundle over and more quickly returned. Marja even sent over enough of their fruits that each man could enjoy one of the sweet treats. They made their pleasure evident with nods, waves and grins of delight. Such treats were rare among their ranks.

As the sun descended midway to the western horizon, one of the guards approached the women. “It is time to return, my lady. It will be dark soon.”

Reluctantly, Marja agreed, knowing he was right. They needed to be home before the sun sank behind the hills. She knew Gaelen had given orders to be notified as soon as they returned. He would be mad with worry if they delayed, and he had enough on his mind without that.

The ride back remained uneventful until their way took them past some narrow alleys that ran between a section of poorer shops selling cheap wine, dry goods and amulets. One of the alleys emitted a cacophony of youthful shouting amid a background of cries of pain, obviously from a small animal. Both Marja and Brensa halted their horses abruptly. One of the guards almost bumped into them. Marja shouldered past the forward guard and entered the narrow alley without thinking, Brensa close behind her. They ignored the shouts of warning from the men who could not get in front of them in the narrow space.

They came upon three lads of about twelve gathered around a young kitten. They had tied a rope around its neck and were poking it with sticks. Its tail was a bloody stump and one of its ears had been cut or torn half off. One of the youths wielded a small knife.

Brensa cried out and her hands flew to her face.

Marja filled with such moral outrage that she forgot where and who she was. She jumped off her horse and ran toward the boys with no thought for danger. “Stop that!” she shouted.

A sneer started to cross the face of the one with the knife, but it was soon replaced by fear when four guards filled the alley and two interposed themselves quickly in front of the women. By now, Brensa had also climbed down and stood shaking beside Marja. The miscreants fled out the other end of the alley, leaving the kitten behind. Marja tried to send the guards after them, but the leader shook his head.

“
I think that would be unwise, my lady. Better let word spread without reprisals. This sort of behaviour is common among these youth, who have nothing better to do. Save your reputation for more important matters.”

Marja opened her mouth to upbraid him for his effrontery, but found her attention drawn back to Brensa and a guard who had his small dagger poised to deal the mercy cut to the mauled kitten. Brensa lunged toward the guard, wailing, “Nooo!” and shoved his hand away. Then she hovered over the kitten protectively, preventing the guard from dispatching it.

He looked at Marja helplessly, “My lady, the poor thing is beyond help. It would be a mercy to kill it, to save it from a slow death.”

Marja looked at the kitten and knew he was probably right. She squatted and put her arm around Brensa, saying, “You know it is best for the poor little thing.”

Brensa turned to her, tears making tracks down her stricken face. “Please, my lady. I can save her. I know I can.”

Seeing Brensa’s obvious anguish, Marja suddenly realized what made this so important to her. She needed to rescue this kitten as she herself had been rescued. Marja believed it to be a futile endeavour, and she wished to spare the kitten more misery. Yet, she understood that it was necessary to allow Brensa to try to save it. At the same time, she worried how Brensa would react if he kitten died in spite of her efforts.

Brensa continued to hover over the kitten. She had by now freed it from the rope around its neck. She squatted, examining it where the fur had been chafed off. She looked up at Marja again, hands still on the kitten, which to Marja’s amazement made no protest. She pleaded, “Please, my lady, let me try.”

Marja sighed. “Very well, Brensa. I fear it is too late, but I see that you are determined. But on one condition. That you can keep it calm enough to get it back to the castle without help from anyone else. I will not subject others to the nasty bites and scratches a cornered animal may inflict in an attempt to escape.”

Brensa flashed Marja a look of gratitude. “I can, my lady. I am certain of it.” She let go of the kitten and took off her apron. Then she reached back toward it, apron in hand, crooning softly. The small cat bristled at first and spat weakly at the apron, but as Brensa’s hands touched her, she stopped spitting and merely eyed her warily. Brensa kept crooning soothingly as she gently wrapped the apron around it, taking care to apply pressure to the still bleeding stump where the tail had been. It mewled weakly when Brensa scooped it up and cradled it to her chest.

Brensa looked at the guards, then turned to Marja and hesitated. But her need to hold the kitten made her speak up in spite of her fear of the men. “I will need help to mount, my lady.”

In the aftermath of the fright they had just experienced, the request struck Marja as funny and she had to choke back a fit of nervous laughter. “Of course. Marrell, will you lift her into her saddle?”

Brensa was so intent on the kitten that she barely reacted to the guard’s touch when he obeyed. The party did not speak for the remainder of the ride home, each wrapped in their own thoughts. When they reached the stables, at Marja’s nod, Marrell reached Brensa down. She accepted the assistance, but flinched at his touch.

~ 49 ~

NO-TAIL

Back in their chambers, Marja watched Brensa set about nursing her tiny patient. She looked on in mild disbelief as the little cat allowed Brensa to bathe its wounds, apply salve and bind its stump. All the while Brensa kept up a low, repetitive crooning. She cleaned the matted fur with deft, gentle motions, something the kitten apparently liked, for as Brensa continued her ministrations it relaxed. It even seemed to cooperate by lying docilely on either side, its head resting calmly on the soft cloth Brensa had spread underneath it.

As Brensa worked, the kitten’s colour showed through, a tortoiseshell, having large black spots ringed with greyish brown. It would be very pretty when it dried … that is, except for the lack of a tail and half an ear. When she had done all she could, Brensa presented her with the bowl of warm milk Marja had ordered.

For a moment Marja’s hopeful anticipation fell, as the poor thing seemed to show no interest in drinking. But Brensa lifted it gently and placed the chin into the milk, so she would taste it. She held it up then, and to Marja’s amazement, it took a few laps. That seemed enough to satisfy Brensa. She put the little cat back on the cloth she had arranged in a basket, close to the warmth of the hearth. There the kitten curled into a ball and went to sleep.

Brensa met Marja’s gaze, and with a proud determined look, declared, “She will live. And she will heal. I know it.” Then she smiled, and, with a flicker of humour added, “Maybe she will even become a good mouser for the castle.”

Marja smiled back. “Then she … if she is a she … will need a name.”

“
Oh, I am certain she is a she. Yes, I will need to find a strong name for her to match her brave nature.” Brensa looked thoughtful for a moment. “On the other hand, perhaps I will call her No-tail. That way, when she goes about the castle and I am looking for her, everyone will know who I mean. And they will all recognize and remember her. Yes, she will be No-tail.” She gave a satisfied nod. No-tail she was.

~ 50 ~

FESTIVAL

At Summer Festival, tradition dictated that the lord provide a feast for the citizens in the great hall of the castle. All were free to come and partake of the bounty that Earth had provided, prepared by the servants in the castle kitchen. Extra help was hired to have everything ready and to keep the flow of sated and often inebriated citizens moving through. The castle filled with a jostling, cheerful crowd. Often Summer Festival provided children with their first taste of sweetmeats and other delicacies they had never dreamed of. Happy chaos was the order of the day. Those who served the food and ale took turns, so that everyone had an opportunity to participate in the celebrations. Even the guards rotated.

New summer greens, cress, early bunching onions, dandelion greens, wood fungi, and early peas were among the delicacies available, made into salads or cooked into main dishes. Most sweets soaked in new wildflower honey with its delicate flavour. Early wild strawberries abounded, both fresh and baked into all manner of breads and treats. Instead of the heavier smoked or dried meats that sustained the people through the winter, meats at this festival had been freshly killed and stewed, roasted on spits, or pan fried in butter. New ale and hard cider flowed in abundance as well as wine in more modest quantities.

Nightfall came late this time of year, and the festivities lasted until well after dark. Few business owners expected any work to be done until after midday the following day. As often as not, they were in no better shape than those they employed, pained heads being the order of the day.

Usually, though Grenth posted extra guards, they seldom proved necessary, other than to make sure those who had too much to drink were efficiently escorted out the door. This year, due to recent events, Gaelen had ordered an additional cadre of soldiers present. The majority of these had orders to keep close to the head table, where Gaelen, Marja and all the local dignitaries sat, greeting those who wished a glimpse of their host’s finery.

Klast, disguised as a peasant, stationed himself behind the head table close to Marja. He lounged against the wall with a mug of ale and a plate laden with riches that he hardly tasted. He could tell that only Brensa and Gaelen sensed his presence. Even Marja remained unaware of him. Klast kept his eyes particularly on the movements in and around Marja. This event provided a prime opportunity for a second attempt on her life. The hard part was keeping his mind off Brensa. Her nearness, and his awareness that she knew he was there, made concentration more difficult. Every now and then she would steal a quick glance in his direction. She did not try to meet his eyes, but nothing escaped his attention, so he found these looks distracting.

Gaelen followed his father’s example in not using a taster. He shared Lord Bargest’s belief that no one ought to die in the place of another. Since there had been no need of one for generations, Klast agreed it would seem out of place were Gaelen to change that tradition now. It would not be wise to alert Gaelen’s detractors that he suspected something. But it made Klast’s job more critical, and he felt the pressure.

As a new shift of servers appeared, a young woman approached the head table with a fresh jug of hard cider, the drink Marja preferred, in her condition, to the stronger wine. As she filled Marja’s cup, Klast noticed a furtive, anxious glance around that seemed out of place. He dove forward, stumbling awkwardly in a semblance of drunkenness, and reached the table just as Marja lifted her goblet to her lips. Klast lunged clumsily into Brensa, shoving her into Marja, and knocking the cup from Marja’s hand to the floor. Two dogs, which had been waiting patiently for whatever fell from the table, eagerly began to lap up the sweet drink.

As Klast lurched back upright he managed to whisper the word “poison” into Brensa’s ear between loud, slurred apologies, before the guards grabbed him and escorted him roughly out.

As soon as the guards let him go, he re-entered the hall by a different route and sought out the narrow passageway he had seen the young woman leave by. This rarely used way led from the great hall into another small hallway and directly out a side service entrance of the castle. He hoped to find the woman alive to question her. That hope proved in vain. He located her body in the first passage. Her throat had been neatly cut, and her assailant was gone without a trace. Klast spared a thought of compassion for the poor maid who had played such an unfortunate part and paid for it with her life. Shock still showed on her lifeless face. No doubt she had had no idea it would be she herself who would become the victim. Klast cursed his luck in arriving too late both to get information and to save the girl’s life. Taking on a different guise, he hurried back to his post. To his dismay, Brensa noticed him immediately.

Klast noted with relief that the situation appeared under control. Most of the revellers remained ignorant of the clamour at the head table. Gaelen and Marja did their best to draw attention away from the dogs, writhing and foaming at the mouth, death almost upon them. Gaelen had a guard stab them in the heart, to avoid too much blood, and wrap them in their cloaks to remove them.

Brensa assisted Marja to wipe off the spilled drink with exaggerated loudness and apologies to draw away attention. It kept those aware to a merciful few. No doubt, by morning many stories would circulate about what had happened. The truth would be indiscernible from the tales arising from the imaginations of folk who had eaten and drunk too much. Unfortunately, those few sitting at the head table, and those guarding it, were all too aware. Gaelen’s plan to keep his knowledge of a plot secret had been compromised. He would no longer be able to feign ignorance. This would make Klast’s work much more difficult, as the traitors would take more care to avoid discovery.