The Lone Traveler - Part Nineteen

The Lone Traveler

Chapter Nineteen



Less than ten miles down the road Elise encountered crippled soldiers lying on the side of the narrow dirt road. Most had severe wounds and could not sustain the forced march set by the retreating army. They were usually given the option of a quick death, but some chose the lingering death. One such youth, perhaps no more than six and ten years, drew Elise’s attention. He was a comely young man, his general appearance very similar to David’s. Although her search was an urgent one, she stopped to stare down at the quickly dying youth.

“The gods are generous,” the young man smiled then gritted his teeth against the pain. “They have sent a goddess to help me into the next life.”

Elise casually studied the dying boy. He had a massive stomach wound, most likely from a long sword or halberd, and another severe wound on his upper left arm. Although the bleeding had stopped, his flesh was chalky white indicating that little blood remained in his torn body. Death was indeed very close at hand.

“I am no goddess,” she finally replied. “But I can help you ease into the afterlife if you so desire.”

“I feel no pain now, my Lady,” the young man returned. “You are a blessed sight for a dying man, so, to me you are a goddess, a clean and very pretty goddess.”

The remark struck Elise as strange until she remembered that Ser Thoragild insisted they bathe as often as possible and wear clean tunics to ward off lice and fleas. The apothicarius, Phylos, had instilled into each of them the need for cleanliness as well as eating and drinking from clean cups and bowls, something to do with little unseen devils that invaded the body. She would have to do something about that. Her uncommonly clean appearance would definitely give her away. She must look and dress like a survivor from one of the villages or a dirty camp follower or even the way she looked when Ser Thoragild had found her in the wild. Better yet, since she kept her hair cut short like a squire, if she could find a half helm, she could pose as a boy. She had witnessed the heinous brutality of some soldiers, they cared less whether a girl was pretty or not, their odious lust knew no bounds.

“You have done me a great service, Ser,” she told the youngster who was obviously not a knight. “Might I know your name and carry a message to your family to inform them of your bravery and sacrifice?”

“Duncan. My name is Duncan, son of Duncan from Havenhall. My parents own a bakery on the street of red sparrows.” He reached around his neck and removed a cheap but very attractive medallion. ”This was given to me by my Mum, Abbie, when I left to go to war. She will recognize it. Tell her I died honorably serving the Emperor.”

Kings, Queens, Lords, Emperors, what does it matter, Elise thought. This young man is no different than many others I have seen in our own army. The rich start the wars and the poor die in them. It will never change.

“I will tell your family of your bravery,” She smiled suddenly noting that his sky blue eyes had glazed over in death. She pulled his jerkin off and smeared his blood on her clean tunic, then lay down in the ditch next to him and let the muddy ground add dirt to her appearance. By the time she was finished, she would easily pass for a vagabond or camp follower. I’m getting too careless, she thought. Little things will be the undoing of me.

“Thank you, Ser Duncan, son of Abbie and of Duncan the baker,” She muttered, glancing at the many bodies lying around. “Sorry, but I do not have the time to give you a decent burial so I will leave your among your friends and let the gods take care of your mortal remains.” She removed a small coin from her coin pouch and placed it beneath the boy’s tongue. “Just in case your god demands a price for your entry into the next life,” she whispered.

Elise looped the medallion around her neck and tucked it into her jerkin. As she passed by each dead or dying soldier, she carefully observed their armor. Shortly, she found a very thin man wearing a half helm. She walked into the grass and removed it, noting little damage. When she placed it on her head it was a decent fit. She glanced at the man’s boots, but they were nothing but rags. She would have to make certain hers were muddy and unpresentable. “Meet Duncan, little brother of Duncan,” she muttered. “I live on the street of red sparrows.” She knew the likely hood of meeting someone who knew dead Duncan was very remote but she needed a reliable cover.

The few foot prints of Analia’s that she could find had been obliterated by the camp followers and stragglers; however, it was obvious that the army was returning to Alation to join the siege. She continued on down the road. It was a surprisingly warm and sunny day, with a clear blue sky and gentle breeze with the scent of pine and horse manure floating in the air. She occasionally passed another dead soldier or a discarded piece of equipment; however, the camp followers had already picked the bodies clean of usable clothing and serviceable weapons.

She kept to the small road throughout the day and late into the evening. Around midnight she spotted a glow on the southern horizon and as she walked over a ridge line, the lights from the City of Alation could be seen on a long island in the center of a great dark river. Surrounding the city were a thousand campfires slowly burning down to cinders. On the southern half of the island the Royal Castle stood, lit up by fires near the walls and the fleeting shadows of sentries walking back and forth in front of the fires.

She was very tired, the pace she had set was much faster than that of the Angalund Army which had been slowed considerably by the captives and walking wounded. She had eaten nothing since breaking her fast before daybreak and the sudden smell of roasting flesh made her mouth water. As she neared one campsite, an alert sentry challenged her. She replied in the deepest voice she could muster.

“Tis I, Duncan of Havenhall!” she yelled back, “just out for a call of nature.”

The sentry allowed her to pass assuming she had left the camp before his stretch of guard duty had started less than ten minutes before. Elise had purposely waited at the edge of the camp for that very reason, had she entered before, the old sentry would have been more suspicious. As she meandered through the enemy camp, she met no challenge, for most of the men were sleeping while a few diehards were drinking and playing dice around the slowly dying fires.

She soon saw what had generated her hunger, the ribs and withers of a mule was still roasting over a metal spit hanging over the coals of a large fire. The mule’s head had been impaled on a strong wooden stake and arranged so that the dead mule was watching himself being slowly cooked, a bit of nonsensical farce. The soldiers most likely planned to have the cooked meat to break their morning fast.

Elise quickly cut a slice of the juicy meat and retreated into the darkness to devour her hasty meal. The tough meat was not as tasty as venison or even horse flesh, however, it filled her empty stomach so she could sleep without the gnawing growls of hunger. She soon found herself in a small wagon park with a tethering line tied between two trees and half a dozen mules tied to the line. Glancing into the back of the wagon, she saw three girls sound asleep among sacks of oats or corn.

Not a good sleeping place for Duncan son of Duncan, Elise thought. She continued on through the wagon park and found a line sagging with horse blankets. Although the blankets smelled of old sweat and horse, she pulled several of the drier ones down and made her way into a small copse of woods not far away. After spreading several of the blankets on the cold ground, she pulled the other one over her and fell immediately into a deep comfortable sleep.

At daybreak the next morning, she was rudely awakened by a loud shout and someone pulling the horse blanket from her. “Thief!” A short rotund man wearing a filthy tunic stood a few feet from her. Elise was shocked by the sudden danger. I am getting soft, she thought. I didn’t think I was so tired I could let someone like this creep up on me.

“I am no thief!” she shouted back, sleep fog causing her to forget her well planned disguise so the retort came out in a girly voice.

“A girl!” the ugly fat man returned, glancing at the half helm laying the ground next to her. “Pretending to be a boy, are you? I can keep your secret for a price.” He started removing the filthy tunic with a clear intent in mind. Before the tunic was half way off, a dagger sprouted in his neck penning the disgusting garment to his neck. Bright crimson blood seeped into the tunic. The man jerked a few times then fell to his knees on the dew wet grass. He swayed for a few seconds then fell face first into the pool of blood already spreading.

Elise grabbed the half helm and then stepped over to retrieve her dagger, wiping it clean on the dead man’s shoulder and returning it to her belt of daggers. She quickly left the area after making certain none of her small foot prints were anywhere near. She wandered around the encampment searching for the locale where the prisoners might be kept. She was uncertain in what category Analia would be placed, important prisoner, camp follower, slave, or hostage, but the massive encampment was too large to search, so surely she would fit into one of those categories. The fact that Analia was one of the feared Dragon Riders would ensure her value to her captors.

By noon she had searched all the areas in which she suspected that Analia would be held captive but found no traces of her. She was not among the men-at-arms being held for future slavery, nor was she with the camp followers. She was most likely among the knights being held for ransom, or perhaps in some wealthy lord’s tent. Elise did not like the idea of sneaking into the area where the enemy knights and lords kept their tents and pavilions; they were the most heavily guarded region of the encampment. A strange, skinny, soldier hanging around such an area would certainly be a target for suspicion and would draw undue attention.

Soon, she found herself back at the small wagon park where she had stolen the horse blankets the night before. There was no yelling or men scurrying about so the man she had been forced to kill had yet to be found, either that or he was too unimportant to create much of a stir. A sudden aroma guided her back to the wagon where she had seen the three girls sleeping. They were sitting around a small camp fire over which hung a black kettle with some type of savory stew or soup cooking.

As Elise approached the wagon to talk with the girls, she noticed a small foot print in the soft earth. The print displayed a small crescent on the left heel. It was beyond doubt made by Analia’s boot. She had not hoped to find such a print, figuring that some enterprising soldier would have taken Analia’s finely wrought boots to sell or to trade with the camp followers for coin or favors.

The three girls sitting around the fire looked at her with suspicion and unease as she approached them. They had thus far not been molested or turned over to the slavers and any undue attention coming their way was met with guarded trepidation.

Elise halted a few feet from them and smiled. “My name is Duncan, son of Duncan,” she stated nodding at the stew. “I could use a small bit of that food you are preparing; it has been a while since I smelled something as inviting.”

“Taint much,” the eldest appearing of the girls replied. “Got some potaders and a small rabbit we done traded for.”

“And we got some rye bread, Edna,” the youngest of the girls muttered. “Soldier boy not much older than you,”

Edna stood and pushed a stick through the small chain holding the black pot over the embers, then placed it on a large stone near the fire. “Reckon we can spare a bite or two,” she cautiously stated. “Give it time to cool a mite.”

Elise sat on a log and tore off a small piece of the rye bread. It was coarse and unappetizing, but she had eaten much worse. The rabbit broth tasted bad, somewhat burned, watery, and the stringy meat was tough and mostly gristle, however she noticed that the girls devoured it with relish. Quickly finishing her small portion, she reached in her leather coin bag and retrieved several coppers. “I can’t spare much but I hope this will help you to buy more food,” she stated handing the coins over to the girl called Edna.

Edna ogled the small coins as if they were a king’s ransom, holding them up to look at the impressions made on the copper. “Camalund coins,” she whispered. “Where you get these coppers, they worth more than others?”

Elise smiled at the remark. “Paymaster gives us coins from everywhere. I never look at where they’re from; I’m only concerned with their value.”

“Should get a bag of flour and fresh vegetables for these,” Edna continued. “Not many soldiers are generous as such. You be wanting something extra for the coins?” She was clearly insinuating sexual favors.

“No, just paying you for a delicious meal,” Elise replied and perhaps a bit of information if you are in a position to provide it.

“Wot kind of formation?” the middle girl answered. “We only been with this here army for a few days. Got ourselves caught tryin’ to hide in the hills.”

“I’m looking for a young girl,” Elise continued in a nonchalant manner “She is about the age of your youngest sister. I met her in the hills back at that village where you were caught while I was out foraging. Her name started with an A, but I can’t remember it exactly.”

“We had another girl with us until early this morning,” Edna stated. “She was a nice girl but her soldier done sold her and little Jon to some rich lord or such.”

Elise was excited to hear the words. Perhaps a little luck was finally due to come her way. “What did she look like?” she casually asked.

“Pretty girl,” the middle sister chimed in. “She was tall with hair the color of chestnuts and strange violet colored eyes. She was not from our village, done lost her memory or such. We named her Audrey.

“What kind of clothing did she wear,” Elise prompted.

“Regular clothes like us,” Edna stated. “Cept she had some mighty pretty boots. Can’t for the life of me figure on how she got’em.”

“Do you remember the name of the lord who bought her?”

Edna glanced around at her two sisters, her head leaning at a slight angle. “I’m thinking it was some lord named Fenton or Benton.”

“Twas Clynton,” the youngest smiled. “I done remember it on account of old man Claton who worked the hog farm down the road a spell from where we lived. Yep! Clynton for sure.”

There was no doubt in Elise’s mind that they were describing Analia. The part about her loss of memory worried her but hopefully it was a short term loss. That would explain the name of Audrey. Elise had lost her own memory one time when she fell down a small cliff, but it came back after a few minutes. The pretty boots and violet eyes just about clinched the identity.

“I have to go now,” Elise said noticing the teamster heading in their direction. “Thank you for the good food and information, you were most helpful.” The girls nodded in appreciation as he left and she strolled past the wagon master as if she had a right to be there. He gave her a curious and hostile glance but did not detain her.

At least she had a name and destination to help her in her search. Question was how could she make her way into restricted territory as a no-account foot soldier? What would give her access to such lofty territory, and how would she find the answers to the questions she would have to ask?

Half an hour later, she was at the outskirts of the camp followers. She wandered around until she found the place she needed to be, the tents where the prostitutes lived. Hanging on a taunt line to dry was a variety of clothes to pick from. Elise was tempted to grab several of the garments but there was a young girl sitting near a smoldering fire watching every move she made. Instead, she slowly ambled over to the girl, walking in a swagger and holding her crotch as she had seen other soldiers do. The girl gave her a curious look as she halted in front of her.

“I’m wanting to buy something for my girlfriend,” Elise stated trying to lower her voice as deep as possible.

“You want jewelry or perfume?” the young girl questioned, giving her the once over appraisal.

“She could use some pretty clothes and shoes,” Elise returned, “Perhaps even some nice under things as well.”

“Is she a large or medium girlfriend?” the prostitute inquired.

Elise gave her a not sure glance. “I think she’s about my size, maybe a little smaller.”

Half an hour later, Elise found a safe spot to bury her soiled clothing, half helm, and boots. She wrapped everything in a tattered blanket before placing them in a shallow hole in the ground and covered that with fallen pine needles. Although her hair was cut short, like a page or squire would wear it, she had a bonnet covering her head and ears and loosely tied beneath her chin. Many young women wore a bonnet to hide unruly hair, or as often was the case, to hide cropped hair. Men and women both often cropped their hair to get rid of unwanted lice and it was considered a normal hygienic move.

Although the dress was designed and tailored to enhance the female attributes concomitant to the prostitute trade, Elise had removed some frilly parts and changed others to turn it into more presentable attire similar to what a well to do craftsman or merchant’s daughter would wear. The change was manifest as she strolled between the wealthy pavilions and areas occupied by the upper crust. Well trained guards glanced at her with approval while servants regarded her with smiles and often indifference as if she truly had a right to be where she was.

After strolling some distance around the area she realized she could not continue the charade without eventually arousing suspicion, she had to ask someone where the pavilion of Lord Clynton was. She stopped a young girl, apparently a servant from her dress and the bundle she was carrying, and finally got her answer.

The girl pointed to a very large tent flying a blood red pennant with an unknown sigil on it, she shuddered and quickly continued on in her task. Elise also noticed a banner displaying a coat of arms with a mace and battle axe crossed on a field of dark red fluttering above the sigil. She had heard about those who flew sigils. They were thought to be evil magicians who adopted the symbol of their personal angel or demon whom they could summon when needed. David told them that the grimoires, magical training books, listed hundreds of the symbols. He also said that cunning lords sometimes used them to frighten their servants, peasants, and men-at-arms but they held no real mystical powers.

Elise held her breath then let it out slowly. “Into the dragon’s den,” she whispered. She slowly sauntered up to the guards standing outside the tent. They were big powerful men covered with expensive chainmail and half helms holding long halberds out before them. They did not smile as she got close but glanced at her warily out of the corner of their eyes.

“I’m looking for a young girl,” Elise stated in a low but composed tone of voice. “She may have been here to see Lord Clynton earlier this morning.”

She was suddenly and roughly seized by the two guards who immediately entered the large tent carrying her between them. As they entered she saw a tall, slim, middle aged man sitting across from another man, a knight, in deep conversation. They both looked up at the unexpected interruption.

“My Lord,” one of the guards stated, “this girl was asking about the other girl. You told us to seize and hold anyone who mentioned her.”

Elise saw the frown of consternation leave the tall man’s face to be replaced by one of malevolence and evil. He was the most villainous looking man she had ever laid eyes on. Her first thought was of the daggers she had left hidden in the thicket of trees and the second one of the sigil flying above the tent.