Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

‘Yes, Dickon!’ Galiena had yelled, wildly struggling with the two men holding her arms. They had pulled her from her horse and she kicked out hard, trying to catch them on their shins. Dickon, hearing her cry, spun round to look at her .

He shouted back, encouraging her — ‘Aye, that’s right, my lady, fight dirty! That’s the way! A heel in the bollocks if you can, then-’

But then the fifth man, who appeared to be the leader of the band, rushed at him, a club in his upraised right arm. He brought it crashing down on the back of Dickon’s head. And Dickon neither fought nor cried out any more .

They wrapped him in some sacking and rolled him in a ditch. They made an attempt to cover him with leaves and branches, but it was not a proper burial. And nobody said prayers for him except Galiena, who said the words silently, for God’s ears alone, as the tears flowed down her face .

In her grief and her shock, they thought to overcome her easily. But as Aebba curtly ordered her to control herself, because there was a long way to go, something in Galiena woke up again. Waiting her moment, she stood drooping until the chance came .

Then, grabbing an unguarded moment, she leapt back into the saddle and, shouting ‘Help! Help!’ at the top of her voice in case some blessed traveller should be within earshot, she raced away. They were after her instantly and, half-turning, she grasped her riding whip and launched a savage, cutting slice at the face of the man nearest to her. As he cried out in pain, the man behind her kicked his horse and came up on her other side, so she slashed at him too. Then she set spurs to her mare’s sides and flew off up the track .

But the two men she had attacked were not badly hurt and there were still three more men and Aebba. Galiena’s resistance did not last long; the men’s horses rode down her gallant mare and soon they were upon her. They took her down from the mare and, as she stood held fast in their firm grip, the woman got down from the fifth man’s horse and swung up into Galiena’s saddle. Then, after a quick exchange with the leader, she and Aebba rode off up the track, westwards towards Hawkenlye .

Galiena was still wondering why the woman was dressed in garments that should have been hanging in Galiena’s own bedchamber when the two women disappeared around a bend in the road .

Now the men took no chances. Her hands were bound behind her back and, to stop her shouting again for help, they stuffed a cloth in her mouth and tied it in place with a length of cord. Then they put a heavy cloak around her and pulled its hood over her head, securing it with more cord until she was trussed so tight that she could hardly move. Then they slung her across the saddlebow of the leader of the band .

Throughout the endless journey to Saltwych, she bounced helpless before him, the cloth in her mouth making it hard to breathe and the hot cloak making the sweat pour off her. They must have passed along secret, hidden byways, for she heard no sounds of any other horses and the only voices she heard during her long ordeal were those of her captors .

Her pride kept her going. She would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her muffled sobs. Biting on the gag, she kept her resolve. And she survived .

They got to Saltwych in the night. Hands on her hips and her shoulders dragged her down from the horse and the cloak was untied and taken off her. In her silk gown, soaked with her own sweat, she stood shivering in the cool air. With her hands still tied behind her and the gag in her mouth, she was taken into the long hall. Past the animals, restless at being disturbed from sleep, past the gawping people who stared at her, bound and captive, until she stood before a blond man in a throne and a man with silver eyes who sat beside him .

The man in the throne wore a circlet around his brows. He said, ‘I am Aelle. You know what I am and what you are to me, for you were told long ago. But you seem to have forgotten us, your blood kin, and we sent Aebba to remind you.’

She could not speak and refused to try. With an impatient curse, Aelle ordered one of her guards to remove the cloth. Her mouth horribly dry, she tried to form words. The silver-eyed man got up, poured water in a cup and, coming to her side, held it to her lips, tipping it carefully so that she could drink without choking .

She drank her fill and then said, ‘Thank you.’

He gave her a grave bow and returned to his seat .

‘Well?’ Aelle’s tone was curt .

Sipping at the drink had given her precious thinking time. Now she said, ‘I know that I am the daughter of the last chieftain and that you, Aelle, are my brother. I know that our father wished to end our long isolation but that you, as soon as he was dead, took our people straight back to the old ways. You sent me away because you feared I would take after our father and, as I grew up, would persuade the people that our father was right and you were wrong.’

Aelle said, ‘You have been well schooled in your own history.’

‘She taught me well,’ Galiena flashed back. Aelle knew whom she meant by ‘she’ .

‘And she also told you of the obligations that you owe to your blood kin? How, in return for our having placed you in a position of wealth and influence, you must support us and advance our status via your son?’

‘I have no son!’ she shouted, using anger to disguise the torment. ‘And the wealth that my husband owns is his to disperse as he sees fit!’

‘He disperses it now to bring back the king they call Lionheart!’ Aelle said with icy fury. ‘His wealth that should be yours and your kin’s to share will instead fill the coffers of some foreign duke while we slowly starve!’

‘Ah, now I see!’ She gave a harsh laugh as she understood. ‘I see why you had to do all this, why I have been brought here now to face your threats and insults. Because Ambrose chooses to answer the King’s appeal and you don’t like it! Well, it has all been for nothing because I will not help you!’

There was a short silence; she could almost hear the collective intake of breath of the people nervously listening all around them .

‘Yes, yes,’ murmured Aelle, ‘it is true what Aebba told me. You have strayed too far from your kin, Iduna, and you forget where your true allegiance lies. But you will not leave here until you have not only been reminded of what you owe to us, but you have also managed to convince us that you will mend your ways.’

‘I will not. I will never do as you command me!’

‘Brave words,’ Aelle said, ‘but mere bombast. You know, Iduna, how we treat those who disappoint us.’

She hung her head at that, for it recalled to her another’s pain and the memory hurt. But then she stiffened in horror for suddenly she understood exactly what it was that Aelle was threatening .

Her eyes met his and she breathed, ‘No. You would not.’ Tears running down her cheeks, she whispered, ‘Not Ambrose.’

‘Why not?’ Aelle said silkily. ‘Think on that, Iduna, in your confinement!’

He beckoned to the guards and they advanced on her, one of them still holding her gag in his hands. She cried ‘NO!’, kicking, screaming, trying to bite the hands that came at her. Then someone had hold of her head in a grip that felt like iron and her mouth was forced open. A mug was crushed against her lips and liquid poured into her mouth. But this time it was not pure, refreshing water; Galiena was a herbalist and she knew what it was for she recognised the taste .