Shirley Murphy - The Catswold Portal

At dusk she left the main road and settled in a shallow cleft between boulders, hoping she would not have nightmares again. She ate some ham and bread, and was nearly asleep when she heard hooves strike stone.

Saddle horses approached, moving at a controlled trot. She slid deeper down between the stones, thankful she had made no fire.

Five mounted soldiers passed close above her, their uniforms red against the darkening stone sky. Queen’s soldiers. They were nearly past when suddenly the lead stallion snorted and stared behind him, sidestepping as if he had detected her scent. His uniformed soldier wheeled the horse and leaned down from the saddle, staring into the cleft straight at her.

“Come out of there! By the queen’s order, come out!”

There was nowhere to run. She came out facing drawn swords.

The five men snickered when they saw it was a girl, and glanced at one another. Her fingers itched for her knife, but it was in her pack. Three were older men. The captain was round faced and fat, his gray hair shaggy, his belly hanging over the saddle. One sergeant was dry and thin, the other a half-elven man, stocky and square faced. The two younger soldiers were Melissa’s age, one a pasty boy, the other squat and freckled, full-blooded elven.

The captain’s voice was thick and unpleasant. “Where do you travel? Why are you alone? What have you there? A pack? Where would a young girl travel alone in this wild country?”

“I come from Appian to seek work in the palace.”

He looked her over with too much familiarity. “Why did you leave Appian? Why would you want work in the palace? What kind of work?” he said, snickering.

“We were too many in family,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “My mother sent me to find work.” She wanted to run, and she suspected she knew no spell strong enough to turn aside this crude man’s attentions. Watching his eyes, she remembered every ugly story about the queen’s guard.

He dismounted and jerked her to him. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

He stared at her stomach. “Are you with child? Is that why your mother turned you out?”

“I am not with child. I left home because there were too many to feed, nine sisters and brothers.”

“There are never too many to feed. The queen gives food to all families.”

“There are several big families in Appian. The queen’s stores didn’t stretch so far. And our cottage was crowded. Most of us slept on the floor. I am the oldest and they sent me to work.” Why didn’t he believe her? It was common practice to send a child to work at the palace or to apprentice in some wealthier village. Surely the two younger soldiers were apprentices.

The captain glanced up at the sergeant, licking the side of his mouth, then pulled her closer. He started to say something, then he looked at her more intently, grasping her chin, turning her head to left and right.

He lifted her hair, looking so closely she wondered if it needed dying again. Mag kept it dyed with spells and snake root, she was very particular about that. He looked intently from her hair to her eyes, then looked up again at the sergeant. Then, abruptly, he pulled his horse around, loosing her as the others drew close. He mounted heavily, off-balancing the horse. His look had changed, the lust had vanished. “Get on behind.”

She thought of breaking away between the horses and running, but they would overtake her. The captain leaned from the saddle, snatched her arm, and pulled her up against the horse. “Get on. You want to go to the palace, you will come with us.” He laughed. “You will go to the queen in style.”

She had no choice. She got on, putting her foot over his in the stirrup, and sat behind the saddle clinging to it, not touching him.

Through the night they traveled, stopping only to water the horses. No one asked Melissa if she was thirsty. She fought sleep; she didn’t want to doze and lean against the captain’s fat back. She was tense with fear of what he might decide to do if they stopped to rest. It was nothing to rape a village girl—there was no law prohibiting it, not under Siddonie’s rule. She didn’t know why they hadn’t tried already. Soon she heard a fox cry out in the dark woods, then they were skirting the Affandar River; in the darkness she could hear its waters gurgling over stones. They passed through a sleeping village, and another. She was relieved when morning began to gather misty green overhead.

They came out of the woods quite suddenly, and she sat up straighter. The meadow before them was very green, the road broad and smooth. Beyond the meadow lay rich orchards and vegetable gardens, and between these rose the pale towers of Affandar Palace. She stared at the huge, delicate structure, feeling uncertain again, and afraid.

Chapter 6

The soldiers kicked their horses to a trot, moving fast toward the palace. Five pale towers rose, the tallest reaching nearly to the stone sky. The curtain wall wandered in pleasing curves, and all around it lay the orchards and vineyards and vegetable gardens. Behind the palace were fenced meadows, then two small villages, then the ancient forest.

She had never before seen windows made of real glass. She could see the road clearly reflected, could see the large oak they were passing. But she could not see horses or riders beneath the broad branches, the road appeared empty. The windows were spell-cast; neither man nor beast would reflect in them.

The captain trotted his horse through the palace gates into a courtyard crowded with villagers working at the day’s tasks. A smith pounded hot metal, vegetable carts drawn by small, stocky ponies stood at a side gate. A carpenter was mending a table, some scullery girls were husking corn. In a corner against the palace wall, six pages skirmished at sword practice.

She had thought to approach the palace at a servants’ wing, unnoticed. Now the entire courtyard stopped work to watch the soldiers, and folk stared at her, too, and smirked as if they thought the captain had a new companion for his bed. Two scullery girls looked so knowing that Melissa wanted to smack them.

But then she was forgotten as heads turned toward another gate, and suddenly folk were kneeling and there was no sound but the soft thud of approaching hooves.

Through an archway beneath the palace a large group of mounted soldiers entered the courtyard. They were led by a dark-haired youth no older than she, dressed in a red and purple uniform pointed with ermine. “King Efil,” she heard the captain mutter as, bowing, he reached back to nudge her. She bowed, looking up under her lashes.

The king was slim, dark haired, and very handsome. He rode directly past her, and he was looking at her. As his dark eyes seared hers, she felt her face go hot. He smiled intimately, and then with amusement, and then he was past. She glanced around to watch him move out the gate at the head of his uniformed troops.

“Get off,” the captain said, shoving her. She slipped down and fell under the horse’s legs, and breathed a quick spell to keep the stallion from kicking her. When she crawled out, red-faced, a soldier, the pasty one, pointed his sword to direct her ahead of him.

He guided her across the courtyard to a jutting stone wing of the palace, and flung open a door, shouting. She could hear the clang of pots and the cacophony of girls’ voices. She stepped into a huge, cluttered scullery. A woman, uniformed in white, turned away from a stove of steaming saucepans, and the young soldier pushed Melissa toward her. “Village girl. Wants work.” Quickly he was gone again, whether from embarrassment at herding women, or from boredom, she couldn’t tell.

The big woman inspected her without expression. She had a fat, lined face. “I am Briccha. I am the Scullery Mistress. If you are allowed to stay, you will answer to me.” Her braids were so tight they pulled her scalp. Her bodice clung tightly over ample breasts and belly. When Melissa didn’t answer, Briccha grabbed her shoulder and jerked her through the scullery, shoving other girls aside.