Homage and Honour Read online

  At last the discarded ringlets lay in an untidy heap at her feet. Elisabeth thought for a moment then picked them up and tossed them in the chest at the foot of her bed. Another moments thought and she locked it. What to do with the key? She would have to hide it somewhere where it couldn’t be found.

  The key tinkled with merry abandon as it fell through the necessary hole and into the cess-ditch underneath.

  She rubbed dust from the corner over her face and rubbed it into her hair.

  One last look round the room that had been her home and refuge for the last six years and she opened the door, looking up and down the corridor to make sure it was empty. She tiptoed down the corridor and through the large hardwood door at the end then, head high, began her walk down the long hall and so reached the corridor beside the kitchens. It was now only a few steps to the door that led out into the courtyard.

  Elisabeth took a deep breath and as bold as brass, though her knees were shaking, strode out as if she was a servant boy out on an errand. The cart she was heading for was parked in its usual place and she hurried towards it.

  The smell was overpowering and Elisabeth gagged, for this was the ‘dirty cart’, the means by which body and other waste was removed from the castle and its environs.

  Holding her kerchief to her face Elisabeth scrambled aboard and not a moment too soon. She squeezed herself in between two of the large seeping barrels and settled down, the rose-scented cloth pressed hard to her mouth and nose. She listened as the driver and his boy approached and felt the cart move as they settled themselves on the front seat. The man clicked at his pony.

  With a rumble the cart began to move over the cobbles and towards the back gates. The guards never searched this cart, as long as she remained silent and out of sight she would be safely out of the castle before many heartbeats passed.

  Outside the town and at a convenient spot Elisabeth intended to leave the cart and make her way to the coast where she hoped to find a boat that would take her to one of the islands in the Great Eastern Sea. She couldn’t remain in Murdoch; her disguise wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny for long, eventually she would be found and after this escapade, being locked behind the walls of a Thibaltine convent would be the least of her worries.

  When the cart slowed down to negotiate a rough patch, Elisabeth squeezed out of her smelly hidey-hole and jumped down.

  There was no moon; the night was dark as pitch. As Elisabeth struck out across country she stumbled often, lost one slipper then the other. She was cold, her feet hurt but never once did she regret what she had done. Anything was preferable to marriage to Tom Brentwood, ducal heir or not.

  She knew Port Graham was some miles to the northwest. What she would do when she got there she had but a hazy idea. She had some money and jewels, perhaps enough to buy passage in one of the island trading vessels, definitely enough to rent a small room and hide for a while until she found a trader willing to take her.

  The hunt would begin at first light Elisabeth decided and began to worry about where her father’s men would look for her.

  It was a split second decision. Elisabeth decided not to make for the Port. Her father would think she might try for passage to the islands from there, that or head for the dangerous island chain; these would be the first places they would look for her. Well, she would not make it easy for them. She would try to cadge a ride in a small fishing boat and avoid the traders entirely.

  There were plenty of fishing villages and she was disguised. Her father’s retainers would be looking for a longhaired girl, dressed as a girl, a Contessa, a Duke’s daughter. Elisabeth no longer thought of herself as such.

  She reached the first village at dawn and decided to skirt round it; it was too near to the castle. She did the same at the next and the next after that. She wasn’t challenged; in fact she met hardly a soul. She was not to know that her father had declared a two-day holiday in honour of his elder daughter’s marriage and that the free citizenry were making the most of it. She slept the night under a thick hedge and woke with the sun, thirsty and hungry. Her thirst she slaked by drinking her fill from a nearby stream but she knew she would have to get herself something to eat and soon. She decided to try the next village and limped into its environs at the mid-morning candlemark. There were a few curious looks but on the whole she was ignored.

  Elisabeth was by now very hungry indeed. The village boasted one tavern, a seedy-looking place and none too clean she realised as she went in.

  It had one customer, a rough-looking man in seafaring boots who was eating at one of the rickety tables in the corner.

  The man looked at her with an interest that missed little as she asked for a meal in a voice that trembled with nervousness.

  Elisabeth realised from the man’s sharp intake of breath as she began to talk that something had alerted him. But what? She was dirty. Her hair was short. She was dressed in typical boy’s garb. She kept her voice low and copied the attitudes she had observed in the behaviour of her father’s pages in the great hall, at once deferent yet confident.

  The landlord said nothing although his eyes opened wide at the coin Elisabeth placed on the counter but he nodded, picked up the coin and bustled away to bring her a simple meal.

  The man in the boots stood up and sauntered towards the bar where he stopped.

  Elisabeth held her breath.

  “A boy who can pay for breakfast,” the booted sailor said to no-one in particular and pointedly staring at the wall, “could surely afford to buy a pair of decent second-hand boots.”

  Elisabeth said exactly nothing.

  “Rudtka got your tongue? Where you from?”

  Elisabeth couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t give her away. She stared at the dirty counter and hoped that he would go away.

  The man looked her over. Strange sort of boy he was thinking, why didn’t he speak? Most boys of his acquaintance would fall over themselves to talk. There was something strange here. The clothes, although dirty were of good quality, so why was he not wearing anything on his feet? Perhaps he had stolen the clothes?

  He looked at the boy’s hands and blinked hard. These were no ragamuffin’s hands. These hands were of a delicate nature; the nails manicured no less! They reminded him of the soft hands of his sisters.

  “I think,” he said in a low voice, “that you’d better tell me what you’re doing here.”

  Elisabeth flicked a sideways glance at him.

  “You’re a fool if you think the landlord’s not wondering.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When an unshod and dirty boy pays for a meal with a gold circle any landlord worth his salt is bound to be just a teeny bit suspicious,” he explained, “I noticed the glint of gold. He probably suspects you’re a thief. What if he sets the Watch on you?”

  Elisabeth paled with fright.

  “What shall I do?” she gasped, completely forgetting to try and disguise her voice.

  His eyebrows rose as realisation hit him.

  “Young lady,” he continued, ignoring her gasp of terror, “if I were you I’d get out of here as soon as you can. You’ve run away, haven’t you?”

  There didn’t seem to be any point in pretending any longer. “What gave me away?”

  “Your hands. No boy has hands like yours and your voice is a sure giveaway. You should have practiced more.”

  “Oh.”

  “The coins jangling in your belt-pouch don’t help either. There are cut-throats and cut-purses around, slavers too, a young thing like you would make a fine price in the slave markets at Fort.”

  “I’ve got to get to the North,” Elisabeth blurted.

  “I see.”

  Elisabeth had the nagging suspicion that the man saw all too well and knew exactly who she was.

  “How much money do you have?”

  “This and some jewels.”

  “Show me.”

  She did so, inwardly quaking, her instinct said to trust him but
he had frightened her with his mention of the thieves and slavers.

  “You’re a lady of noble birth are you not? There will be a search called for you soon.”

  Elisabeth hung her head, she was positive that he intended to hand her over and collect the reward that her father would have posted.

  He debated with himself. He knew of the disappearance of the Duke’s daughter but he doubted if any of the villagers would know yet. He paid well for speedy information, in his line of business it paid in the long run.

  “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said at last as he came to a decision, “you can ship out with me – though it’ll cost you.”

  “I’ll do anything,” Elisabeth quavered, anything except being returned to her father.

  “Not that sort of price girl. What sort of person do you take me for?” he declared with some heat, “shall we say half of these jewels of yours, the least notable and traceable and two gold circles?”

  Elisabeth nodded. He wasn’t going for the reward after all.

  The Landlord returned with a platter of cheese and bread and looked surprised to see them together.

  “Where d’ya want to eat?” he asked her.

  “The lad will eat with me,” answered the seafarer with great presence of mind, “I’ve only just hired him, been looking for a ship’s boy these past three days.”

  He indicated that Elisabeth should make her way to his table in the corner. Elisabeth took the hint and shuffled over. Her rescuer took the wooden tray from the landlord and followed her with a curt nod of thanks.

  “When it’s dark I’ll sneak you aboard,” he told Elisabeth sotto voce as she relaxed enough to force some of the dry bread down her throat, “you’re not the first I’ve smuggled north. It won’t be a comfortable trip mind, I’ve got a secret compartment fitted out in the fish-hold. No customs man has found anyone or anything I’ve hidden yet.”

  Elisabeth nodded in between mouthfuls. The bread was at least five days old she reckoned and the cheese hard, but she was famished. It tasted like the most scrumptious feast.

  “I’m not headed for either Argyll or the Islands,” he added.

  “Where?”

  “Vadath.”

  Vadath! Elisabeth knew a little about Vadath – the country in the Northern Continent ruled jointly by Lind and man. Vadath was the home of the Vada. She had heard the pages talking about them the afternoon she had stolen the clothes from the store.

  Her face betrayed consternation at the prospect. What would they think when a noble female fugitive from the Southern Continent arrived on their doorstep? Send her back?

  “You’ll be welcomed there lass,” he said, divining her thoughts. “If there is anywhere on this world where you can be safe it will be there. Trust me.”

  Surprisingly, Elisabeth did.

  The hidden compartment on the boat was just as uncomfortable and smelly as she had thought it would be (far worse than the cess cart) but she endured it, eking out her water and trying not to retch. Of the hard biscuits and dried fish her protector had given her when he had led her aboard that evening, she ate only a small portion. She was feeling so ill with the sway, swell and smell of the hold that food didn’t seem to matter.

  At last the boat arrived in a wooded northern inlet. Her rescuer was one of those stalwarts that dared trade with the hated Vadath, not that it was strictly illegal but he was careful not to draw attention to his lucrative activities.

  Elisabeth was hustled ashore and into a hut where the sailor took his leave of her.

  “Good luck,” he said as he disappeared, “someone will come for you in a bit.”

  She realised when he had gone that she hadn’t even asked his name.

  Two ‘someones’ came; a man dressed in maroon leathers and his mount, to Elisabeth’s amazement, was a beautiful creature all shades of blues and browns.

  Now, Elisabeth had been told about the Larg.

  This creature was nothing like the stories.

  It, he, she, was large, though smaller at the shoulder than her father’s horse. A riding horse was a rich man’s transport, she had never ridden the fiery stallion, hadn’t even touched him. This creature was nothing like her father’s horse.

  It was beautiful with soft glossy fur, striped blue-brown and when she looked closer, she noticed that it had tinges of grey and yellow at its neck ruff and on its face.

  The man at the creature’s side was grey-haired. He had a craggy face, criss-crossed with fine lines and a scar down one cheek.

  A fighter, Elisabeth realised. Some of her father’s most experienced battle retainers looked the same, it told of a life spent in the pursuit of arms. She wondered who or what this man had fought against. Elisabeth knew little about the countries in the Northern Continent. A southern female’s education, even a noble’s daughter’s, was sketchy at best and devoted to what was known as ‘womanly pursuits’.

  That there were no Dukes in Vadath as in Murdoch, intermittently squabbling with each other, she knew that much. So Elisabeth wondered greatly as they drew closer and the man introduced himself and his Lind partner.

  His accent was strange, oddly clipped and the words seemed to tumble into each other.

  “I am Harld,” he announced, “Supply Officer at this station and this,” he indicated the Lind with a wave of his hand, “is Alya. You are?”

  It was time to eradicate the last link with her old life.

  “Beth.”

  “That your real name?”

  She shook her head.

  “Fair enough. It’s as good as any other. What brings you to Vadath at such great cost and danger?”

  “I am running away.”

  “I and Alya know this already. What we need to know is from whom and from where. Are you running away to escape justice?”

  So she told him, of how her father had arranged the marriage, of how she had engineered her escape, how she had made her way along the coast and her experience in the tavern.

  “You were lucky it was him who found you and not a slaver or worse.”

  Beth had stumbled across something here, something she did not understand.

  This feeling was substantiated as Harld began to grill her unmercifully about everything she knew about the Graham demesne. How many men had her father? What did she know about the Larg? Beth got the distinct impression that Harld knew the answers to most of the questions already but she told him what she knew. It wasn’t much.

  “I’m a female,” she explained, “the men don’t tell us much.”

  Harld nodded.

  Another man appeared, older than Harld and carrying a bread roll and some root tea. Elisabeth thought it strange that the man was doing what she had always considered to be a woman’s task, unless he was a slave, then she remembered that there weren’t any slaves in the North. The man placed his burden down on the table beside her and left.

  “What do you intend to do now that you’re here?” asked Harld.

  “I’ve still got some of my jewels,” Beth answered, “I thought I could sell them to get enough money until I find a job.”

  “You trained for anything?”

  She shook her head.

  “Thought not. A Duke’s daughter wouldn’t need to be would she?”

  Harld thought for a moment. His eyes grew distant. Alya’s eyes mirrored his and with a start Beth realised that the rumours were true, the Lind and their human partners could converse telepathically.

  “The best thing I can do for you,” he said at last, “is to send you up the line to Vada. They’ll find you somewhere to live and something to do. What do you think? You’re a free woman now, you can do what you like.”

  Beth blushed and Harld had another thought.

  “What age are you?”

  “Almost fifteen.”

  “In that case you haven’t a choice. Up to Vada you go. You’ll need to attend classes, catch up with your education.”

  Beth was surprised.

  “
We educate both sexes here in Vadath, Argyll too and we make provision for orphans and the like. Have you ever ridden?”

  “Not very much.”

  “Don’t tell me, females don’t often ride where you come from. Well, I’ll go and get you some clean clothes. These reek of fish and after you’ve washed, changed, eaten and had a rest for what remains of the night, you can be on your way. I’ve a message to send anyway, a written message. You can take it.”

  “I’m scared of horses,” she confessed.

  “Great Andei’s pawprints girl, you won’t be riding any horses! This is Vadath. Here we ride the Lind.” His eyes grew distant again, he grinned at Alya, smiled in a whimsical way and added, “and I am reminded that even then it is with permission, of a sort.”

  Alya chortled and set her deep blue eyes on Beth and the girl had no inkling of the fact that the two were discussing her.

  : Altei I think : Alya telepathed to Harld after some heated mental debate.

  : Are you sure Alya? I thought Lalya, she is faster :

  : Definitely not, it must be Altei, Lalya is far too inquisitive, she is also female :

  : What has that got to do with it? :

  : Think about it :

  “One of the unpaired Lind will take you,” Harld informed Beth, “better get you a provisions’ sack too. Apart from the farms, the countryside you’ll be passing through is pretty empty and it will be best if you don’t stop.”

  “You want me to journey to this Vada place on my own?” squeaked Beth.

  “Why not? You’ve got this far haven’t you? This isn’t Murdoch. You’ll be safe with Altei. You were in far greater danger when you ran away from your father.”

  Beth did not sleep well. As she tossed and turned, her dreams relived her escape and, as dreams do, embellished them. A vengeful, looming father haunted her. She relived the candlemarks spent in the tavern; she was a slave, slave tattoos black against her skin, dressed in rags as she worked in the fields in mute terror of what was to come. The overseer drew her aside into the trees and lifted her tattered skirts.

  Beth woke trembling. She lay for some time before drifting off to sleep again.