The next day the big meeting was held in the public square. The Romans were there first, and Lin was in attendance on Centurion Ittai, who looked appropriately splendid. He also looked grim, because the procurator had indeed not listened to reason. An added signal of mischief was the fact that Jes was back in male garb, and armed. They were just spectators, but they just might have to fight their way out.
Lin looked around. There were many Roman troops present, armed and armored, with their long spears held vertical and their massive shields reaching from the ground to their waists. One of the things about the Romans, Lin knew, was that they were well equipped and disciplined.
The royal kinsmen of the Iceni walked down the street. They were men of middling age in good cloth robes. They took their places around the square, forming a kind of central enclosure.
It was only a short distance from the royal mansion, but Queen Boudica arrived in style. She rode a fancy wagon drawn by two spirited horses, with her two daughters flanking her. One was Wildflower, fair and smiling, and Lin saw with pleasure that she was wearing the necklace. The other girl was about a year older, dark-haired and sullen. Both were pretty and richly garbed, wearing diadems.
The queen was another matter. She was huge of frame, with a glowering aspect. A great mass of dark red hair fell to her knees, seeming to curl around her body like a separately living thing. She wore a great necklace of twisted gold, and a many-colored tunic under a thick mantle fastened by a brooch. She glared around at the assembled Romans, as if to destroy them with her mere gaze, but they were impassive.
The wagon halted, and servants hastened to assist the queen and her daughters down. Boudica marched to the throne set up in the center of the square and took her place, while the daughters stood on either side. "Well?" she demanded. Her voice was harsh.
The procurator stepped forward. "Are you prepared to repay the loan Rome gave to your people, and turn over the reins of government to Rome, according to the treaty?"
"By no means," the queen said imperiously. "My husband King Prasutagus left the kingdom to Emperor Nero and my two daughters. Until they are of age to reign, I act in my daughters' stead, and my word is law among the Iceni. You will have no money, and no reins of power. Now that that is settled, begone; your presence annoys me."
"This is not the correct answer," Catus responded. "If you will not turn over the money and the reins voluntarily, I shall take them regardless. Now I ask you again, are you ready to do your duty by Rome?"
Boudica stood. "I have no duty by Rome. I spit on Rome!" And she spat at the procurator. The gob missed, but the Roman flinched. "Now get away from here before I have my minions flog you for your impertinence."
"Oops," Jes murmured, next to Lin.
"It is you who are impertinent," Catus said. "And now you will feel the consequence of your arrogance." He turned and lifted one hand in an evident signal.
Suddenly more Roman troops appeared, pouring out of the surrounding houses. They charged into the square, shoving the kinsmen aside. In a moment they took hold of Boudica herself, and her daughters.
"What is this?" the queen shouted. "You can't touch the royal persons! I'll have you sacrificed to the gods!"
"Strip her and flog her," Catus said coldly.
"What!" the queen screamed piercingly. "I'll see you flayed for this!"
The kinsmen tried to come to her rescue, but the Roman soldiers lifted their spears threateningly. It was clear that the Roman force was overwhelming.
Lin watched with horror as the men systematically stripped Boudica of her clothing and threw it aside. Both daughters screamed and tried to help her, but this only attracted attention to them, and now they too were stripped. Then the men tied the queen's wrists together with rope and hauled them up over her head under a temporary wooden frame so that she was hoisted almost off her feet. One soldier brought out a whip and laid it across her back and bottom.
Boudica screamed, more in outrage than in pain. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"
"Ten lashes," Catus said, and turned away.
Lin was too appalled to watch further. But when she looked to the side, she saw what was happening to the two daughters. They were both naked and struggling, the elder with nascent breasts, the younger without—and both were being raped by the soldiers.
"No!" Lin cried in absolute horror. She started to run toward them, but Jes turned and caught her in both arms, lifting her off her feet. "Don't get yourself raped too!" she hissed. In a moment Lin realized that it was true. She would only get herself similarly stripped and brutalized. She had to stand and tolerate this atrocity.
Soon it was done. The Romans marched off, taking several of the kinsmen with them, to be sold into slavery. Boudica and her daughters were left behind, dumped on the pile of their clothing, all three of them suffering similarly. "After this, you will behave," Catus said smugly as he departed.
"I must go to them," Lin said.
"No," Jes said. "You want no association with this. We must leave this area swiftly."
"For sure," Ittai agreed. "There will be Hades to pay."
They made their way back home with all due haste. Because they traveled swiftly and mostly incognito, the ominous stirring of the folk of the region did not touch them. But a dark tide was rising.
That tide continued through the winter. There was news of Queen Boudica and her daughters visiting the various tribes of Britain and enlisting their participation in the coming rebellion. The Romans might not recognize her as queen of the Iceni, but other tribes clearly did. There were meetings with the Coritani, Cornovii, Durotriges, Catuvellauni, Brigantes, Dubunni, and others, and of course the Iceni and Trinovantes, where Lin's family lived. There was no rebellion, yet, but everyone knew it was coming. Everyone except the Romans.
"I don't want to know!" Ittai protested. "I am a Roman officer; my loyalty is to Rome, however shabbily her minions may behave. If war comes, I must serve with Rome."
"Then why don't you go warn Rome?" Jes asked in the presence of the other family members.
"Because the idiots wouldn't heed me before, and won't next time."
"So there's nothing you can do anyway. So what's the harm in knowing?"
Ittai stared at her. "Are you thinking like a man or a woman?" he demanded.
Everyone laughed. But then Jes got serious. "I'm thinking like a settler who doesn't want to see her lands ravaged by either side. How can we avoid being regarded as an enemy by someone?"
Ned nodded. "We need representatives in both camps. I think we are protected from the Romans, but not necessarily from the Celts."
"So maybe we should attend the secret meeting they are having next week in—"
Ittai stood. "I have business elsewhere," he said gruffly. He was serious about not wanting to know.
Jes shrugged. "Of course, dear. I will join you." She got up and followed him out. But at the door she paused, speaking over her shoulder. "Just give me time to get my clothes off."
They all laughed again. The centurion was preserving his official ignorance of anything un-Roman, and his wife was supporting him in that, as she, too, was now legally Roman. She had let the others know that the two would not be returning for a reasonable time. As long as it took to make leisurely love.
"She really likes being a woman," Flo remarked appreciatively. They all knew how little chance Jes had seemed to have of such a relationship. Now she was reveling in it.
Ned shook his head. "I envy my sister her happiness." Then he glanced significantly at Snow. "And my brother his." Snow obligingly blushed, as the laughter continued. They all liked her very well. "But about that meeting: they know us all, and that we do get along with our Roman proprietor. They won't trust us. It may not be safe for us to attend."
There was a pause. Distrust could indeed be dangerous. The outrage of the Britons was great, and anyone they perceived as enemy or spy could be summarily killed.
Lin steeled herself and spoke. "I could do it," she said, her voice tight with nervousness.
Flo shook her head. "They know you as well as any of us. You were at the flogging."
"Yes. I met Princess Wildflower. And saw her raped. But I tried to warn her. Maybe she—she will protect me. If I go. If she's there."
"Even so, she will know you for a spy," Ned said. "She has no love at all for Romans."
"But maybe—maybe she wouldn't want to see me hurt, any more than I wanted to see her hurt. So if I told her I just wanted to try to keep it from happening to us—" She saw the doubt in their faces, and halted.
There was a pause. Then Flo spoke. "Still, we do need a connection. If Lin is willing to take the risk—"
"A risk of death!" Bry protested.
"A risk we all may face, if Queen Boudica's forces deem us an enemy," Flo said.
There was another pause. Lin knew that they did not want to push her into taking such a risk. But she knew the possible consequence if she didn't. The Celts would be no more gentle than the Romans had been, and they had a keen sense of justice. How well they all knew that, being Celts themselves!
"I'll do it," she said, more firmly than she felt.
Flo nodded. "You have courage." That was a considerable compliment, because Flo did not make empty statements.
The meeting was in the nearby town, Camulodunum, the major settlement of the Trinovantes, where Lin was not well known. That helped. Because if she were recognized, she could be in trouble. The Romans governed the town, but a number of prominent Britons had reassured the officials that all was well, so they were not alert to the real nature of the gathering. All known associates of the Romans were rigorously excluded, unless they had suitable credentials as true patriots of the land.
It turned out that though Boudica herself was elsewhere, her daughters would indeed attend the meeting. It seemed that these things carried more conviction if one of the victims of the Roman atrocity was present. That was what Lin needed to know. She dressed in male guise and had no trouble getting in; she was obviously a young Briton.
The hall was crowded. There was no formal program; instead there was a rising tide of emotion. Lin realized why: they did not dare speak openly of rebellion, because word would get out to the Romans, who would then ruthlessly suppress it. But they were fomenting a general emotional state that would make rebellion easier to accept when the time came.
An old woman cried out dire prophecies of doom and desolation. "Have we not seen the statue of Victory fall and lie face down on the ground, presenting its back in surrender," she cried, in a thinly veiled allusion to the Romans. "Have we not seen apparitions in the Thames? Blood-red tides, washing things ashore that resemble human corpses?" She spoke metaphorically, for the Thames did not flow through Camulodunum. But they had all heard the spooky stories. It was easy to believe that there had indeed been such omens elsewhere.
"Yes! Yes!" others echoed.
Then a man started speaking in tongues, sing-songing unintelligible words. Others hummed, and keened, and the level of sound rose. Lin felt herself being tugged by the feeling of it, but fought it, because she was here for another purpose. Her sympathies were with the Britons of course, but before she could yield to them she had to accomplish her mission.
She moved among the people, searching for the princess. Apparently the girl was taking no active part in the event, merely lending it authenticity by her presence.
Lin spied her, standing between two stout men. She approached diffidently. "Princess—" she began.
One of the men reached out and caught her arm. "What's this? A spy?"
"No!" Lin cried. "I'm a friend of Princess Wildflower! I tried to save her! I gave her a necklace!" She tore off her close cap and let her hair fall free.
Now the princess's eyes widened with recognition. "You were the one! You warned me, but I did not listen." She glanced at the guard, and he immediately let Lin go. "But why do you come to me now? Is there a spy here to kill me?"
"No," Lin said quickly. "None that I know of. It is for myself I come. I must beg a favor of you, Princess."
"You come to one who was ravished and demeaned and made powerless, for a favor?"
"Oh, Princess, you know I serve a Roman master. All other Romans deserve destruction, but this one has been good to us. Please, please, spare him."
"What authority do you think I have, that I can help a Roman?"
"If your mother tells them to bypass his estate, which is our estate—"
Wildflower pursed her lips. "It is hard for me to speak favor of any Roman."
"I know. I—I saw what they did to you. I don't want it to happen to me. But it was our Roman who bid me warn you of the danger."
The princess's mouth fell slightly open. "He bid you?"
"He said the procurator was out to make an example. He said he, as a Roman, could not speak against it, but if someone else did—"
"So you came to me," Wildflower agreed, nodding. "I dismissed your warning, and paid a hideous price. It was a folly I will never forget. Very well: this time I will heed your words. I will speak to my mother. But tell your Roman to stay on his land, because if he ventures from it, there will be no recourse."
"I will! I will! Oh, thank you, Princess! Thank you!" Lin dropped to her knees and kissed Wildflower's hand.
"Don't thank me," Wildflower said, embarrassed. "My mother may not listen." Then she drew her hand away. "What is his name?"
"Centurion Ittai."
"I will see. But I don't know. Mother is extremely angry."
But Lin was satisfied. She had obtained the commitment she had come for.
The revolt came suddenly, while Governor Suetonius Paulinus was campaigning in Wales, conquering the Druid stronghold at Mona. Most of the Roman forces were with him in the west, leaving almost nothing to counter the uprising in the east. The Roman forces were caught wildly unprepared. The family received news from the Britons who rushed to join the fray, and Romans who were dismayed by it.
Centurion Ittai had sent word to the authorities in Camulodunum to expect trouble, and to shore up the Roman defenses, but he had been ignored, as expected. Now the Romans were desperate. They sent to Londinium for reinforcements, but Procurator Catus sent only 200 men.
Meanwhile Queen Boudica's army marched on the city, numbering perhaps a hundred thousand men. The town was without fortifications, and had few strong points. The Britons quickly captured it and burned it. The defenders made a final stand in the Temple of Claudius, holding out for two days before the building was stormed. They were slaughtered.
As soon as the sacking was finished, Boudica's army prepared to move southwest toward Londinium. But first it moved northwest. It bypassed the region where Lin's family lived, and Lin knew that Princess Wildflower's intercession was responsible. Instead it went to meet a force of five thousand Romans from Lindum, all that they could muster on short notice. The Britons ambushed the column along the margin of the fens. The Roman infantry was cut to pieces. Only the cavalry managed to return to Lindum. Thus the only force in eastern Britain capable of meeting Boudica in the field had been decimated.
Then the action got more immediate. Centurion Ittai received orders from Governor Suetonius: he was being reactivated, and had to join Suetonius in Londinium forthwith.
"I was afraid of this," Ittai said ruefully. "That idiot Catus set off an uprising that is a major embarrassment to Rome, and now I must participate. I am a naval officer, not a commander of land forces, but when Rome is in peril, all must serve as they are able. I will deed the estate to my wife, in the event I do not return."
"Oh no you don't!" Jes protested. "I'm not sending you out alone to die! I'm going with you."
"But women are not allowed in combat."
"But officers have young male squires."
He looked at her. "I will die in the service of Rome if that is required of me, but I do not want my wife put at unnecessary risk. You are young, and—"
"You are part of my family now," Jes said. "You have saved our estate; we look after you too. Someone must go with you, and it ought to be me."
"But—"
"Suppose you are killed in battle, and we get no word? We would not know what to do. One of us must be with you."
It was clear that Ittai did not want Jes along, and not because he did not love her. He wanted her well away from danger. "There is merit in what you say," he said slowly. "But have you considered this: If you are with me, you are at increased risk of dying too. If we both die, the estate will be lost, because I can deed it only to my wife, not a native. Rome recognizes such rights only for its citizens. Then your whole family will suffer. Have you the right to put your brothers and sisters at such unnecessary risk?"
Jes froze. He had scored. This was the one time she should not be with him. The others were nodding agreement.
"Another family member can accompany me," Ittai said, following up his advantage. "One who can be spared, no offense to any of you. Perhaps Bry."
"He is working on the wall with Sam," Flo said. "In these troubled times, we need that wall finished soon."
"I'll do it," Lin said.
Both Ittai and Jes frowned. "A girl in battle conditions—" Ittai started.
"Untrained in weapons—" Jes continued.
"A boy. A squire," Lin said quickly. "And I know the princess."
"What has that to do with it?" Ittai demanded.
"I got her to have her mother bypass this region," Lin. said. "If you get wounded, maybe I can get her to get her mother to spare you." It was far-fetched, but all she could think of at the moment.
But Jes accepted it. "That just might work. Anything that promotes my husband's likely survival—"
"I don't want to share close quarters with my wife's little sister," Ittai said. "The propriety—"
"She's a child," Flo said. "There is no—"
"She's a lovely nascent young woman."
That caught Lin by surprise. She blushed.
"She is that," Ned said.
The others looked to Jes. She considered for a moment, then decided. "I trust my husband, and my sister. Go."
But now Lin wasn't sure. "I never—"
Ittai lifted his hands in surrender. "We have no time for such debate. Perhaps I spoke inappropriately. Pass as a boy, Lin, and I will treat you as one."
"And don't let him be seduced by any camp followers," Jes said with a rueful smile.
Now Ittai was embarrassed. "I never—"
Then they all laughed. It was decided.
They rode out next morning, on good horses. Lin was garbed as a squire, and Ittai referred to her as male from the outset, so as never to slip and give her away. Londinium was a day's easy ride distant, so they did not have to hurry, but they did have to keep moving.
"We must establish some rules of association," Ittai said as they paused to eat and to water the horses. "I must keep you close, which means we must share quarters, but I prefer that there be no embarrassment to either of us."
"Treat me with the unconscious contempt due a young servant," she said. "It's the only safe way."
"In public, yes. I'm glad you understand. But in private—"
"The same. The land has ears."
"And if there is violence, warn me and get clear. You will guard my possessions and carry messages, and otherwise be invisible."
"Yes, sir." She knew this mission was dangerous, but she was rather enjoying it. Had it been like this when Jes first met him?
"And keep your gloves on. By my order, if anyone asks."
"Yes, sir." This went beyond possible embarrassment. If any stranger saw her sixth finger, in this troubled time, it might be taken as an omen of evil, leading to instant mayhem.
They reached Londinium in the evening. It was a huge city, bigger than anything she had seen before; it just spread out and out. It was also a worried city, because the people knew that Boudica's terrible army was on its way. Would the Romans be able to defend it?
They rode to the garrison headquarters. It was in near panic. Ittai identified himself to the harried magistrate there. "Where is Procurator Catus Decianus?" Ittai demanded. "I must report to him."
"Sir, he departed this morning for the continent, with his staff, family, and belongings."
Ittai swore a mighty oath. "So the rat deserts the ship, his own folly holed!"
"If you say so, sir," the magistrate said, trying to suppress a bitter smile. He could not speak thus of his superior, but he could appreciate it when a higher officer did.
"Where is Governor Suetonius?"
"On the way, sir. We expect him tomorrow."
"Who is your ranking officer?"
"I am, sir. Or rather, you are, now."
Ittai swore again. It was a delight to listen to. "I know nothing of the defenses or apparatus here. Carry on as best you can, and I will report to Suetonius when he arrives. Just assign me a room for the night."
"There are plenty available, sir. Perhaps you should take Catus's former residence."
"That surely will be considerably more than adequate."
Indeed it was. The procurator's residence was palatial, with a frightened staff left without order. Ittai gave some, and they obeyed eagerly, glad for some semblance of restored order. He and Lin had a fairly good evening meal, with her tasting each item of his food first. This was a standard precaution against possible poisoning, and it showed the servants the nature of their relationship. Should she get suddenly sick, there would be a savagely enraged officer to fear. Not because of any value of the squire, but because of the effort to assassinate the officer.
Fortunately there was no problem. After the meal, Lin managed to talk with some of the servants, who naturally took her for one of them, and learned that the wife of one of the fleeing officials had been a beautiful woman named Wona. Lin concealed her surprise. It was surely the same woman they had known, once Sam's faithless wife. Wona was evidently in the kind of company she liked.
Ittai stretched, and retired to the sumptuous bedchamber suite, followed meekly by the squire. "Disgusting," he muttered as he looked around. "The toad certainly treated himself well."
"I'll sleep on a blanket by the door," Lin said.
"No, just block it with something, and take the bed in the other room. It has its own bath facilities."
"But—"
"When Queen Boudica gets here, all this will be burned. We might as well get some use of it."
She nodded and took the alternate room. This meant that she was able to strip and wash without concern. This continued to be a fine adventure, heightened by the tension of coming violence.
The cavalry arrived next day, led by Governor Suetonius. Ittai reported, but the governor was tired and distracted. "Is Poenius Postumus here?" he demanded. "He was supposed to rendezvous with me outside the city, but we didn't see him."
"He is not here," Ittai said.
"And the procurator?"
"Fled to the continent yesterday, with his family and possessions."
"What are our resources?"
"Only those you bring with you, sir."
"And the enemy?"
"Closing fast."
Suetonius made a gesture as of tearing his hair. "We have neither time nor resources to organize a defense. Do we have even the capability to evacuate?"
"No, sir."
"Then we must abandon the city. It's a black day for Rome."
"Black, indeed," Ittai agreed. "And for Londinium."
"I will assemble those citizens who can provide their own mounts, and take them into my column. Take some men and burn the city's grain stores. Anything beyond what you can carry conveniently out with you. Then join me in my ignominious retreat."
"Done, sir." Ittai saluted and got to work.
They loaded grain on their horses, then lit torches and set fire to the granary. Lin felt horribly adventurous and evil as she wielded her torch, knowing that this act meant likely starvation for many, but this was the nature of war. She watched the fire rise, fascinated despite, or because of, her horror of its significance.
They rejoined Suetonius as the smoke piled into the sky. "Just in time," the governor muttered. "The woman's minions are already entering the city. Had they been one day earlier, we would have been done for."
As they made their way out of the city, it seemed to Lin that she could hear the angry roar of the Britons, furious that their prey had escaped. And in the following days, the reports of the savagery Queen Boudica visited on the city were horrendous. It was apparent that vengeance and violence, not wealth or power, were the chief goals of the Celts. There had been some hope that the queen would hold the city for ransom, therefore not harming it much, but she did not. The population, guilty because it had been satisfied under Roman rule, was slaughtered by gibbet, fire, and cross. There was a mass sacrifice of women in the sacred groves of Andrasta, the goddess of war and fertility. Nearby cities were also sacked. It did not matter if the inhabitants were Celts rather than Romans; they received no mercy at the hands of the rebels.
Lin had had much sympathy for the Britons, who were after all her people, especially since she had seen the Roman brutality toward Boudica and her daughters. But this faded as the dreadful reports came in. At least Romans had not slaughtered Romans, and their brutality had been narrowly targeted. In contrast, anyone of either camp close to Queen Boudica was in deadly danger. Her violence had become pointless, as there was no vengeance to be had from the actual perpetrators, Catus and his guards.
By the time Boudica's forces moved out of Londinium, reliable estimates put the total number of those slaughtered at 70,000 people. And of course immense damage had been done to the physical city. All because the queen had been flogged, and her daughters raped.
Meanwhile Suetonius had been marshaling his scant forces. Between the defeats already suffered, and the abdication or mutiny of lieutenants, he was able to gather only the pitifully small force of 10,000 infantry and cavalry. Boudica moved out of Londinium with a force perhaps ten times that size, intent on catching the Romans and destroying the last vestige of their power in Britain. This was to be the final showdown.
"Perhaps it is time for you to return home," Ittai told Lin. "You have been a good squire, but there is no need for you to participate in what is coming."
He wanted her to carry word of the disaster back to the family, so that they would know which side to back, and thus avoid likely mischief. He also did not want her to see what was about to happen.
But she couldn't do it. "The battle has not yet been fought," she said bravely. "So my job is not yet done."
"But once it starts, there may be no escape. You know how the queen's army is."
She knew. But she couldn't simply flee, leaving him to his likely fate. "I must stay until I know."
He sighed. "You remind me of your sister."
"Thank you."
"But perhaps I have an alternative. You may be able to witness the battle from a safer vantage."
"Safer?"
"You know the princess. Go to her."
"But—"
"The queen has kept her daughters with her during the campaign. They suffered as sorely as she did. Their presence incites the masses to further mayhem. They share her command tent."
"I know. But—"
"The princess will want you to watch the battle. She will reject your plea, but she will accept your presence, because of what you tried to do for her. Her mother should spare you, to carry the news home. It will represent vindication for the Celts."
"But not for me!" Lin protested, tears flowing.
He shrugged. "What will be, will be. At least we will be better assured that you will return safely home."
She had to go. It did make sense. Her mission was to report to her family, whatever the nature of the news, and this would facilitate it. It was risky, approaching the princess, but not as risky as remaining with the Roman force.
So that night she left, going quietly in the boy role she had perfected. The Roman sentries did not challenge her.
The Celtic camp was a far more boisterous thing. It had sentries, but they were drinking and carousing, hardly paying attention. Indeed, what did they have to worry about? A surprise attack by the tiny Roman force? So it was easy to enter the camp, and to locate the palatial tent of the queen. It was in a separate compound in the center of the camp.
She approached the guard. This one was alert; Boudica was taking no chances with her own person. "I need to see Princess Wildflower," Lin said timidly.
"She is too young to accept a lover," he said.
But not too young to be raped. "I am no lover," she said, drawing off her cap as she had before.
"The Roman's girl!" he exclaimed, recognizing her by reputation. "You she will see."
Princess Wildflower came out. "Lin! What are you doing here?"
"I come to plead for the life of—"
Wildflower's mouth turned hard. "No. I told you he had to keep to his own demesnes. All Romans in Britain must die."
"I had to try," Lin said. That was no lie; she wished she could have gained her brother-in-law another reprieve. But there would be no reprieve here.
"Come in," the princess said. "But you may not bring a weapon inside. I must search you."
"I have only a knife," Lin said, bringing it out and proffering it hilt first.
"Even so. I believe you, but my mother has strict orders." She drew Lin into a lesser tent, where a candle burned. "Strip."
Lin complied. In a moment she stood naked. She wished her body had developed, because she felt worse naked as a child than she would have naked as a woman.
Wildflower brought out a feminine robe, which Lin donned. Then she noticed the gloves. "Them, too."
Reluctantly, Lin drew them off. Her malformed hands was exposed.
The princess stared. "Oh, I didn't know! I'm sorry. There could have been a weapon—a spike or something. But you will have to leave the gloves off. My mother will have to see."
"I—I would rather not meet your mother."
Wildflower laughed. "Nobody wants to meet my mother. But it must be. Come." She drew Lin after her, to the larger tent.
Queen Boudica was there, huge and fearsome. Her red hair swirled about her, and her eyes glittered in the candlelight.
"Mother, this is Lin—the girl who tried to warn us."
"The Roman girl!" the queen exclaimed, looking ferocious. Her voice was loud and harsh. Lin quailed.
"The Celt girl who begged us to flee the Romans," Wildflower said firmly. "But we wouldn't listen."
"So what is she warning us about this time? To flee the battle lest we be destroyed?"
Lin tried to speak, but could not.
"She came to beg mercy for the Roman."
Boudica laughed. "Plead mercy for yourself, girl; you were a fool to come here." She drew a knife with a wickedly shining blade.
Wildflower stepped in front of her. "Mother—I granted her sanctuary. She's my friend."
"She's a creature of the Romans!" Boudica made a threatening step.
"Mother!"
The queen relented. "Oh, very well. But she must make an oath of peace and friendship."
Wildflower turned to Lin. "See, she likes you." Even the queen had to smile, briefly, at that. "Will you make the oath?"
"But—but I am loyal to—"
"Yes. If you are loyal to your own, you will be loyal to those you oath. You would never have come here, if you did not have courage and honor. My mother must be assured that you mean no harm to us."
Lin was amazed. "I—I—yes, I can make that oath." There was a pause, and she realized that she hadn't phrased it properly. "I do make that oath."
"Then take back your knife," Wildflower said, proffering it.
"But—"
"You are no threat to us now, are you?"
"No, of course not. But—"
"Take it," Boudica said impatiently.
Lin accepted her knife. "I—I thank you for your trust, Queen Boudica."
"Sit down and tell us why you are really here," the queen said, sitting herself. "As a friend would."
Lin took the indicated cushion. "My—the Roman didn't want me in his camp. He said that once the battle began, there would be no escape. I am sister to his wife, and he feared that harm would come to me."
"Centurion Ittai is bearing arms?" Boudica asked sharply.
"Yes. He was summoned, and he had to go."
"We spared him once, on condition that he stay clear of us," the queen said gravely. "Now he must die."
"He—he knows that. He said the procurator was an idiot who had set off the uprising, and a rat who deserted the ship his own folly had sunk. But he had to obey the order."
The queen did not seem fully displeased with this news. "There are qualities to be respected, even in a Roman. But if you went back and told him to depart tonight, avoiding the battle, would he go?"
"No. He obeys his orders."
"So he must die. He is too competent to spare."
Lin nodded sadly. "Yes."
"But he arranged for you to be spared," Wildflower said.
"Yes."
"You will watch the battle tomorrow," Boudica said. "If you see him go down, and if you can reach him before he dies, stand over him with this tassel, and he may yet be spared." She produced a large red section of intricately woven cloth.
"Oh, thank you, Queen Boudica!" Lin exclaimed, her tears flowing.
"It will probably be too late," the queen said gruffly, and turned away.
"Come," Wildflower said, and led Lin to another section of the compound tent.
Lin gazed at the tassel. "Why—?"
"Because you came before with the knowledge of the Roman. He knew what we did not, and tried to spare us. And when it happened, he faced away in disgust."
"How could you know that?"
"We saw you with him. We knew who he was. We saw how he hated what was happening. We saw that none of his party participated. We suffered for our own folly, not heeding him. My mother remembers her friends—and even her enemies, if they show conscience."
"So does Centurion Ittai."
"Yes. So probably he will die, but it will be with honor, and your estate will not be ravaged." Wildflower paused. "And I do thank you for what you tried to do for me. I was a fool, and I paid for it. Now no man will marry me, unless he is forced. My mother will not say that, but she knows. We will see that you return safely home."
"Thank you," Lin said faintly.
They settled down for bed and sleep. The tent was not as opulent as the quarters in Londinium had been, but was much nicer than the ground outside would have been.
The next day the two forces arrayed for battle. Wildflower guided Lin to a large wagon set up behind the arrayed force of the Britons. It was in the center of a long line of carts and wagons and standing women. The wives of the soldiers had gathered to watch the slaughter of the hated Romans.
It took some time for the Celts to array their forces. There was much cursing and jostling. Lin also overheard complaints about the food: it seemed that there was not much to be had, because the Romans had destroyed the granaries before the Celts could occupy Londinium. But they were sure that there would be plenty, once the Romans had been dispatched.
Lin got up on the wagon as high as she could, trying to peer over the Celts to see the Romans. Wildflower and her sister joined her. They piled additional planks, making a taller platform, and then they were able to see all the way across the field to where the Romans were assembled. Their array looked pitifully small, backed up against a forest.
"They don't even have anywhere for their wagons to flee," Wildflower remarked.
"They don't intend to flee," Lin said.
The princess glanced at her with compassion. "They are brave, at any rate. It will be over soon."
Surely so. But now Lin remembered things about the Romans. How tough they were in close quarters, or on a field of their own choosing. How their equipment and discipline counted. She knew that Ittai, though not trained for land combat, was a competent commander of men, and excellent general strategist. Jes had told of his proficiency and courage in sea engagements. Lin remembered how Ittai had complimented Suetonius's ability in the field. These Romans were no longer fleeing; they had elected to stand on ground of their own choosing, and they would be tough.
But could they be tough enough? Could 10,000 Romans, no matter how well equipped and disciplined, possibly hold their own against a hundred thousand savage warriors? It didn't seem likely. Especially since the Celts wouldn't give any quarter. They were out to kill every Roman in Britain. Except possibly Ittai, if he fell and lay still, but wasn't killed outright. If she could get to him in time. And the queen hadn't promised him freedom, just life, maybe.
"I'm glad we aren't close enough to see the blood," Wildflower said. "We've seen enough of that already."
Surely so! This whole business had been so unnecessary, such a waste. All because of the arrogant coward Catus.
At last the Britons were ready. They were divided into tribal contingents. Their several forces of chariots charged forward, whooping savagely, eager to draw the first blood. Lin saw them sweep in several masses at the Roman lines, to hurl their javelins, trying to cause fear and confusion among the enemy troops. But the Romans didn't budge. They simply stood there at the top of a slight slope, evidently dispersing the chariot changes with concentrated fire from the archers in their auxiliaries. The chariots tried to get around the Roman flanks, but those were too well protected by rough terrain and the close forest. So there just didn't seem to be much way for the chariots to have effect. All they could do was swoop by, taunting the Romans, daring them to come out and get chopped to pieces, and retreat.
Finally the Celts decided to charge in a mass. Lin quailed, knowing that the troops on foot would not be turned aside by slopes or trees or even arrows; there were too many of them. They could take losses of thousands, and still overwhelm the defenders by sheer numbers.
The Romans did not move. Their lines remained still and straight as the ragged swarm surged close. Then, as the two forces almost converged, there was a hesitation.
"What happened?" Wildflower asked, perplexed.
"The Romans discharged their javelins at close range," Lin said. "They waited until the enemy was too close to avoid them."
Indeed, the front of the Celtic line seemed to shake, and shake again, as the second barrage of javelins was hurled. Then the Roman lines moved. "What's happening?" Wildflower asked, this time somewhat plaintively.
"The Roman infantry is advancing to attack," Lin said, relying on her memory of Roman tactics more than anything she could actually see. For now the two forces were merging, and the center was a mass of nothing distinguishable. But she knew that the Romans were charging in wedge formation, striking the Celtic lines in much the manner of a hammered peg, splintering it. Such contact was devastating, and the Celts would not be able to fight well. The Romans had short swords which were very good for stabbing in close quarters. The Celts had long slashing blades which were good when there was space, but almost as dangerous to friends as foes in tight places.
For a moment, Lin visualized a sea battle Ittai had described, where the more numerous enemy ships had gotten crowded together, unable to fight properly. The distantly seen motions of the land forces seemed to resemble that.
Then the Roman cavalry charged the Celtic flanks. The Celts, jammed in together, were unable to maneuver well, and could not effectively face the enemy.
"What's happening?" Wildflower asked once more, confused.
"The Romans are winning," Lin said, amazed. She was seeing it happen, yet she could hardly believe it.
"But how can that be? There are so few!"
"Better discipline, better equipment," Lin said wisely. These had been mere concepts to her before; now she appreciated their reality. Centurion Ittai would probably survive!
"But we have so many!"
"That's the problem. They are getting in each other's way," Then Lin saw something else. "Oops."
"What is it?" the princess asked, distracted.
"The Roman cavalry is coming here. We had better get clear in a hurry."
"But we can't go! Mother said—"
"She'll have to look out for herself. We're in trouble. Come on; jump off the wagon and flee away from the Romans. Both of you," she called, including the other princess.
"I'm not going," the other protested. "We can't lose."
"Then come on, Wildflower!" Lin cried, tugging the princess along with her as the horses charged up.
The two of them ran as fleetly as they could, hearing the thunder of the horses' hooves. Soon, breathless, they paused to look back.
The Romans were overturning the wagons and carts. The women were running and screaming, but they weren't being chased. That was another sign of a disciplined army: no plunder or rapine along the way. They were intent on winning the battle first. But why did they want to prevent the women from riding away?
Then it came clear. The Celtic army was now in confused retreat. It surged back toward the wagons—and couldn't pass them, because Roman archers were firing at them from the cover of the wagons, and the horsemen were patrolling immediately behind. It was a deadly trap.
A woman screamed. Lin looked, and saw her fall. The Romans were killing the women too!
"We must get away from here!" she said, and half dragged the princess into a second run.
They were not pursued, and soon were able to slow to a walk. They were safe, for the moment. But where were they to go now? No place would be safe for the princess, now that Rome had triumphed.
The decision was as swift as the question. "You must stay with me," Lin said. "We must get male clothing. When night falls, I'll take you to Centurion Ittai. He will protect you."
Vacant-eyed, Wildflower nodded. Lin realized that the princess had just suffered a second shock, perhaps as bad as when she had been raped and seen her mother flogged.
They were able to find clothing at a nearby deserted house—possibly its master had been killed in the battle, or merely fled the dangerous scene—and after dark Lin took the princess to the Roman camp. A guard challenged them, but she called out the password, and they were admitted.
"Lin!" Ittai cried, recognizing her as soon as she came in sight. He was not even wounded. "I feared for you." Then he paused, looking at Wildflower. "Who—"
"Another boy, just like me," Lin said quickly. "I promised sanctuary."
"Just like you," he repeated thoughtfully. "Then he had better stay close to you, until we return home in a few days. The family will decide."
By that token, he indicated that he knew the identity of the princess, and would allow her to seek sanctuary with the family. He had not approved of her raping, and would not approve of her killing. And Lin was sure the family would not turn her away, knowing that there would be no safe place for her in Britain. Any more than there would have been any safe place for Romans, had the battle gone the other way.
But there was something they needed to know. "What happened to the queen?" Lin asked him.
"She got away. We don't know what happened to her daughters; they may be with her."
Lin saw Wildflower relax a trifle. At least she knew that her mother still lived.
The Roman historians reported 80,000 Celtic deaths, compared to 400 Roman deaths, and a greater number of casualties. The rebellion was over. The remaining pockets of resistance were hunted out and exterminated. The Iceni Queen Boudica escaped, but died soon after; it is uncertain whether she poisoned herself or was taken by disease. The fate of her two daughters is unknown; they may have died, or may have faded into anonymity. Rome maintained power in Britain until the Roman Empire fragmented in the fifth century A.D. The Angles, the Saxons, and the Jutes then invaded, and it became Angle Land, or England.
In the sixth century A.D. the Roman Empire fell apart and was settled largely by "barbarian" tribes. But the Eastern Roman, or Byzantine, Empire survived, extending its hegemony over most of the eastern Mediterranean region. The westward surge of Mongol and Turkish tribes continued, and Slovenoi or Sclavini tribes moved west and south.
The Romans were as adept at playing barbarian politics as were the Chinese in the east. The emperor in Constantinople incited the Avars into action against other tribes that were harassing the borders of the empire. The Avars, nothing loath, quickly conquered the Bulgars, who were descendants of the Huns, and assimilated them into their own horde. Then they moved against the Antes and the Slavs. They defeated the former, but rather than war against the latter they made peace, because their real objective was to raid the richer Frankish kingdom beyond. Thus the Avar power extended through the large Slav territory, amicably. The Avars met the Franks to the west, but the Franks, under Sigibert, defeated them in battle. The Avars, under their new Khagan Bayan, beat the Franks in a second pitched battle, but Sigibert fared well enough to negotiate a peace and obtain Bayan's agreement to withdraw beyond the Elbe River.
The Avars then focused their attention farther to the east, allying with the Longobards (Lombards) to destroy the Germanic Gepid tribes in the modern region of Hungary. The Lombards then migrated into Italy, while Avars and Slavs filled in their former territories. Meanwhile the Slavs were raiding and looting Byzantine settlements in the Balkans, north of modern Greece, so the Roman emperor persuaded Bayan to march against his sometime allies. Bayan first asked them to submit willingly and pay tribute, but they rejected the notion and killed his envoys. This was of course asking for trouble. The Avars crossed the Danube and sacked several Slav villages. The Avars were horsemen, and the Slavs, fighting on foot, could not match them. But they avoided heavy losses by fading into the marshes and forests.
Later the fickle nature of politics made the Avars and Slavs allies again, as they raided Byzantine provinces. Some Slav tribes were independent, while others were treated as tyrannized subject peoples. Overall, they were definitely in the shadow of the Avars, forced to give way to them and pay tribute. It was not a situation the Slavs enjoyed, in the early seventh century. But what could they do?
The setting is just north of the Adriatic Sea, at the fringe of what is nominally the Eastern Roman Empire, in the mountains of what came to be modern day Austria, in the year A.D. 623.
THE FIRST THING SAM NOTICED about the prisoner was that he was a Frank. He was bedraggled and downcast, of course; he wore a collar of tough rope and his hands were tied behind him. His Avar captor would have yanked the rope tight enough to choke, at any sign of resistance. Captives learned very quickly to behave, or they died.
Sam himself had a nice gold vase, his booty from the successful raid on the Byzantine town. He had learned to be choosy, taking only what he could conveniently carry some distance home without tiring. Gold was the best for that. So he was well set.
Now he did something stupid. He joined the Avar, whom he did not know personally; Slavs as a rule did not cultivate the acquaintance of Avars, though they were nominally allies. "Mind if I share your fire a moment, before I trek home?"
The Avar looked up with annoyance, then his eye measured the size and muscle of the intruder. "Suit yourself, Slav." The Avar was chewing on dark bread.
Sam set his vase carefully in front of him, in the process turning it so that it reflected the light of the flames. He dug out his own dark bread and began to gnaw.
The Avar stared at the vase. "Where'd you find that? I couldn't find any gold."
"I poked into the crevices of a burned-out house. I thought something good might be hidden there, and I was right."
"You sure were! That thing is beautiful." He meant in terms of riches, not art; Avar raiders didn't care about art.
"But it's pretty heavy. Be a burden to carry all the way home. I see you don't have that problem."
The Avar laughed. "Right! My booty is mobile. But you got the better deal, Slav. You don't have to feed your gold."
Sam glanced at the prisoner, as if only now becoming aware of him. "I don't know. Sometimes they have skills that bring a good price on the slave market. Where's he from? He doesn't look Roman."
"I don't know. I didn't ask him. He speaks some foreign language."
"Maybe I can find out. May I question him?"
"Sure."
Sam addressed the prisoner. "What are you?" he asked in Slavic.
There was no response. "Answer him!" the warrior snapped, jerking on the rope.
The prisoner winced; it was clear that the rope chafed his neck, and he did not want more punishment. "Frank," he said. That meant that he had understood the Slavic words.
Sam spoke a little Frankish, learned from his wife.
"What is your skill?" he asked in somewhat halting Frankish.
"I am a trader."
"What's he saying?" the Avar asked.
"He says he's a trader."
"He's probably lying. Traders are smart."
"A trader?" Sam asked the prisoner. "How did you get taken captive?"
The Frank grimaced. "I was in the wrong place, the wrong time."
Sam translated that.
"For sure!" the warrior said, laughing. "Still, it would be nice if he is a trader; better price. Can you verify it?"
"I'll try," Sam said. "A trader should be able to put a fair price on this vase. You judge it, and we'll see if his price matches."
The Avar squinted at the vase. "May I heft it?"
"By all means."
The warrior picked up the vase, and tapped it with a knuckle before setting it down again.
"If you are a trader," Sam said to the Frank, "you should be able to price this vase. What is it worth?"
"Four bushels of wheat," the man replied promptly.
"But you didn't even heft it, or really look at it," Sam protested.
"Ask the Avar," the Frank said.
Sam turned to the Avar. "He says four bushels of wheat."
The man was surprised. "By Svarog, he's right!" the Avar said, swearing by a Slavic god. "That's how I priced it."
"How could you tell, without hefting it for weight?" Sam asked the Frank.
"I know my business. I have handled many such vases. I know such goods well."
Evidently so. "Are you literate?" Sam asked.
The Frank looked thoughtfully at him. "Are you pricing me?"
"My wife's Frankish."
The Frank nodded, understanding Sam's interest. A captor with a Frankish wife would likely be a better master than one who didn't even know the language. "Yes, I am literate."
Sam turned to the Avar. "He says he's literate, and has handled many such vases. That's how he knows the value."
The warrior nodded. "I heard."
"You understand his words?" Sam asked, surprised. "Then why did you have me translate?"
"To see if you were straight. Want to trade? Him for the vase?"
"Yes. We could use a literate man. But he may be worth more than the vase."
"Are you?" the Avar asked the Frank in Avarish.
"Yes," the Frank replied in the same language.
"He may be lying," the Avar said.
"A literate trader who speaks three languages? He's worth a lot." For now Sam was sure the Frank knew both Slavic and Avarish.
"Maybe to you, if you manage the sale right. He's too smart; he makes me nervous. When will I sleep, with a cunning prisoner? I'll settle for the gold; it's sure."
"Done," Sam said.
"Done." They shook hands. Then Sam picked up the vase and proffered it, and the Avar handed him the end of the rope.
When they were on their way back to Sam's village, the Frank spoke again. "Why did you want me?"
"Are you trustworthy?"
"No trader is trustworthy. He has to make a living."
"To your friends."
"You are not my friend. You are my captor."
Sam handed him the end of the rope. "I swore to my wife not to abuse any Franks. I love my wife. I give you your freedom, asking only that you repay me your value if you ever have opportunity."
"You surprise me, Slav." He considered. "I accept your bargain. I will call you friend." He picked up a clod of earth and set it on top of his head, in the Slav manner. This made the oath binding.
"Then go, friend," Sam said, impressed by the way the Frank knew the Slav culture. But of course traders made it their business to know about those with whom they dealt. The oath might not mean as much to a Frank as to a Slav.
"But I have not yet repaid you my value."
"You haven't had the chance. We may meet again some year."
"And we may not. I prefer to remain with you until I make the repayment."
"As you wish. My wife will be glad to meet you."
"I would be helpless alone, without money or weapon."
Sam reached for a knife to give the man, but the Frank demurred. "I am already too much in debt to you. I'll manage."
Sam shrugged. He hoped he had done the right thing.
The Frank put his fingers to the rope, but the knot did not readily yield. "Will you help me with this?"
Sam drew his sword. He put it carefully to the rope by the man's neck, and sawed until the strands separated. The skin beneath was red and raw from the chafing.
Sam brought out a small jar of balm he carried in case of injury, and proffered it. The Frank scooped out some and smeared it on his sore neck. "I thank you, friend."
They walked on toward the village. When night came, Sam shared the last of his traveling food, then lay down to sleep. The Frank lay a reasonable distance away, and did not stir. Sam could sleep lightly when he chose, and he trusted no one completely when out on a raid; associates could be almost as dangerous as enemies. But the Frank made no effort of treachery. He was being true to his oath of friendship.
The next morning they arrived at Sam's village, which was nestled in the protection of a dense forest. Several clans were there, their family houses set close together. They went to Sam's family house—where little sister Lin spied them. "Sam!" she cried, loudly enough to alert the others, and flung herself into his arms.
Then she looked at the Frank, turning abruptly shy. "I am a friend of Sam's, owing him a debt," the Frank said. "I am glad to meet you, pretty maiden."
Lin blushed. Her long braid and bare head signaled her status as maiden.
Snow appeared, and embraced Sam ardently. "You are uninjured," she said with evident relief. "What did you get?"
"Nothing, this time," Sam said.
"He got me—and freed me," the Frank said.
Snow stared at him, surprised. "You are—"
"Another Frank," he said. "A trader, captured in a raid, enslaved, freed for the price of my value—which I have yet to repay. But I assure you, I will repay it." He did not pay her a compliment, because her kerchief and short hair signaled her married status, apart from her obvious relation to Sam. A compliment to another man's wife could be taken as desire for her.
After that, the Frank became part of the family for a time, while his neck and bruises healed: Flo gave him a piece of amber to trade, and a day later he brought her back a fine copper necklace. Ittai gave him a larger piece of amber, and he returned with a healthy sheep. Uncertain about the legitimacy of this, Jes had him take her along the trading chain he had managed, and discovered that all those he had traded with were satisfied. The Frank was simply very good at judging values, and at persuading others that they needed what he had to offer. The right item at the right time could be worth more to a particular person than it seemed.
Soon the Frank was managing the family trade, and the family prospered. The size of the family collection of cows, sheep, horses, goats, pigs, dogs, and chickens doubled. Everyone came to know and like the Frank. But the Frank, meanwhile, adopted Slav attire. He donned a coarse wool shirt, leggings supported by a rope belt, and leather sandals. He shaved away his beard, but kept his mustache. Women found him attractive, and he found them attractive, but he avoided any suggestion of interest in any woman of Sam's clan. In short, he behaved well.
The family had come upon difficult times, because their tribe was not closely allied to the powerful Avars, and was forced to pay tribute of barley, wheat, millet, rye, and oats—a hefty share of everything they were able to grow. If they did not produce enough, and pay enough, Avar raiders would come and take it by force, and perhaps take a few of their women too. Ittai had once been a Roman, but had moved to these hinterlands when he married into the family, and his wealth had been leached by the raiders. That was why Sam had had to turn to raiding himself; it was better to join the raiders than to be raided by them.
Sam tried to suggest that the Frank had repaid his value, because of the improvement of family circumstances brought about by his flair for trading. But the man demurred. "You gave me my freedom; I owe you yours."
"I am free," Sam protested.
The Frank did not argue, but neither did he depart.
In due course they built a house for him, square in the conventional manner, submerged more than a meter into the ground. The walls were wood, and the roof was covered with sod for insulation. It was mainly a single room, with a stone hearth in one corner. It was said that a number of fair women shared nights by that hearth.
Ned became friends with the Frank, who openly admired Ned's intellect. The Frank made no claims to being the smartest of men, but he had a power of persuasion that was at times uncanny. Ned was in turn fascinated by this. "The man is a genius in getting along," he said.
Then the Avars came. It seemed that the clan tribute was not enough. The levees had been raised, leaving the clan in arrears. They had to give up half their stores for the winter. They would be hungry long before spring.
"Something must be done about this," the Frank said angrily. "You are being treated like slaves. I have a notion what that feels like."
He surely did. But what could anyone do?
"We can't beat the Avars," Sam said. "Hunger is better than death."
"But independence is better than hunger."
"For sure!" Sam agreed. "If only we could achieve it."
"We can achieve it if we unify."
Sam shook his head. "We Slavs have never been able to do that."
"I believe it is worth trying. Failure would leave us where we are now. Success could benefit us greatly."
Sam laughed. "Persuade Ned."
The Frank nodded. "I shall."
And to Sam's amazement, he did. That same day, Ned asked Sam and Ittai for a family meeting.
"The Avar strength in this region is slight," the Frank said. "It is Slavic force that prevails, if we but knew it. We serve as allies to bolster the Avars, answering to them. Yielding the bulk of our winnings to them. If we unified and reserved our forces to ourselves, we could profit from our own power."
"Are you speaking of Slavs or Franks?" Flo asked.
"Of Slavs. My origin is Frank, but now I am Slav."
"It does happen," Snow remarked, and the others smiled.
"Listen to him," Ned said. "He may be able to do us much good."
"I would like to go to the leaders of the other clans and tribes," the Frank said. "To persuade them that if we can unify, we can oust the Avars and rule ourselves. But I can't do it alone, because—"
"Because they won't listen to a Frank any more than they will listen to a Roman," Ittai said. "Unless supported by a native Slav leader."
"Sam," Snow murmured.
And so Sam found himself traveling again with the Frank, and with Ned, to make the case to the leaders of other Slavic tribes of the region. Sam was not good at public speaking, so he yielded that job to Ned, nodding as Ned spoke, and Ned introduced the Frank.
They went first to the leaders of the Visians, the tribe to which their own clan belonged. Sam's family was in good repute there, so it was not hard to gain an audience.
At first the others were cynical. "What is your name, Frank?"
"I speak for Sam," the Frank said. "My foreign name does not matter."
"Then we shall call you Samo, in lieu of Sam." A chuckle went around the circle. They were not taking him seriously.
"Call me Samo," the Frank agreed with a smile. "Sam gave me my freedom. It is a name I honor."
They did not argue with that. He had answered well, without either taking or giving offense.
Then the Frank spoke of the power of unity, and the inherent greatness of Slavs, and the indignity of taking orders from any foreign power. His persuasiveness manifested, and soon they were nodding, and agreeing. He played upon their prides and their prejudices with an art that Sam could only envy from the depths of his inability to speak similarly.
In the end, they yielded to the Frank's vision. "If you can get other tribes to join, the Visians will stand with you, Samo," their leader said.
"I hope they are as perceptive as you are," Samo replied. There were smiles; they knew he was idly flattering them, but the dream was catching hold.
They went next to the Moravanians, the most powerful Slav tribe of the region. This was a more difficult audience, but in the end it was the same. Later they managed to bring the leaders of the Czech, Slovak, and Polabian tribes together for a common meeting, with a Moravanian leader attending, for news was spreading, and the Frank persuaded them all. They would unite and throw out the Avars.
But who would lead this effort? The Slavs suffered from the same problem as always: they could agree on no single one of them to govern others for more than a single battle. There were too many rivalries and resentments.
"You must speak," Ned told Sam. "It is the only way."
Sam knew what to say. He was shaking as he stood before the group, for he was a man of action, not speech. "I am Sam," he said. "I am no leader. But I know one who is. It is the Frank. He has no history with us; he has not fought against neighboring clansmen. He was a trader. But he knows what to do. Follow him." He stopped, knowing he had spoken clumsily. He hated that.
"Well spoken, Brother," Ned said. "Follow the one who knows. Follow Samo."
"But he is foreign," a leader protested. "How can we know he has our interests at heart?"
Ned turned to the Frank. "How do you answer?"
"I am of foreign origin," the Frank said. "But I was taken captive by an Avar, and given freedom by a Slav. I swore to restore to him my value. I will not leave his people until I have done that. My value is what he gave me: freedom. I will stay with him until I have given him freedom. And since he can not be free until his people are free, I will try to give his people freedom. And I will join his people. Every person I work with will be Slav, and I will marry a Slav woman. I will become Slav to the best of my ability. All that I do will be for the Slavs."
"Even if the Franks should oppose us?" a leader demanded.
"Even then," he agreed. "I make my oath on it." And he took up a handful of earth and put it on his head.
They were impressed. They debated among themselves, and they set certain conditions, but they accepted him as their leader for now. He would have to be adopted into a Slav tribe, and heed the council of representatives from all the tribes. Samo agreed, and began by appointing Sam and Ned as his chief lieutenants, and asked for the daughter of a Slav leader to marry that same day.
This time there was less hesitation, because women were well regarded among the Slavs and were heeded by their husbands. All five tribes offered women.
"If I may take them all as equals, I will marry them all," Samo said gallantly.
They considered. This would mean that each tribe had a ranking woman close to the leader. None would be slighted. They agreed.
A protocol was issued: the Slavs would no longer tolerate foreign interference in their affairs.
They proceeded immediately to organization and training for war, because they knew the Avars would not ignore this rebellion. Their best war leaders and men labored to form a unified force. Certainly it was the largest force they had assembled, because it was drawn from five tribes instead of one. But the Avars were brutal fighters; would this new Slav army be able to prevail, or would it collapse under the Avar onslaught?
Samo was concerned about that too. He consulted long hours with the war leaders, and with Ned, and with Ittai, who knew of Roman tactics. Thus there were military schools to draw from: Slav, Frank, and Roman. They devised solid new strategies, considering the ways of the Avars. The leaders were impressed; Samo himself was not a military expert, but he knew how to get the best advice from all sources.
The Avars marched. They were contemptuous but careful. They obviously expected to win, and they maintained good military discipline. But their contempt nevertheless betrayed them, because they allowed the Slavs to select the battle site. The Slav leaders shook their heads. "They are fools. We will destroy them."
It turned out not to be that easy. The ground was hilly, with alternating bare slopes and forests, so that the action was somewhat dispersed. They had intended it that way, so as not to have to meet the Avars on open, level ground, but now it was interfering with them almost as much as with the enemy. There were problems of organization and coordination, and a certain disinclination to go to the aid of a usually rival tribe when it was hard pressed. One group had overrun an Avar contingent and taken booty, but other Avars were closing in and it was about to be in trouble.
Samo, watching from the height of a protected hill with his lieutenants, cursed. "Ned, go tell that Czech force to go to the aid of that Slovak force, and to the netherworld with their damned rivalries! We all fight together, or we are all doomed."
Ned went to his horse. He was being sent because the leaders knew him, and knew he could be trusted.
"Sam, go to the Slovaks and tell them to retreat until the Czechs arrive. They know how to do it."
Sam nodded and went to his horse. He galloped down through the forest, staying out of sight of the action until he reached the Slovaks. "Retreat, by order of Samo!" he cried to the commander. "Until the Czechs arrive to help."
"What? Does he think we are cowards? We're just getting started. We don't need any Czechs."
"He said that you know how to do it," Sam said, with a meaningful look.
"Of course we know how to do it! That's why we don't need any Czechs!"
That damned fractiousness was getting in the way again. The Slovak commander thought he could handle it alone. "Samo has given the order," Sam said firmly. "Shall I tell him you choose to disobey it?"
The man paused, considering. "Ah, yes." Then he gave the orders.
The retreat began. The Avars, taking this as the turning point, eagerly surged forward. The Slovaks' retreat became a rout; they overran their rear formation, whose members dropped their booty and ran away.
The Avars broke their formation, going after the booty. Their expectations were being met; at the first sign of real battle the Slavs were fleeing. They began to quarrel over the spoils. The discipline they had shown under combat evaporated.
Then the Czech contingent arrived. The Slovaks turned, quickly resuming their formation, and charged back to the attack. Sam was in their midst, glad to get in a bit of real action while he could. The Avars were caught flat-footed by one of the oldest tricks in the Slav combat manual. They fought, but they were at a double disadvantage, in poor formation facing fresh troops. Soon they were the ones in retreat.
But the Slovak commander spotted him. "Did Samo give you orders to fight?" he asked pointedly.
Sam sighed. He broke off and started back to Samo's headquarters to report.
So it went. The battle was brutal, but in the end the merged Slavic army defeated the Avars. It was not a rout, but the enemy force took solid losses and was forced to withdraw. Victory was theirs!
Slavs had won battles before, and always then separated into their separate tribes with their loot. But this time that did not happen. "If we let our alliance dissolve, the Avars will take vengeance on us separately," Samo said. "We must maintain our power and vigilance.
He was right, and they saw it. Grateful for the victory, and still unable to back any individual leader among their own ranks, they named Samo king. Thus came to be the Kingdom of Greater Moravia, also called the Kingdom of Samo.
In due course Samo issued a royal decree: the family of Sam's clan answered to no one but the king himself, and he made an oath that he would never give an unreasonable order to that clan. "Sam gave me my freedom and my name; now I have returned my value to him."
Of course it was not that simple, historically. But the Kingdom of Samo endured, even defeating the Frankish king Dagobert in 632. Thus it maintained its independence, answering to none of its powerful neighbors, the Avars, the Franks, and the Byzantines. It survived intact, about the size of modern Germany, until Samo's death in 658. Then it was absorbed back into the Avar empire, and was largely lost to history, but still served as the kernel around which later Slavic unions and nations were formed. Samo had shown the way.
This was, however, only a brief respite in the fortunes of the Slavs, who were overrun by many other peoples, and whose very name was taken by some to mean "slaves." Today their presence manifests in such names as Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, which names are fragmenting as their nations do.
Once again, the tribes are fragmenting after unification brought them victory or economic success. It has ever been thus.
The second millennium A D. was a time of generally rising levels of civilization and warfare. One of the largest empires of human history, that of the Mongols in Asia, was formed and dissipated, and later came the European global expansion. But some of the more interesting by-paths of history occurred on smaller scales. Among these was the trade rivalry of two north Italian cities, Venice and Genoa. Venice was on the northeast coast, at the northern end of the Adriatic Sea; its influence and trade expanded through the Adriatic region and the Aegean, and even as far as the coasts of Egypt and Asia Minor. Genoa was on Italy's northwest coast; its trade was westward as far as Spain and south to the African shore.
But there was an exception to this pattern: in 1201 the Genoese settled at Kaffa on the Crimean peninsula at the north coast of the Black Sea, in rival Venetian territory. This was a connection to an overland trade route from the far east, so was potentially a rich one. The Venetians established a trading post at Azov, in the same area, north of the Crimean peninsula. Thus the rivalry of the major Italian cities was echoed in the far-flung minor ones.
Then politics took a hand: in 1261 Genoa backed a revolt that placed a friendly emperor on the Byzantine throne, and was granted a monopoly on trading rights to the region. In 1266 the Mongol Khanate of the Golden Horde ceded a piece of land there to the Genoese. Thus the tiny trading port became the center of European trade with Asia. A burgeoning Christian city grew up around the central fortress.
Later, the winds of political favor changed, and the Venetians returned in force. In 1296 a fleet of twenty-five Venetian ships attacked and laid waste the port and fortress at Kaffa. In 1307 the khan was angered because the Italian merchants were supplying Turkish slaves for the Mamelukes of Egypt. He felt this deprived the steppe of potential soldiers. He sent an army to besiege Kaffa. The Genoese had to abandon the city. They took to the sea, burning the port and city behind them.
But in a few years the situation changed again, and the Mongols allowed the Genoese to rebuild Kaffa. Perhaps they missed the trade, from which they, too, profited handsomely. By 1316 Kaffa was flourishing again. The Venetians were also allowed to return, and they built a trading colony at Tana, which may have been a restoration of the prior one they had had at Azov. The exact nature of the relationship between the colonies of Venice and Genoa in this region is uncertain; probably it blew hot and cold as local politics shifted. There is evidence of both quarrels and cooperation.
In 1343 an Italian merchant encountered a Mongol in the market place of Tana. The Italian insulted the one he termed a Tartar. The Mongol responded with a blow. The Italian drew his sword and killed him. This set off other street fights, and a number of Mongols were killed. The khan, not one to take such affront lightly, then drove the Venetians from Tana. They sought refuge in Kaffa, which was better defended. In 1345 and 1346 Genoa and Venice combined their fleets to enforce a blockade of the Mongol coast. Meanwhile in 1344 and 1346 the Mongols besieged Kaffa. They were unable to take the city, and the Italians blockaded the Black Sea, preventing all foreign traffic from entering or leaving Mongol waters. It was a stalemate.
Then came the plague.
FLO WAS BUSY ORGANIZING THE day, so it was some time before she became aware of Wildflower's proximity. The girl was actually of a high-born Mongol family, but complications of politics and vicissitudes of battle had stranded her amidst enemies. Lin had saved her by garbing her as a boy and bringing her to Captain Ittai, who had stashed them on his ship and brought them home to Kaffa. Because Mongols were not in good repute at the moment in the city, the girl was confined largely to the house for the duration of the siege. Normally she kept to herself, doing whatever was asked without complaint, and doing it well. She had once, Flo understood, been imperious, but the loss of her position had entirely changed her nature. She was really a very good house guest, and Flo rather liked her. But now something was evidently bothering her.
Flo paused in her activity. "What is it, Princess?"
"I—I—do not wish to give offense."
There had once been a day when she wouldn't have cared about giving offense. But maybe that had been a schooled royal attitude, and now the real nature of the girl was showing. "You haven't given any of us any offense yet. What do you have in mind?"
"I—I am about to be fourteen." In my—among my people, that is considered an age to—to—to be betrothed."
"Oh, my," Flo breathed. "Let me look at you, girl."
Wildflower stood up straight. Flo saw that she was indeed coming into womanhood, with a nice face, nice legs, and breasts verging on nubility. Her hair was long and braided in the Genoese manner for young unmarried women. She wore a fitted robe laced down the front, with elbow-length sleeves whose back sides descended down past the elbows. She was an attractive girl, without doubt. But she was Mongol, and Genoa was at war with the Mongols. Her prospects for marriage within the city were nil. If she even went out on the street with her race and gender showing, she would be raped and killed in short order.
"I know I am not of good repute—because—"
"Among your own people, you would be quite attractive," Flo said quickly.
"No."
"Oh, I'm sure of it! In time of peace, even Genoese have taken Mongol brides. Especially when they are pretty. And you are pretty. How much more likely that one of your own would, especially considering your royalty. When this war is done, and you can go out—"
"No. I was—was—"
Oh. "You were raped by Venetians, when they captured you. But we understand about that. I myself was raped, long ago, and Snow—"
"Yes. You of Sam's family do not condemn. And the one I—the one I wish—"
Flo felt an expectant shiver. "Who?" But she already knew.
"Ned. But he—"
"He thinks of you as a little sister. Like Lin."
"Yes."
"Do you really like him, or is it that he is your only prospect?"
Wildflower looked at her, and tears started from her eyes. Answer enough.
Flo considered further. Wildflower was a good girl, with many skills and a sweet disposition. She was young, but old enough. She could make Ned a good wife. If he ever noticed her in that manner.
"I will do what I can," Flo said.
Then Wildflower ran to her and hugged her. She was a young woman now, but had not yet given up all of her delightfully youthful ways.
"But it may take time," Flo warned her. "A man can't be forced in such things."
"I know. I will be patient."
Flo returned to her preparation of the big meal of the day, and Wildflower returned to her washing of clothing. It seemed a shame to have a princess doing such menial chores, but it did help conceal her nature, and the girl didn't seem to mind.
Snow returned, carrying a bag of vegetables from the market place, with her son Sid. Flo looked up from her work, smiling. The woman was well dressed, for she was the wife of the head of the family and needed to maintain appearances. Her hair was finely coifed, tied into an intricate braid, or rather, twin braids coiled over the ears, contained by woven netting. She wore a loose surcoat whose sleeves were buttoned from the shoulder to the wrist.
Flo liked Snow, and it wasn't because the two had a fair amount in common; it was that Snow truly loved Sam and would never play him false. Sam was working on the constant but essential shoring up of the city wall, to be sure that no weakness developed. The city depended on that wall for its security. If the Mongols ever breached the wall, there would be great wailing and gnashing of teeth for sure, not to mention wholesale raping and killing. Flo wasn't worried; the wall was massive and high, and was constantly guarded; the enemy didn't have a chance. But Sam and Dirk made sure that nothing happened to it.
"All is well?" Flo inquired.
"All is well," Snow agreed. "But Dirk says something is going on out there. We don't know what. There aren't as many catapults operating as before."
"Maybe they are running out of rocks to hurl," Flo suggested.
"Dirk doesn't think so. He says there seem to be plenty of rocks. They just aren't hurling them."
"That certainly saves us work," Flo said. "Fewer rocks, fewer repairs." But she wondered. It wasn't like the Mongols to give any battle less than their best, and a siege was a kind of battle. Of course the Mongols weren't good at siegework, despite illustrious exceptions, because the tribes tended to become restless and dilatory when faced with long, dull sieges. Still, this sudden cessation of activity was surprising.
Snow put Sid to sleep, then stripped to her close-fitting underdress and got to work beside Flo, preparing the produce she had brought in. It wasn't especially good, but that was because it all had to be imported by ship and spent too much time in the hold. It was still much better than nothing, whatever the children might think.
In the afternoon, Bry and the children charged in. "They are—" Bry cried.
Flo blocked them off. "Don't come in here all dirty!" she exclaimed. "Get those filthy things off!"
"But they are—" Bry protested as Flint and Wilda grimaced. They were close to six years old, and loved dirt.
"You know the rule! I'll tolerate no city dirt and no vermin in this house."
"I must be one or the other," Bry muttered, and the children giggled. They started stripping off their clothing, which was indeed badly soiled. Wildflower delicately turned her back, to allow them to stand naked and wash at the tub, also dumping in the badly soiled clothing. Flo, of course, didn't matter; she had seen everything times beyond counting.
When they were all clean and in fresh outfits, Bry was finally allowed to blurt out his news: "The Mongols! They're falling sick! It's the plague!"
Flo felt a chill as she exchanged a glance with Snow. She knew of the plague; Jes had suffered it two years ago, and reported that it was deadly. The Mongol siege was bad enough, but a siege of the plague could be worse.
"If it is out there," Snow murmured, "it will soon be in here."
"Yes," Flo agreed grimly. "We had better hold a family council."
"Why?" Bry asked. He was thirteen, and curious about everything.
"We might find it expedient to get on the ship," Flo said quietly. "Soon."
"Oooooh!" the children exclaimed, clapping their hands with delight. They usually went aboard Ittai's ship only to visit when it was in port.
"Yes, that might be fun," Flo said, with a warning glance at Bry.
But the ship was not in the harbor at the moment, so that was not an immediate option. They would have to hope that the plague did not come to the city before Ittai and Jes arrived home. Meanwhile they quietly stocked up on all supplies they could, because Flo knew that once the plague entered the city, there would be panic, and it would not be safe to set foot outside the house.
But meanwhile it was best to act as if nothing was out of order, so as not to precipitate that panic. So Bry and Lin and the children went out to play as usual, but more carefully than before, and not far from the house. If the plague came, Flo wanted everyone safely in the house as long as possible.
The news from outside was that the Mongols were being ravaged by the plague, and would soon have to abate the siege. That seemed like good news to many townsmen, but Flo knew better. Nobody knew how the plague spread, but it surely could penetrate the walls. Whatever the Mongols suffered, the city well might suffer too. If only Ittai's ship would get back in time!
Sam and Dirk, in their hooded cloaks, coarse wool trousers, and working aprons, brought grim news from the wall: the Mongol catapults were active again, but now they were not hurling rocks. They were hurling bodies. The bodies of enemy warriors killed by the plague.
"We don't want those bodies with us!" Flo said at the impromptu family meeting. "Maybe the dead can't give it to the living, but—"
"But maybe they can," Sam said grimly.
"Maybe they can, indeed," Ned agreed. "We must get those bodies out as fast as they come in."
"Yes," Wildflower said faintly. But Flo saw that Ned didn't notice her.
The city authorities agreed. Crews were organized to haul out the bodies, street by street. Every able-bodied man not already active in the defense was expected to participate, however ugly the chore.
"For once I'm with the authorities," Flo said. "Our men are busy, but we have other hands. I will haul bodies, and—"
"So will I," Ned said. He was the best dressed of the men at the moment, because he worked more with his mind than his hands. He wore a close-fitting tunic that tied up at the front, with a leather belt and pointed shoes.
"So will I," Wildflower said.
Ned shook his head. "You should stay inside, girl. That plague is ugly."
Flo was about to agree with him, but managed to stifle herself. If the two could work together...
"If you get the plague, you will bring it inside anyway," Wildflower said. "We all may get it. Unless we get those bodies out quickly. So I might as well help."
"But if the city folk see a person of your race—"
"I will shroud my head in gauze, to stop the plague. No one will see me."
He looked at Flo. "Are you going to let this child take this risk?"
Flo saw Wildflower wince. She considered. "As she says, we are all at risk. Our best hope is to get those bodies out as quickly as possible. And she's not a child."
"Yes she is."
Flo smiled. "Ned, girls grow up to become women. She has done so."
"No she hasn't."
Flo kept her face neutral. "Wildflower, if you will, show him your figure."
Wildflower was glad to oblige. She unlaced her robe and removed it, standing straight in her close-fitted underdress. She took a deep breath so that her small but definite breasts were accented. She unbraided her long black hair and let it fall to her waist. She met Ned's astonished gaze, and smiled.
"I think he remains unconvinced," Flo said mischievously, noting the way his pupils had dilated. She herself was surprised by just how far Wildflower had developed. She was slender, but her hips and thighs were solid, establishing her capacity for childbearing. "Perhaps you should take off some more."
"No need," Ned said quickly. He knew as well as she did that there wasn't anything under the underdress. "I yield the point, little sister."
"I'm not your sister."
"Well, it's the same thing. You and Lin—"
"I live here by the sufferance of your kind family," Wildflower said carefully. "It is no affront to be taken as Lin's sister. But I am not."
He shrugged. "As you wish." He turned away.
"So we three will go out and haul bodies," Flo said briskly. "Snow and Lin will take care of the children. But we must wear gloves."
They did not argue. No one knew how the plague was spread, but physical contact seemed the most likely vector.
No bodies landed in their street that day or the next, but when one did come, they were ready. Gloved and masked, the women wearing baggy borrowed men's trousers, the three went out to the gruesome corpse.
The thing stank. The man had evidently fouled himself before dying, and no one had cleaned him up. That suggested the intensity of the siege of the disease. His clothes reeked of urine, feces, and vomit. On his neck was a horrible swelling sore. His eyes were staring and bloodshot; he must have suffered terribly before dying.
"The feet," Flo said, suppressing her rising gorge. "Drag him by the feet. Don't touch anything but his boots." She leaned down to grab one boot, and Ned took hold of the other. "Wildflower, see if you can signal the corpse wagon."
The girl nodded and ran ahead of them down the street. They hauled the corpse along. No one else came out to offer help; the majority of the people of the city had such fear of the sickness that they would not get close to a corpse even to try to save themselves from the plague. At least that made it easy to do the job; the street was clear.
The body was heavy, and they were panting by the time they brought it to the end of the street where it intersected the main road. Wildflower had succeeded in signaling the wagon, and it was approaching. The key to rapid disposal of the bodies was rapid location and movement to pickup points; it was well organized, because of the importance of the task.
They waited while the wagon arrived. Two men jumped down and picked up the body, heaving it onto the back. Like Flo and the others, they wore gloves. "Good job," one said. Without delay they got back aboard and started the horses onward.
That was all there was to it. Except for the cleanup. Neither Ned nor Wildflower argued when Flo said they would wash both themselves and their clothing immediately upon re-entry to the house. They had seen the festering corpse, and wanted none of that for themselves.
Snow had already set out the washtub, full of water. She took the children and retreated, giving them privacy for their act. They stripped as quickly as possible and dumped their clothing in a pile. Then they took sponges and cleaned themselves, rapidly but efficiently, doing their hair too. They helped each other with their backs, wanting to miss no places, lest the plague fix there.
Flo was mature and fat and Ned's true sister, so she knew he had no problem with her. But she watched surreptitiously to see whether he had any problem with naked Wildflower. She saw him wince once, as he scrubbed the girl's back and got a good view of her rounded bottom, but he suffered no masculine reaction. Evidently he still regarded her as a sister. Too bad. Wildflower was almost as pretty as Lin, and her body looked even more feminine naked. She really would be a fine mate for a man.
Only when they were clean did they dump the clothing into the tub. Flo started to wash it, but Wildflower stayed her hand. "I'll do it; I know how."
Flo nodded. "We'll go get dressed," she said. "I'll bring you clothing." For by prior agreement, they had had no new clothing in the room, lest it become contaminated.
She and Ned went to the next chamber, where Snow had laid out the things. Flo was glad to get dressed again; she did not much like showing off her body. Ned seemed the same, though he was a fine figure of a young man. "Good job," she said, echoing the wagon man.
"Yes," he agreed.
That was all. She left him and took Wildflower's clothing to her. But she had noticed a trace of blood in Ned's mouth as he spoke. She knew its significance.
"Thank you," Wildflower said, accepting and donning the clothes. Then, after a pause: "He really does regard me as a sister."
Flo shook her head. "There was blood in his mouth."
Wildflower looked at her, alarmed. "Not the plague!"
Flo smiled. "No, dear. He bit his tongue."
"To stop from retching, out there?"
"No. While washing your back."
The girl stared at her. "He hated doing that?"
"You know better than that. He saw you, when he thought no one observed."
Slowly, Wildflower smiled. "Do you think it took much pain, to stop—it?"
"Yes."
"Thank the Christian God!" Now there were tears of relief on her face.
"Next time you can ask him to wash your front. He'll be in danger of biting his tongue off."
Wildflower giggled, then sobered. "Why doesn't he want me to see his interest?"
"Because his feelings are mixed. For the past year he has seen you as a virtual sister. Now he sees you with an appealing body. It feels like incest. So he fights it. But give him time. He will come to see you as a separate woman."
"I hope so."
No more corpses landed on their street. Flo was almost disappointed, as was Wildflower. But all too soon they had another concern, for the plague appeared within the city. First in scattered houses, and the bodies were taken out by the wagon for dumping in the sea. Then it became endemic, striking in almost every house.
"We must get out of Kaffa," Flo said. "We have been lucky so far, but there is too much of it; we're bound to be caught if we stay."
But they couldn't leave, because Ittai's ship had not yet come in, and there was no passage on any of the others. Everyone wanted to get out of the city!
A neighbor came. "Please—my husband—he will die. You are a healing woman; you can help him!"
"All I know is caring for my family," Flo said.
"And they are all healthy."
What could she do? "I'll try."
The man had a huge black swelling on his neck: the bubo. He was writhing and groaning continuously. Flo put her hand on his head, but couldn't keep it there because of his motion. One touch sufficed, however: he was burning hot. He smelled, too; he had defecated in his clothing.
"Get him clean," Flo said. When the woman seemed not to understand, Flo tackled the job herself. She drew the clothes off the man, stripping him naked. The woman did not protest. One advantage of being fat was that one had no sexual attraction, so was considered no threat to anyone else's man. She fetched a bucket with water, and used a large sponge to wash the soiled region.
The man relaxed, and fell into an uneasy sleep. Flo realized that the coolness of the water must have done it. So she rinsed out the sponge and washed his whole body. His sleep became less troubled. "Keep him clean, keep him cool," she said. "Maybe it will help."
The woman nodded, and Flo returned to her own house. But she visited the neighbor man several times thereafter, mainly to offer moral support to the distraught wife.
The man's fever continued, and he sweated copiously, and the sweat carried its own stench. So did his very breath. The woman was keeping him clean, now, but everything about him stank of the plague. The discoloration of his skin spread out from the bubo, the splotches ranging from red to black.
On the third day the bubo on the neck broke open and thick pus welled out. Flo clenched her teeth and mopped it up. After that the man seemed able to relax better, as if the illness was draining from his body. In two more days the fever faded, his skin cleared, and he began to take an interest in food.
"He is mending!" the woman cried. "You did it! You saved him!"
Flo shook her head. "I just tried to make him more comfortable. He threw off the malady himself." But she was glad to have helped.
Meanwhile the city was in a siege of another kind: terror. Everyone wanted to escape, but could not. Panic was endemic. The overland route away was too dangerous; even with the Mongol siege lifted, the terrain was hardly safe from the wrath of the khan, and anyway, the plague was there too.
Then Sam got the plague. He developed a swelling in the armpits, and ran a high fever. He made it home under his own power, and to the bed, then collapsed.
"I can take care of him," Flo said grimly, knowing how horrible this was going to get.
"No, it's my job," Snow said.
Flo didn't argue. She had made the offer, expecting it to be turned down. "Then Lin should take care of Sid."
Snow paused, then nodded. They knew that there was no point in exposing the baby to the plague. Snow would continue nursing him, but at other times he would be kept away from her. There was no problem; Lin had cared for him before, when Snow was busy.
They closed off the chamber where Sam lay. Snow was the only one to enter it. So far the plague did not seem to travel from person to person, but there was no point in taking chances.
The next day Dirk fell ill. Did he, too, have the plague? They moved him in with Sam, and now Flo entered the chamber, because it had become her business.
They used clothes and cool water to bathe their men constantly, trying to ease the fever. It didn't seem to help much. Both men just seemed to get sicker.
Sam's armpit swelling expanded, turning deep red. He flung his muscular arm out, groaning. "What is it, my dear?" Snow asked helplessly.
"The bubo hurts," he said, grimacing. "Cut it out!"
Snow looked helplessly at Flo. "What can I do?"
Flo considered. When the neighbor's bubo had suppurated, he had started mending. Maybe that was the key. "We will drain it," she said.
She fetched a sharp knife with a thin, almost needlelike point. She sponged off the swelling. "This will hurt, a moment," she said. "But it may help."
"Do it!"
"Snow, hold his arm," she said. "So I can work."
Snow took hold of Sam's arm, clasping it to her generous bosom. Flo aimed the knife point, then stabbed it precisely into the center of the bubo.
Sam grunted. His arm swept down, hauling Snow with it, so that she landed across his chest. Flo barely got the knife out of the way in time.
Then Sam relaxed, and Snow recovered her balance. Flo lifted the arm away, and he did not resist.
Her aim had been true. Blood and pus were welling out of the hole she had made. "The pressure is off," Sam said. "It doesn't hurt as bad."
"It is draining," she explained. Then, to Snow: "Let it drain. Keep it clean. Better that poison come out, than stay in his body."
Dirk was more fortunate. His fever broke, and there was no bubo. He was ill with something else, and was recovering. That was a relief.
Sam mended, and Dirk did. The draining of the bubo seemed to have been the turning point for Sam. Flo knew that it might be coincidence, but she was glad that her experience with the neighbor man had given her the hint.
Then Ned came down with the plague. He had gone to the wall to see to the unfinished work of the other two, because though the Mongols appeared to have given up the siege, that could be a ruse. Now he had the swelling in the neck, and the fever.
"We know how to tend him," Flo said.
"My turn," Wildflower said. "Please."
"Girl, this is ugly business," Flo warned her.
"I know. But if I stand idle, and he dies—"
"We'll do it together," Flo decided.
They moved Sam out. He remained weak, but could walk, and was no longer in danger. They left Dirk for another day or two; his illness was routine, but debilitating. Ned took his brother's place.
Wildflower had been somewhat prepared by the body they had hauled out of the street, and by discussion of Sam and Dirk's illnesses. But Flo feared she was not ready for the malady in Ned. So she kept a close if unobtrusive eye out.
"We shall have to strip him and bathe him," Flo said. "I can do it—"
"No. I will do it."
"He will stink. It is the odor of the plague, coming from his breath, skin, spittle, and all else. It must simply be endured."
"The smell carried through the house," Wildflower said, wrinkling her nose as she smiled.
"He will foul himself. We must simply clean it up."
"I will do it."
And Wildflower bravely did the required jobs, leaving Flo to tend to Dirk. Flo hoped it wouldn't extirpate her feeling for the young man, because the more this former princess buckled to the noxious task, the better respect Flo had for her.
Ned's fever was high, and in the throes of it he cried out in delirium. "Wona, no! Don't make me do it!"
"Who?" Wildflower asked, perplexed. "Do what?" But he was lost in some other realm.
"It may be time for you to know," Flo said. "But you must never repeat it."
"Repeat what?"
"Ned was seduced by Sam's first wife, a beautiful and faithless woman. He could not break her hold. So we sent her away, and Sam found Snow instead. Sam does not know, and Ned feels guilt. So if you have a relation with him—"
"That could be a problem," Wildflower agreed. "But if he didn't rape her—"
"She raped him, really."
"Then I understand well enough," the girl said grimly. "Better than someone else might."
"We do understand about rape," Flo said.
Then at last the ship came in. Ittai and Jes arrived home in style, as befitted their status as proprietors of a merchant vessel. He wore a short buttoned tunic of intricate pattern, divided down the center into opposing colors, with a fringed collar and a long pointed hood. Beneath it was a long-sleeved shirt with decorative buttons and armbands with descending cloth streamers. He wore a jeweled girdle about the hips, and hose with each leg a different color. His pointed shoes buttoned at the ankle and the top of the arch. Jes's hair was too short to be braided, but she wore a pretty tiara. Her gown was sideless and sleeveless, and laced with fine ribbons from shoulder to hip. Flo knew they hadn't worn those elegant outfits on the ship; they had changed just before disembarking.
The family made immediate arrangements to embark. But Captain Ittai balked. "We can't take a man with the plague on the ship! The crew would mutiny."
Flo realized that it was true. "Then we shall have to wait."
"The crew is not eager to remain in port any longer than necessary. We can't delay more than a few days."
"It will have to do."
For several days Ned's outcome remained in doubt, as the bubo on his neck swelled and his skin spotted. He stopped fouling himself after the food that had been in his system cleared, but the stench of his body was awful. Flo and Wildflower took turns going out so as to have the relief of fresh air. They took turns sleeping too, because Ned's case was worse than the others. Flo lanced the bubo, but it didn't seem to help. His body seemed to be wasting away.
"I can't hold the crew much longer," Ittai warned them.
Flo shook her head. "I think we had better prepare ourselves. Ned is going to die."
"No!" Wildflower protested. "He must live!"
"You don't know that he will value you, if he lives," Flo said, trying to soften the blow rather than to be cruel. "Maybe he doesn't really want to live."
"I understand that too. But he is my hope. I must save him!"
"Girl, I wish you could. But I don't know how."
Wildflower's face was desperate. "By loving him!"
Flo did not argue. It seemed that the strain of this siege was affecting the girl's mind.
Wildflower sponged off Ned's face. "You think you are evil, because of Wona," she told him. "But you couldn't stop her. You are not evil. You think no one will love you, but someone will. I will love you. I will love you." Then she kissed his wasted lips.
Ned's eyes opened. "But you are my sister!" he protested.
"I am not your sister!" she retorted. "Could a sister do this?" She kissed him again.
Flo kept her silence. There was no real logic to Wildflower's words or actions, but they were probably as close as she would ever come to the love she craved.
Yet they did seem to have some effect on the man. Ned relaxed, and fell into what seemed to be a less tortured sleep. Flo marveled, wondering whether it was possible. Was Ned expiring from guilt as much as from the disease?
It was, indeed, the turning point. The next day Ned's fever was down somewhat. He took water and a bit of food. The day after, he took more. Then he became conscious of his surroundings. "Who has cared for me?" he asked Flo, for Wildflower was now sleeping in the next room.
"We have," Flo said. "Wildflower and I."
He looked wary. "I had a strange dream. Did I say something?"
"Yes."
"Did she say something?"
"Yes."
He shook his head, electing not to pursue the matter.
Now they could depart this cursed city. The crew might not like it, but Ned was obviously recovering. So probably he would not spread the plague to anyone else, even if it did pass from man to man, as seemed doubtful. Two of them had been stricken, and been lucky enough to survive; Flo was sure that luck would not hold much longer.
Unfortunately, the very ships seeking to carry people to safety from the plague carried the plague to other cities of Europe. The crews might not knowingly take aboard sick people, but the delay between infection and symptoms made it inevitable. In 1347 it spread to Constantinople and Turkey; in 1348 it spread to Greece, Italy, Spain, and France; in 1349 it spread to northern Europe. Thereafter it moved on into Russia and faded out. It killed 60-90 percent of those infected. But not everyone caught it. The manner of contagion was a mystery to the people of the time, but today we understand it. We also know that there was not one, but three forms of it. The first, which was at Kaffa, was bubonic: spread by rat fleas when they bit human beings. It could not be transmitted directly from human to human. The reason Flo's family was largely spared the plague was her unnatural fetish about cleanliness; there was little dirt, and no rats, and therefore no rat fleas in her house. Its course and symptoms were as described. There is no evidence that draining the bubo helped, however; indeed reports are mixed on whether a draining bubo led to recovery or immediate death. It may be that the best course was to have the bubo subside naturally, a symptom rather than a cause of recovery. Possibly those who had good health before being stricken had better survival odds; that is the assumption here. Later in Europe the second form was encountered: pneumonic. This occurred when a person infected with the plague also caught pneumonia. It attacked the lungs, causing violent, bloody coughing. The bacilli infected the breath, so that it spread by air. It was more deadly than the bubonic form, being said to be universally fatal in three days. When a person coughed blood, he was doomed. This did not improve with time; an outbreak in the twentieth century was fatal, on average, in 1.8 days. Buboes did not appear, perhaps because there was hardly time. The third form was septicemic, and was even swifter: it infected the blood, and the victim was dead in a few hours. The plague, in its three forms, may have killed a third of all Europeans during the first great siege. It recurred irregularly, and still exists today. But the contemporary world has seen little to compare to the horror the plague held for the folk of the fourteenth century.
One of the most notorious conquerors in history was Timur the Lame, otherwise known as Tamerlane. But that was what his enemies called him; he called himself Sahib Qiran, "Lord of the Fortunate Conjunction." He was a Turk in Transoxiana ("Across the Oxus" River—now the Amu Darya), in central Asia north of modern Afghanistan. He seems to have been a genius in battle but a poor governor, so that his battles always had to be fought over. But his impact on central Asia may have been second only to that of the Mongols, whose mantle he claimed.
One day a Mongol prince came to Tamerlane's capital of Samarkand to beseech his aid against kinsmen who were displacing him. This was Toqtamish, a descendant of Genghis Khan and pretender to the throne of the White Horde. Timur was glad to receive him, as this royal Mongol might prove useful, and gave him three cities: Otrar, Sabran, and Signakhi on the north bank of the Syr Darya, the northern of two rivers feeding into the Aral Sea. This was between the territories of Transoxiana and the White Horde, claimed by each, so needed strong defense.
Unfortunately Toqtamish was not apt in this respect. His relatives invaded and defeated him in battle, driving him out. He returned to Timur, who sent a force to back off the Mongols, installing Toqtamish in Sabran again. But when Timur's troops departed, the Mongols came back and ousted Toqtamish again without difficulty. This time Timur himself came into the steppe and in 1377 severely defeated the White Horde, putting Toqtamish back in power in his cities. But as soon as Timur went home, the Mongols routed Toqtamish a third time. So Timur gave the hapless prince further support, and in the winter of 1377-78 not only beat the enemy, but enabled Toqtamish to become khan of the White Horde. How long this would last was doubtful, as Toqtamish seemed to have as much of a genius for losing battles as Timur had for winning them.
Then something odd happened. It remains a mystery to history, but an exploration of the events following Toqtamish's second rout may resolve it. The time is 1376.
NED, RANGING OUT AHEAD TO scout the way, heard a distant clamor. That could be trouble. He rode up on a bluff overlooking the Syr Darya and peered forward.
To the north, across the river, the remnant of a battle was proceeding. He could see the colors of Timur, and those of the White Horde. The standards of the Turks were in disarray, while those of the Mongols were organized.
"Oh, no," he breathed. "Toqtamish lost again."
He was about to ride back to carry the word to his commander, when he saw a special eddy current in the larger swirl of the battle. A lone horseman was fleeing a group of riders. He had evidently gotten isolated from his troop and was about to be killed.
But why would they pursue an ordinary cavalryman? Where could he go? He was caught between the enemy and the river, evidently unarmed, no longer a threat to the Mongols. They would do better to mop up the remaining pockets of organized resistance. Unless—
Could it be? Yes, that would explain it. It could be Toqtamish himself, the one the White Horde was after. The pretender to their throne. They would not let him go!
Fascinated by the distant interplay, Ned strained to see it unfold. He remembered how rival royal factions among the White Horde had vied for power, and Urus Khan had risen to dominance five years before. Opposed by his cousin Tuli Khoja, he had acted forthrightly: he had attacked and killed his rival. Khoja's son Toqtamish had had to flee for his life. He had gone to the one power capable of reversing his ill fortunes: Timur of Transoxiana.
Ned, as an apprentice strategist in Timur's court, had studied the activities of the White Horde, because Timur's generals were keeping a wary eye on the rise of a potentially dangerous power to the north. Urus clearly had large ambitions, which included reuniting the White and Golden Hordes under his own leadership, and possibly Persia too. Since Persia was Timur's sphere of endeavor, this bore watching. Ned was one of a number of strategists assigned to watch and advise about such developments, so that Timur would not be caught unprepared. What use to conquer Persia, if the White Horde then swept down on his flank? So the appeal of a legitimate pretender to the Mongol throne was of considerable interest.
He remembered the fanfare with which Timur's General Uzbeg had escorted Toqtamish to Samarkand. Timur himself had hastened back from the front to meet him, greeting him as his son. There were lavish gifts of gold, gems, robes, silks, furniture, camels, horses, tents, drums, banners, and slaves.
He had installed Toqtamish as ruler of the borderlands between Transoxiana and the White Horde, and given him fresh troops with which to defend his territory.
Of course Timur's generosity was calculated. A genuine and loyal Mongol prince was a fine buffer to have on that perilous border. It solved the problem of the ambitions of the khan of the White Horde. For now.
But as soon as Toqtamish settled in, Urus Khan sent an army commanded by his son Qutlugh-buka to rout him out. Toqtamish was forced to flee, but the victorious Qutlugh-buka was severely wounded in the battle, and died the next day. This surely did not please the khan.
Ned had watched with wonder as Timur greeted the Mongol prince with even greater honors than before, and supplied him with a fresh army. Toqtamish had set out to reclaim his lost domains. But spies had brought news to Samarkand of another Mongol army moving south, this one commanded by Urus Khan's eldest son, Tokhta-qiya, who was determined to avenge the death of his brother. So Timur had sent the ranking official Idiku Berlas to counsel Toqtamish and assist him in ruling his limited kingdom, so that he would not be ousted again. Ned was part of that party. But now it was apparent that they were too late. Tokhta-qiya, perhaps spurred on by his grief, had not waited for Toqtamish to enter Sabran. He had intercepted Toqtamish on the way, and probably caught him by surprise, and routed him. Now Toqtamish was fleeing for his life, and his prospects looked bleak indeed. The lone rider reached the river just ahead of the pursuit and drove his horse into the water. But the animal might have balked—Ned couldn't tell from this distance—and the man had to shed armor and swim. The troops of the White Horde drew up at the water, not caring to try to ford it in their armor, and took deliberate aim with their bows. Several arrows missed, for it was a fleeting target; the man was holding his breath and swimming under the surface as much as possible. Also, the river's current was bearing him along, further confusing his irregular appearances. But then there was a cry, and Ned saw the faint discoloration of blood in the water. The fugitive had been struck!
But the man made it to the far bank. He staggered from the water, entered the forest, and threw himself into the underbrush, evidently exhausted. The archers were running down the river, trying to get into better position for loosing their arrows more accurately, but their target had disappeared.
Now Ned turned his horse and galloped back to report to Idiku Berlas, as he should have done before. But he had wanted to see whether the fugitive escaped, because if it was Toqtamish, and if the prince died, then their mission would have become pointless. Now he knew that there was still a chance. But he had to hurry, because he had to reach Idiku and return with aid before the Mongols could reach a fordable spot in the river, cross, and locate their prey.
Soon he reached Idiku. "There is a battle beyond the river!" he cried. "Mongol, Turk. The Mongols won. I think I saw Toqtamish escape!"
"Where?"
"By the river woods. I marked the place."
"Lead the way."
Idiku and his troop followed Ned to the region he had seen. They plunged into the woods flanking the river, forging on through.
"He could be anywhere along here," Ned said. "And the Mongols could be crossing the river in pursuit."
Idiku signaled, and the men spread out to approach the river in a line. They reached it, and saw Mongols carefully fording it with roped horses. But the moment the Mongols spied them, they retreated. The river was no place to defend against arrows from the land.
Meanwhile Idiku and Ned ranged through the brush. "Prince!" Ned called. "We are friends!" There was a groan nearby. Ned went there, and saw the fugitive lying under a bush. He dismounted and ran to him. It was indeed Prince Toqtamish. "Here!" he called to Idiku as he kneeled beside the fallen man.
In a moment Idiku was there. "He is wounded in the hand," he said. "Nonlethal injury."
Ned bound the hand, and they helped Toqtamish to a horse. He was too weary to ride competently on his own, so Ned rode with him, keeping him from slumping out of the saddle as the horse walked.
"We'll take him directly to Timur, at Bukhara," Idiku said.
They camped for the night, posting guards. Toqtamish began to revive, eating bread and drinking wine. He inquired about the identity of his rescuers, and Idiku introduced himself and Ned. "Ned spied you crossing the river, and led us to the place," he said.
"What is it he wears?"
"A cross," Ned said. "I am a Christian."
Toqtamish nodded, evidently losing interest. "I will remember." Then he found a place to urinate, and retired to the tent to sleep.
In the morning, rested, the Mongol prince was able to ride on his own, and they made better time.
Timur welcomed the prince again, and gave him more riches and honors. Ned marveled at this extreme generosity to one who had proved to be of questionable competence, but of course did not speak. He was just an incidental functionary, beneath the notice of royalty. He stayed close to Idiku, his immediate superior, and tried to remain part of the background. It was the first time he had been allowed into even the incidental presence of Timur, and he felt the thrill of the honor. He saw that Timur walked with a slight limp, and he, too, had an injury in the hand. Stories abounded about how he had received the wounds to his right appendages, varying with the regard in which the tellers held him. Supporters told of his ferocious appetite for combat, in which he had been injured during pitched battles with enemies who greatly outnumbered him; detractors spoke darkly of botched cattle raids or even single combat with his own father. But all conceded his legendary prowess on horseback and personal valor in battle. Certainly his lameness did not slow him in those pursuits.
This time the Mongol khan did not simply let the fugitive go. Within days word came that Urus was marching south with a larger army to punish Toqtamish. Soon two envoys arrived bearing his ultimatum: "Toqtamish has killed my son, and has since sought refuge with you. I demand the surrender of my enemy. If you refuse, we must choose a battlefield."
"Oooh," Idiku murmured for Ned's ears only. "That is the wrong tone to take to Timur."
Indeed it was. Timur glowered at the envoys. "If the khan's son had stayed where he belonged, instead of infringing on my territory, he would be alive today. Return to Urus Khan and tell him that I not only accept his challenge, but also that I am ready, and my soldiers are like lions, who do not live in the forest but have their den in the battlefield. If he is smart, he will hasten out of my territory before his own life is forfeit."
Then, when the envoys had departed, he turned to Idiku. "Follow them by secret patrols. I want to know exactly where the khan is camped."
Idiku turned to Ned, his mouth quirking. "Christian, get your horse. You know what to do."
"Yes, sir." As Ned turned to obey, he saw Toqtamish smile. They all knew what was happening. The khan's arrogant message had made the matter personal for Timur.
Ned was one of several who trailed the envoys, staying always out of their sight. It was easy to track the prints of their horses, or to lie hidden near their likely trails and see them pass. When he was sure of their trail, he marked it so that Timur's scouts could follow it.
Timur himself marched soon after. Now Ned became a scout, leading the troops along the trail he had helped mark. The khan was in for an ugly surprise, for he would find himself surprised before he was organized for battle.
The White Horde force was camped near the city of Signakhi, one of those from which it had displaced Toqtamish. Timur brought his own army to the plains of Otrar, twenty-four leagues away.
But the weather interfered. There was a terrible rainstorm, followed by such intense cold that lasted so long that it prevented any action though that winter. Timur chafed at the forced inaction, but would not act until he was sure he could do so effectively. The men were given rotating leave to visit the city, but remained always on ready alert. That meant that Ned could not visit his home city of Sabran, or attend the Nestorian church there, though it was only a few leagues away. In any event, it was uncertain under whose control the city was at the moment. He hoped his family was not suffering unduly.
Food became so scarce that Timur commanded his generals and lesser officers, on pain of death, to see to it that no one in the army should bake bread for himself. All the food was redistributed, the generals and princes getting precisely the same rations as the private soldiers and servants. No one was allowed to eat anything more than thin gruel. One bag of flour, together with a few herbs, supplied sixty dishes: one dish of broth for each soldier, each day. The soldiers searched for eggs of waterbirds, for animals, for edible plants—anything to supplement the ration of gruel.
Finally, after three months, the weather eased. Timur sent a detachment of 500 men out under two commanders to attack the enemy in the night.
But the Mongols had spies too. They were met by a force of three thousand commanded by the khan's third son, Malik. The fighting was fierce, and one of Timur's commanders was killed, but Malik was wounded in the leg and had to retreat. The victory went to the Turks.
Then Urus Khan sent out a scouting force of 200 men. This force stumbled on a smaller force of Turks that was returning from Otrar after provisioning troops there. The Turks fled. When the Mongols got spread out in their pursuit, the Turks whirled around on them and cut them to pieces. The Mongols had fallen for the oldest trick in the Mongol book, the mock retreat.
Discouraged by these failures, Urus Khan returned home, though the bulk of his army was untouched. Timur also retired from the field, having won back his territory by default, though that was not his preferred way.
Now at last Ned got to visit his family in Sabran. His little sister Lin kissed him. So, to his surprise, did her companion Wildflower, who had once been a Mongol princess. The girl had helped take care of him during a severe illness, and did seem to like him. He found them all in good health, but somewhat worn by the long threat of a siege by one side or the other. Food was scarce, because the two armies had raided the supplies.
But he could not stay long, because as soon as the weather turned favorable, Timur set out once more. This time he advanced into the territory of the White Horde, giving Toqtamish command of the advance guard. The Mongol prince knew the way, and guided the army so effectively that in fifteen days they reached the interior town of Geiran Kamish, "The Reeds of the Deer." They had attracted little or no notice.
The inhabitants were taken completely by surprise, and put up no effective defense. The army pillaged the town and captured large numbers of sheep, camels, and horses.
Best of all, they learned at this time that Urus Khan was dead. Apparently he had been ill, and that was one reason he had retreated. The rigors of the campaign had worn him down beyond recovery.
Timur, well satisfied with these successes, decided to return to his other campaigns. He was, after all, in the process of conquering Persia from the remnants of the former Mongol khanate there, and the job couldn't wait indefinitely. Now that he had protected his flank, he left Toqtamish with enough troops to uphold his pretense to the throne of the White Horde and gave him a fine horse. This was Kunk Oghlan, sired from Timur's own stallion, and famous for his speed.
Now that the Mongol prince was settled in, Idiku Berlas was settled too, and no longer needed Ned's help in the field. So Ned was given leave to rejoin his family in Sabran, though subject to recall at any time. He rode south with his share of the booty: several fat sheep.
He was welcomed again by the enthusiastic embraces of his little sisters, Lin and Wildflower, and Flo was much gratified to have the sheep. "Wool and meat," she said. "Exactly what we need."
Ned settled down to do what he most enjoyed: designing military architecture. He had had experience formulating city walls, and had once advised a local leader in the design and use of such defenses. He had learned much during the recent campaigns against the Mongols and enjoyed analyzing and trying to improve on them in retrospect.
But he wasn't given much time to himself before something astonishing came up.
Ned looked up from his architectural draft to see the solid shadow of his elder sister Flo approaching. It was unusual for her to come to his place of work, so he suspected she had some serious concern.
"We must talk," she said.
That confirmed it. He gave her his full attention.
"I have two concerns. One you surely know of: there is agitation against the Nestorian Christians in the city. We arrived here at a bad time."
He knew it. They had fled physical illness only to discover the emotional illness of religious persecution. The majority of the city's inhabitants were Moslem, and they resented having what they called infidels among them. The Mongol rulers of old had been largely indifferent to religious matters, and did not persecute anyone for his faith, but much went on that was beneath the notice of the rulers. Now the Mongols themselves were becoming Moslem, and their attitudes were changing.
"They choose to blame us for the ills war has brought to the city," Ned said. "This is nonsensical. It is the warring between Mongol factions that has done it, and the ineptness of Timur's governance." Here in the privacy of his family he could speak freely. He had nothing but admiration for Timur's prowess in the field, but the man paid almost no attention to the ordinary running of his empire.
"It is easier to blame a small minority than to blame either Timur or the Mongols," Flo said darkly. "The minority can't strike back."
He nodded. "You wish to move to a more comfortable city? We might find good work in Samarkand."
"No. I prefer to gain protection by seeking the favor of the khan." She meant the pretender, who held power in this region only.
He laughed. "How long do you think Toqtamish will last? The plotters and rebels will soon bring him down. Again."
"Maybe not." She paused, then changed the subject. "Wildflower loves you."
"And I love her. She's a nice girl, just like one of the family. She tended me when I was deathly ill."
"You misunderstand. She's a woman, and she wants to marry you."
Ned's jaw dropped. "She's my little sister!"
"No. She is not your sister. We took her in when she was caught between Mongol family feuds, and saved her from likely death."
"But not from rape," he agreed, remembering. "Lin smuggled her out of danger, but too late to spare her that. But she has adapted very nicely. She might as well be a sibling. She's almost as pretty as Lin, when allowance is made for her Mongol heritage, and quite fair of form." He had noticed that several months before, when the girl had had occasion to strip in his presence. He had felt guilty for noticing.
"Indeed. She is a princess, cousin to Toqtamish. Now that he has power, she is no longer a refugee, but a person of note."
"Good for her! She can take her place in his court, as long as it lasts."
"Yes. But she won't go."
"Why not? She would be better off there, than with a persecuted minority."
"Because she loves you."
Again he took stock. "And you don't mean just as a sibling. She has a crush on me. But surely it will pass. I assure you, I have never given her any encouragement of that nature."
"You have been largely oblivious, except for your guilt when you see her naked."
He had hoped that Flo had not grasped that awkwardness. Flo believed in cleanliness, so they all had to wash periodically, and sometimes he saw his sisters naked. It could not be helped, but they did have breasts and fur, and looked like women, and at times it was hard for him to remain properly neutral. "Well, it is not proper to lust after one's sister."
"She is not your sister," Flo repeated.
"You know what I mean. I have treated her with all proper deference, and never sought to indulge in anything untoward."
"Ned, you are our smartest family member, but you can be monumentally stupid about women."
"To my everlasting shame," he agreed. "When Wona—"
"Forget about Wona! She's gone. You are of age and maturity to marry, and you could do infinitely worse for a wife than Wildflower."
He stared at her. "Are you suggesting that I—take advantage of a girl's passing fancy, to get into her skirt?"
Flo met his gaze with a hard intensity he seldom saw in her. "No. I am suggesting that you marry a young woman who is worthy of you."
"But why? I agree that she is a nice girl, with an appealing body, but that's no reason to—"
"You need a more practical reason than the love of a woman who could make you happy?"
"Yes! Because it would not be fair to her, to prey upon her naivete. I know the evil of that. Wona—"
"Wona preyed on yours," she agreed. "And you found ecstasy amidst the guilt. Your determination not to do that to another person is worthy. But this is not that. Wildflower truly loves you, and will give you her body without guilt. We of the family approve."
"The family has discussed this?" he asked, appalled.
"We had to. Bry and Lin were attacked in the street this morning. For being Christians. They got away without suffering harm, but it is an evil signal."
Ned felt a cold and angry shiver. "Sam knows of this?"
"Yes. But we agreed that violence is not the answer. We need protection."
"I will certainly agree to move! I don't want anything to happen to my siblings. Or to Wildflower."
"Then marry Wildflower."
He looked blankly at her. "What has this to do with danger in the streets?"
"If you marry her, you will be related to the future khan of the White Horde."
Now at last he understood her import. He could at one stroke bring the family unparalleled protection. Nobody harassed kinsmen of the Mongol khan. Not in this city. Not anywhere within the domains of the pretender to the throne of the White Horde. Not as long as he retained power.
"But it would be using her!" he protested. "Not merely sexually, but politically. She is a Mongol princess. We have no right to do that to her."
"She suggested it," Flo replied evenly.
"She—" He broke off, astonished.
"She really does want to marry you, Ned. And she brings a dowry we can not decline. We can be safe—if you only oblige her love."
"If I only seduce an innocent girl! Flo, where is the honor in this?"
"I said it would be a good marriage. I know you, Ned; I know she is right for you. Your idiocy is in refusing to see it. If you will not do it because of love, do it to save the welfare and perhaps the lives of your siblings. It will not be an unkind or difficult relationship, I promise you. You can love her, if you allow it."
He shook his head. "Surely Wona used a similar rationalization when she decided to prey on a naive lad." Then he thought of something else. "She is a Mongol princess, and needs to hide it no longer. What would Toqtamish think of this? Of her marrying an infidel?"
"We are about to find out. She is traveling to see her cousin now. If he gives her leave, she will marry you."
"And you are telling me to marry her."
"Yes. We believe it is best, all things considered. It will help the family survive, it will satisfy her love, and it will fulfill your life in a way you don't yet appreciate. It is an unusually good solution to a combination of problems."
"I'll think about it," he said shortly.
"You have until she returns from her visit to her cousin."
She seemed so sure he would agree!
Meanwhile, there was their situation in an environment becoming increasingly hostile. They were careful, but the mood of the city was bad and getting worse. Scapegoats were needed, and Christians were the most likely candidates. Their little Nestorian church was suffering defacement. If it hadn't been built of solid stone, with thick Walls and small windows, the damage would have been worse. It was clear that they would have to leave soon, if they didn't get protection. Yet it would probably be about as bad in other cities. Moslems were many, and Christians few, in the Mongol and the Persian realms.
Ned wrestled with his mixed emotions. It was true that Wildflower was unrelated to him, and that she was attractive. But she remained a sister in his mind, and he felt guilty even thinking about her sexually. How could he marry such a girl? Yet he feared he had to. He wished he could talk to her, to try to make her see that this was not a good thing to do. But she was away, and anyway, he wasn't sure his arguments would be persuasive. Flo and the family thought it was right to do, and they generally did know. So was he the one who was wrong?
In the end, he concluded that the need of the family probably outweighed his personal scruples. He would have to marry her, and try to consummate the union, though he knew that the guilt spawned by Wona would interfere. Logically the situations were not really analogous, but in his feeling they were. With Wona, it had been a betrayal of the family; with Wildflower, it would be in support of the family. So they were different. If only he could believe that!
Then Wildflower returned. "I'm going to marry him!" Lin reported overhearing.
"She's hardly older than you," Ned said. "Do you think it's right?"
"She's a full fourteen. That's old enough. And she's got the body." Lin passed one hand down her front, disparagingly. She was still thirteen, and of rather slight development. But her face was pretty, and when her body followed, she would be the loveliest girl of the family, as long as she wore gloves.
"If you liked a man, and he had sex with you, would it be right?" he asked her. "Just because you were willing?"
"She's more than willing, Ned. She really does love you. Besides, you're not just romancing her; you're marrying her." She paused, glancing at him sidelong. "Aren't you?"
"Yes," he said heavily. "Yes, I am." And that was his point of final decision.
"Then maybe you had better go propose to her. A girl likes that."
That hadn't occurred to him. "I have no idea what to say!"
Lin assumed a pose. She took his hand and gazed into his eyes. " 'Wildflower, please marry me.' Then kiss her."
He had to laugh. But it was serious. That was exactly how he should do it. Except for one thing: "You are confusing popular fancy with Nestorian practice," he told her. "There is supposed to be no direct contact or conversation between the prospective bride and groom. The families negotiate the financial aspects of the wedding, bride-gift, dowry, and so on. It is a business proposition."
"I knew that," Lin said, remembering. "And once it's all agreed, the father of the bride gives a feast."
"And a priest or bishop consecrates a ring and gives it to the groom, who arranges to have it delivered to the bride, via a trusted matron who has the confidence of all parties."
"Yes, it would be too bad if she ran away with the ring!" Lin agreed, giggling.
"And if the bride agrees to the marriage, she puts on the ring as a symbol of their betrothal. From then on the bond between them has all the force of marriage, and any infidelities incur similar punishment, though they still live apart."
"Yes, isn't it romantic!" she agreed. "And the wedding festival takes a whole week. The bride looks great in her rich veil, and friends throw raisins and small coins so she'll be fruitful." She giggled again. "Fruits to the fruitful. I love that."
"We all live together in this one house," Ned said. "So how is any of that to be accomplished here?"
She considered, mildly crestfallen. "Oh."
"It would be impossible for bride and groom to live apart, even if we had the resources for gifts and all," he concluded. "And neither bride nor groom has parents to negotiate the deal."
Then Lin brightened. "So maybe you'll have to do it my way after all."
Ned sighed. "I suppose so. Certainly I wouldn't arrange anything like this for Wildflower unless I was quite sure that she, herself, really wanted it."
"So ask her, just the way I told you."
He nodded. He rehearsed it in his mind, so that he wouldn't flub it.
Then Flo appeared, with Wildflower at her side. She looked meaningfully at Ned. He realized that Flo must have sent Lin to prepare him, and been waiting close by for him to get ready. They had organized this like a military campaign, and he was the target.
He walked across the room and took Wildflower's hand. "Wildflower, please marry me."
"Yes!" the girl exclaimed. She flung her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. The funny thing was that it was quite pleasant. She was a sweet creature.
There was polite applause. The other members of the family had quietly arrived and witnessed the exchange.
"We must do it quickly," Flo said. "I will prepare for the ceremony next week."
So soon! But Ned knew why; they needed the protection the marriage afforded immediately. They also could not be sure when he would be called back into military service.
They compressed the ritual to make it fit their resources. Sam, speaking in lieu of the groom's father, talked with Dirk, who spoke in lieu of the bride's father. The bishop at the church consecrated a ring and gave it to Ned. Ned gave it to Lin, who was absolutely thrilled to play the role of "trusted matron." She took it to Wildflower, who immediately put it on.
The following week they held the ceremony. It was done without great fanfare, because of the likelihood of persecution, but it was done according to the rites of Nestorian Christianity. Sam and Bry celebrated as companions of the groom, and Dirk and Ittai represented men of the bride's family. Wildflower was ushered into the church, completely shrouded by her heavy veil and gown. The bishop performed the ceremony, and then they all changed back to street clothing so as to avoid possible mobbing on the streets by Moslems.
Back at the house, Wildflower donned her gown and veil again, and Jes threw raisins at her, and one tiny coin. "Be fruitful and prosperous!" she cried, and the others cheered. Then they scrambled to pick up the raisins, for they were too precious to be wasted as food.
Then, all too soon, they were alone together in their nuptial chamber. Wildflower stood expectantly before him in her wedding robe, quite pretty. She removed her veil, smiling.
Ned hesitated. What should he do now?
"Aren't you going to undress me?" she asked.
Of course. He went to her and fumbled with her apparel. He didn't accomplish much.
"Maybe if I do it," she murmured. She was so young, yet she seemed more competent than he was.
"Yes," he said, relieved.
Carefully, she dismantled her apparel, and stood at last naked before him. He averted his gaze.
"Don't you like me?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," he said, forcing his eyes to bear on her. "Your body is very nice."
She looked disappointed, and he realized that he should have been more emphatic. But she rallied. "Aren't you going to undress yourself?"
Oh. He tried to remove his own clothing, with no better success than he had had with hers. His fingers, normally nimble, seemed not to want to cooperate.
"Maybe if I do it," she said again.
"Yes."
She gently stripped him of his clothing, until he stood naked too.
"Would you like to embrace me?" she prompted him.
He took her in his arms.
"And kiss me?"
He kissed her on the cheek.
She lifted her hands, took hold of his head, and brought it down so that his mouth met hers. She kissed him, hard.
He pulled away.
Her eyes brimmed. "Do you hate me so much?"
"No! I—I like you. Love you," he said without conviction.
"Am I so ugly you can't take me?" Now her tears were flowing down her face.
"No! You are beautiful."
"Your limp penis gives you the lie. You have no desire for me at all. I should never have forced you into this."
"That's not true. I do desire you. I—my body—just hasn't caught up."
"Are you biting your tongue?" she demanded accusingly.
"No!"
"I'm not as good as Wona was. I don't have the breasts, the hips, the face." She ran her hands over herself, disparagingly, in much the manner his sister Lin had. That bothered him, for a reason he did not care to explore at the moment.
"There is nothing wrong with your body," he said quickly. "Wona was voluptuous, you are slender but by no means ill-formed, and to my eyes you are lovelier than she, because you are good. I would much rather embrace you than her."
"But you did embrace her, and not me."
He did not quibble with technicalities. He had embraced Wildflower, but not shown desire for her. "I could not resist her. I have been ashamed ever since."
She organized herself with a visible effort. "What did she do that you could not resist? Tell me, so I can do it too."
He felt himself flushing. "Please, I would rather not speak of it."
She shook her head. "You owe me this much, Ned. To let me try to be at least as much to you as she was. What did she do?"
She had a point. Reluctantly, he summoned the memory. "She was my brother's wife. She wanted my child, to be smart. I said I saw her face, that of my brother's wife, and could not do it. She turned away from me, so as to hide her face, and put my hands on her breasts." Guilt and shame surged with the telling; it was his deepest secret, for all that Flo had somehow found out, and acted to solve the immediate problem by exiling Wona from the family.
Wildflower turned away from him, so close her buttocks touched his thighs, and reached back to capture his hands. She brought them up to rest on her breasts. He knew this was hard for her; her hands were cold, and shaking. "Squeeze," she told him.
He did, but experienced no reality of sensation. He hated reenacting what he had done with Wona. He hated having decent Wildflower be any part of this association. "There is—there is nothing wrong with them," he said. "You are not inadequate in any respect." That was the truth, but not the whole truth.
"I must be deficient, somehow. What else?"
How could he end this, without being unfair to her? He was supposed to be smart, but he couldn't think of any way. "She bent forward, making me hold her hips so she would not fall."
She paused, evidently nerving herself again. "Do it."
"Please, Wildflower—"
"I must be a woman to you. My love is not enough."
He wanted to flee this travesty, but could not. He transferred his hands to her hips, which were very nicely rounded. Why couldn't he react to them as he should? She bent forward so that her buttocks pressed tightly against him. He should be wildly excited, but instead was numb in that region. "And?" she prompted.
"And she—she put my—put it inside her—"
She reached around to grasp his member. Her touch was very light and fumbling. There was a pause. "But it must have been ready to go inside her."
"Yes," he said, doubly ashamed for his impotence.
She straightened, giving up the futile effort, and faced him. Her tears still flowed. He understood what an effort this had been for her. She had forced herself to most actively seek the instrument that had ravished her, and had failed to find it. Her face was flushed with a shame that mirrored his own. "You just don't desire me."
"I do! I just can't—I don't understand why I can't—"
"It's that rape!" she flared. "I am unchaste, and you are revolted. I am dirty in your eyes, filthy, forever soiled, a thing of horror!"
She was calamitously wrong. "No! My sister was raped."
"I'm not your sister!" she screamed.
He flinched. "Yes, you are not." Now, to his added embarrassment, his own eyes overflowed. "I am sorry, Wildflower. I wish I could—could—"
"Your sister," she repeated, coming to an understanding she had resisted. "You still do see me as your sister. And a man does not lust after his sister."
"Yes." That was the essence. "I know you are not, but my body doesn't know."
"And you do feel for me. I see your tears."
"Yes." It was a perverse relief to speak the truth. "Wildflower, I know you are everything I should want. I have no shame in marrying you. I would—would do anything to please you. I just can't—this part of it—"
She seemed as relieved as he was. "Come lie with me on the bed, and we'll talk."
So they lay, embraced, and talked, and kissed, and agreed not to tell the others of this problem. He found himself quite comfortable with her, now that there was no expectation of sex between them. She seemed more relaxed too, now that she did not have to try to play the part of a seductress. He loved her, in an ironic manner, for that ineptitude.
"I'm glad I understand," she said. "And of course I don't mind that you didn't—I was afraid of it, because of the rape. You could never be like that."
She was trying to console him. She had shown no fear of sex, just of rejection. Maybe she would have feared sex with another man, but she wanted it with him. Yet indeed, even were her statement about being afraid true, she had nothing to fear from him in that respect. "Oh, Wildflower, give me time. It must change, in time."
"Of course. Meanwhile, we must say the words, until they become real. I love you, Ned."
"I love you, Wildflower." And it was true, to a degree. But she meant it completely, while he fell somewhere short. He loved her without sexual passion.
Then she thought of something else. "What of the time we were naked, washing up, and you had to bite your tongue?"
So she did know of that. "A man does not lust after his sister," he repeated. "You were—interesting—and I could not afford it."
"But now you can afford it."
"Now it is not a guilty peek. Now it is legitimate. That changes it, somehow. I knew, then, that there could be no sex. Now I know there can be, and it prevents me."
"I don't understand that. But I believe you. Will you be with me like this every night, so that if you ever are able, we won't lose the chance?"
"Anything you want," he agreed.
"I have heard that pretense can become real. Ned, if you care for me at all—"
"I do! There is no pretense."
"Then hold me and kiss me and speak love to me, for I truly do love you and would do anything for you. Please don't turn away from me."
"I will never turn away from you!"
"I fear you will tire of my kisses."
"I want your kisses." That, again, was true. He wanted very much to love her in all the ways she desired. He knew her for a fine and lovely person, deserving of everything.
"And I will try not to torment you unduly with my attentions."
"Stop it, Wildflower! The failure is mine, not yours." Then he drew her in and kissed her repeatedly, and she responded avidly, and he almost felt a stirring of answering desire.
In due course they slept, and he woke in the night with her arm across his chest and her breast against his side, and started to react, until he remembered her identity.
He woke in the morning before she did, and gazed at her face in repose. She was lovely, and her body was lovely. If only, by some magic, he could forget she was his sister, for all that it was a lie.
He bent his head down and kissed her mouth. Her lips were flaccid in sleep, but then they woke and became firm.
Her eyes opened. "Oh, thank you, Ned! I love you."
"I love you," he echoed, glad that he had awakened her in this way.
She caught his hand and brought it to her breast. "Can you—?"
Regretfully, he shook his head.
She brightened. "Maybe if I cover up my face, so you don't know it's me?"
"That would be unfaithfulness, at least in spirit. I can at least be faithful to you, Wildflower."
"That's the loveliest answer, Ned! I will cherish it forever."
She should be so easy to love! And he did love her, behind the barrier of his impotence. So he kissed her again, and it was good. At least he was trying.
In due course they got up, cleaned, and dressed. Wildflower gave him a straight look. "Let's not speak of this night to others."
"It is a private matter," he agreed, once more relieved. She was being so loyal and supportive! Exactly as a good wife should be. "Let them assume what they choose."
She reconsidered. "I can fool them. But maybe you can't. So you should refer any questions to me."
"Yes." He knew she would not lie, but neither would she let slip the truth. She would protect his privacy in a way others would misunderstand.
The more he reflected on that, the better he liked it. Flo was right: Wildflower was the perfect match for him.
He saw her glancing at him, wondering at his silence. So he spoke. "Wildflower, I want you to know that I am doing this simply because I want to." Then he embraced her and kissed her several times.
"I thank you for that gift," she replied. Then she returned the favor.
Soon it was time to go out and meet the others. "Now I must return to see the khan," she said.
"The khan? Why?"
"Because you married me to save your family. I must tell the khan we are married, so that the word spreads."
"But you just visited him, to get permission. Isn't that all that is necessary?"
"No. I must tell him myself. So he can appoint you to a good position."
"A good position! I did not marry you for such a commercial reason!"
"I know. But I love you, and I want you to have it."
"I have just failed you, and you want to reward me?"
She stroked his cheek. "When you love me as I love you, you will understand."
"I truly do not deserve such love."
"You truly do deserve it. You are the smartest, nicest, handsomest man I know."
He didn't know how to argue with that, so he just stroked her dark hair.
But before Wildflower could travel again, the political situation changed. The news spread rapidly through the city: Urus Khan had been succeeded by his eldest son Tokhta-qiya, but the new khan had died almost immediately, leaving the throne of the White Horde to the surviving son, Malik. This had seemed like easy prey to Toqtamish, who had marched to attack, but once again the Mongols had proved to be superior in battle to the mixed forces of the pretender. Toqtamish had been driven from the territory of the White Horde, and had fled a fourth time for refuge with Timur. And once again Timur showered his vassal with riches and honor.
But Wildflower's trip had become pointless. However well her cousin was being received by Timur, the fact was that he had proved to be repeatedly inept in battle, and lacked any real power. Timur's patience must be about exhausted. "I have failed you," Wildflower said dispiritedly. "You married me for nothing."
"You have failed in nothing," Ned told her.
But Bry and Lin did not dare go out in the streets without Sam to guard them. The persecution was back in force.