The Lone Traveler - Part Seventeen

The Lone Traveler

Chapter Seventeen



The retreating army slowly wound its way down the twisting road like an enormous snake, in winding loops, through thick forest, over and around small hills, and through beautiful little valleys. They had walked through the night and now the early morning was pleasantly warm with a crystal clear sky, white puffy clouds, and a soft gentle breeze smelling of pine and cedar.

Trailing near the rear of the long slithering army was a host of captive knights and other beaten men destined to become the slaves of the Empire of Angalund. The knights would be ransomed where possible; all others were bound for the clay pits, mines, fields, and factories. Last of all, trudged a small army of camp followers, the illegitimate wives and bastard children of the common soldiers, some indentured servants, prostitutes, and a host of enemy civilians destined for the slave collar.

The trailing end of the line was thick with choking dust thrown up by the proceeding army of men, numerous heavily laden wagons, horses, and slogging foot soldiers. Now that they were nearing Alation, the capitol of city of Alataria, Analia’s bonds had been untied and she and her small group of captives were allowed an easier pace than being pulled by the oxcart ahead of them. Several times the girls had to take turns carrying the small boy who could not keep up with the grinding pace. They were aware that a large force of Angalund cavalry covered the army’s retreat and had been given explicit orders to kill any captives who attempted to escape or fell behind due to fatigue or injury.

Analia still had no idea who she truly was. All she could recall was lying on the dusty, blood splattered ground, with a fearsome giant dragon not far from her. She remembered being assaulted by one filthy mud caked soldier, who was violently pulled from her by a much larger soldier who insinuated that she was his daughter. That man was tall, very heavy, covered in filth, and the thing she remembered most was that his left eye kept looking up and away even while his right eye focused on her. He had called her, Audrey, when the master of wagons inquired as to her identity, but the wagon master was highly skeptical of the soldier’s crafty answer, since most camp followers were congregated together in the rear of the column, so he had her tied with several other captives behind his wagon as a precaution.

During the tortuous journey from the battlefield, she discovered that the three young girls and small boy in bonds alongside her were from the small village which had supposedly been evacuated before the battle. They were unfortunate enough to be captured by roving cavalry patrols that were searching for game in the outlying hills. The three girls, all around her age, were destined to become concubines or personal slaves of the soldiers who captured them, while the fate of the young boy was in question. He was around ten years of age and, despite the caked on dirt, was an attractive dark haired lad. She was not so naive that she did not know that some perverted men preferred young boys to girls.

The three girls eyed her with suspicion as she was completely unfamiliar to them. The eldest, a girl of about eight and ten years, was openly hostile. “Where you from, Audrey?” she asked in a harsh and unsympathetic manner. “You’re not from our village. You one of them there soldier’s whores?”

“I’m no whore!” Analia spiritedly snapped. “I can’ remember who I am, but I am not any soldier’s whore.”

“Wot you mean, you can’t remember who you be? You one of them simpletons?”

“I have no memory past the time I was found on the battlefield,” Analia replied. “Something must have happened to me to erase my past. Perhaps I was stunned by a fall; I have a bad bruise and large lump on the back of my head which still irritates me and I am still having small dizzy spells.”

“You talk like one of them there big castle girls,” another of the young girls chimed in. “You must be from a castle or you might even be one of them Angalunders like that soldier daddy of yourn says.”

“For certain that monstrosity is not my father!” Analia spat back. “All he wants me for is to share his filthy flea bitten covers at night.”

“We’re all captives now,” the elder girl emphatically stated. “No need for us to be a fightin’ between ourselves. I’m Edna and we’ll call you Audrey for now, wot the wagon man done called you, can’t go around calling you, hey girl.”

“Audrey is fine,” Analia muttered, thinking that she had heard the name elsewhere, under different circumstances, but the ghostly memory eluded her.

All night they had been traveling southeast. Now the long column was moving almost due south with the clear view of a massive river to their right in the valley below. Analia had been approached by the huge ugly soldier who claimed to be her father during the long march, but the wagon master had fortunately come to her rescue, forbidding him from taking her away from his care. He had also given her a ragged but warm wool blanket to cover herself during the chill night. As they angled right and started descending the gradual slope to the mighty river, they could see the city of Alation located on a large and long island in the center of the wide river. The wagon master told them that an ancient city once stood up river a short distance at a place where two great rivers merged to form this mighty waterway, but it had been destroyed by the gods and little remained except a large circular lake.

As they drew closer, they could clearly see tall stone walls surrounding the entire southern half of the long island where a great castle stood. Angalund forces were besieging the walls from the northern part of the island and had strong forces posted on both banks of the river. The city was completely cut off by wide flat barges securely anchored in the eastern part of the river, preventing it from receiving supplies or reinforcements. Throughout the journey she would occasionally glance up into the sky and see huge birds and dragons circling high over the lumbering column. She assumed they were following them, keeping track of the Angalund Army, but her memory from the battlefield still frightened her and she hoped the beasts would stay far away.

That evening they made camp with the besieging forces near the banks of the mighty river. The current of the river was very strong and they were ordered to keep away or they would be swept downstream. As they were sitting around a small campfire eating stale bread and some kind of tasteless broth, the ugly soldier with the crooked eye strutted boldly into camp. He was wearing a new suit of chain mail that covered his filthy jerkin, and carried a used sword in a scabbard hanging on his left side.

“You ain’t my daughter ennymore,” he told her with a smug expression. “You been sold, adapted, by Ser Clynton. His men gonna be around here to pick you up along with that boy pup over yonder. Don’t you be a givin’ them no sass, ya hear me.” He left as quickly as he had appeared, swaggering in his newly bought armor.

“Bought for a new set of mail and a rusty sword,” Analia muttered. “At least I know my family value.” She smiled and chuckled at the irony of her position. “I guess anything is better than being owned by that revolting creature.”

“What for do they want little Jon?” the youngest girl stuttered in a very puerile tone. “He ain’t old enough to be a soldering.”

“Never you mind,” Edna snapped. “His maw and paw wouldn’t want him back ennyways. They got nine other youngins to feed. Rich knight can afford to take care of him really swell.”

Analia rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the comment but deigned to remain silent. These village girls were a lot like the ones she grew up with, lacking in even the most basic learning and comfortable with their low position in life. Although her full memory was missing, she felt that she had been raised like them, but somehow obtained additional education and experience.

The next morning, Ser Clynton’s men-at-arms came for them. Little Jon did not want to be separated from the three village girls who had sheltered and fed him, but Analia offered her hand and he followed with a hound dog look and a smattering of tears on his dirty face. They were taken to a large field tent with a banner displaying a coat of arms with a mace and battle axe crossed on a field of dark red. Inside the tent was very gloomy, lit only by a few candles. A tall, slim, middle aged man sat on a stool behind a field desk reading a dispatch. He glanced up as they were ushered before him.

The tall man stood and casually walked around them, making no comment on their disheveled appearance. He finally returned to the camp stool and sat down. “You are now my property,” he stated without fanfare. “Today you will be sent back to Havenhall with a small escort. They are returning to pick up recruits and you are simply baggage to them. Attempt to escape and I promise you will sorely regret it. Some of my men love the company of ripe young maidens and others favor tender young boys, so do not give me an excuse to turn you over to them.” His stern look told them that he meant exactly what he said. He waved his hand for the men-at-arms to take them away.

“Havenhall,” Analia curiously whispered as they left the tent. The place had no meaning for her.

One of the men-at-arms, a very young one, gave her a curious glance. “The capitol of Angalund,” he muttered, “you dense or something girl?”

“Just another one of them ignorant dirt farmers,” the other man snickered. “A right pretty one I’d guess, beneath all that dirt and wot not.”

They were taken directly to a staging area where several dozen wagons sat and burly teamsters were busy loading supplies and hitching up mules and oxen with a confusing array of leather harnesses and straps. The older soldier spoke with a grizzled sergeant sitting on a nearby log devouring a split loaf of dark bread smeared with jam. He pointed to a wagon which was fully loaded and turned his attention back to his bread. The sight of the bread made Analia and Jon’s mouth water. They had received no food with which to break their morning fast. The soldiers took them to the wagon and indicated that they should climb in the back among the bags and boxes.

“Looks like we may be riding this time,” Analia whispered to Jon, as she helped him climb over the tall wooden tail gate. Once inside the wagon they found bags of corn and wheat to sit on and several barrels of dried apples left over from the fall harvest. With no one to tell them otherwise, they helped themselves to handfuls of the delicious apples and snuggled down to eat.

The teamster driving the wagon told them that the journey to Havenhall would last at least two weeks since it was a good three hundred miles distance, providing they could average fifteen miles or more per day, which was no guarantee on the makeshift roads on which they had to travel. The small troop of cavalry detailed to escort the wagons was in a dour and surly mood. They much preferred to remained back at the siege with an opportunity to win honors or share in the plunder and spoils once the city had fallen. Their leader, the same gruff sergeant who had been eating the bread, surprised Analia by turning out to be a compassionate and gentle man, not with the troopers, whom he drove relentlessly, but when dealing with her and Jon. He told them he had a daughter and son about their age back at his home in a small town west of Havenhall.

The first evening they made camp, she also discovered that, of the fifteen wagons in the convoy, twelve of them contained captured knights from Camalund and Alataria. They were being taken east to offset the chance of their being rescued by their compatriots. Most, if not all, would bring a good price when they were ransomed. Their status and value dictated that they ride instead of being forced to walk. Analia and Jon were ordered to keep away from the captives or their own freedom of movement would be severely restricted. They were thus required to stay with the teamsters and off duty troopers and well away from the captives.

By the end of the first week of travel, even little Jon had pulled out of his shell and started to become friendly with the sergeant and some of the more genial troopers. They treated him like a mascot and occasionally even allowed him to ride before them on their saddles. Analia they called Audrey, because that was the name given to her by her previous companions and one she grew to accept. The wagon master provided her with new clean clothing to replace her dirty and torn rags, the same ones in which she had been captured. He also gave her a brush and a small bowl of toiletries to help her groom herself and little Jon.

One evening she left to walk down to a small clear stream to fetch water for the cooking pot. They were camped in a small clearing in a thick stand of trees nestled in a small valley. The banks of the stream were thick with brush and small trees making it difficult to see from the campsite. As she bent over to fill the copper pot with water, Analia heard a rustling sound behind her and to her left. Shortly, a young man dressed in the quality clothing of a wealthy family, burst through the thick bushes and walked to the water. He started to bend down to quench his thirst when he suddenly spotted her. He instantly jumped up and backed away a few yards. Analia continued to stare at him, noting the small crest on his jerkin.

“You’re from Camalund?” she stated more than asked. She had recognized the coat of arms but her missing memory did not extend so far as to identify what family it came from. The young man was no older than eight and ten years, it was obvious that he was a knight, and he probably had just recently acquired his knightly spurs.

“Ser James Monthan,” he stated, bowing to her. “Forgive me, I did not know you were fetching water this close to our camp.”

Analia finally realized he was one of the captive knights that she was ordered to stay away from. If she was caught breaking that rule, she and little Jon would both be punished. However, her curiosity got the better of her. “I am called Audrey” she stated. “I cannot consort with you captive knights but I was curious to know if you may recognize me. I was also captured during the great battle. I am not from Angalund, that much I do know.”

The young knight looked her up and down, lingering far too long on her breast instead of her face. “I do not recognize you, my Lady,” he finally replied with a slight blush on his young face. “I do know that had I seen you before, I would surely never forget you.”

Before she could ask more questions, she heard a loud voice bellowing not far to her rear. “Audrey, where are you! We need that water.” The voice was quickly followed by a noisy rustling in the nearby bushes. She quickly grabbed the pail and turned to leave before they were seen together. “Ask around your camp if anyone can identify me,” she whispered. “If so, signal me to meet you in the forest.” She turned and hurried into the thick undergrowth.

Each evening for several days she watched the captive’s camp for a signal. None came. Evidently these knights were a group belonging to some lord’s estate located some distance from the capitol. Analia was somehow certain, although she did not know why, that she came from the capitol of Camalund or its close environs. Had she been someone of importance, or significant is some small way, they would surely have met or seen her in one capacity or another.

One day short of Havenhall the small caravan was suddenly ambushed by a large force of brigands. They easily outnumbered the small troop guarding the wagons; however, they were not as well trained and half of them were on foot. The sudden ambush took place in a heavily forested area chosen by the assailants so they could quickly lose the cavalry troopers in the thick undergrowth and marshy terrain. Their objective was to draw the troopers away so the men on foot could steal the wagons and supplies.

“They’re after the captives!” the Sergeant yelled. “They know their ransom value will amount to a small fortune. “Stay in the wagon!” he ordered Analia and little Jon. The sergeant quickly ordered his men to form a defense around the lead wagons. Analia grabbed Jon and forced him between two sacks of corn. Crossbow bolts did not know the difference between sacks and boys and men in the heat of battle often cared little where their bolts flew. The teamster cracked his whip to bring the oxen to a faster pace, but even then, they traveled no faster than a good stride.

Analia heard a surprised grunt from the front of the wagon then watched as the teamster slowly fell backward into the wagon. He had a bolt through his neck and blood was spouting from the deadly wound. Within seconds, a man jumped to the wagon seat and grabbed the reins which had fallen in the driver’s well. The wagon suddenly lurched to the right heading into the thick forest. Within minutes, they were forcing their way across marshy ground and then up another hillside covered with brambles and blackberry thorns.

The bandit suddenly stopped the wagon and climbed into the back, pushing the body of the teamster out of the way. He started cursing when his sharp knife sliced the bags and all he found were handfuls of corn and wheat and a few barrels of dried apples. Half way through the wagon, he spotted Analia and his face spread into a massive grin. “Well, well. Wot we got ere,” he sputtered, sheathing the knife and advancing towards her.

Analia started climbing over the rear gate to escape the filthy brute and he lurched faster to grab for her. As soon as he reached where little Jon was hidden the boy hit him hard in the groin with a stick of firewood the teamster had placed in the wagon for future use. The man folded over in pain, then grabbed the boy by the neck and slapped him very hard, hard enough to knock him out. Seeing that there was very little she could do to help, Analia took the opportunity to jump from the back of the wagon and run into the thick brambles. She could hear the brute crashing about looking for her, but his groin still throbbed and he was still in no position to run fast. When the noise could be heard moving away from her, Analia ran as fast as she could to put as much distance between herself and her pursuer as possible.

She ran until her side ached with pain and she was struggling to pull air into her heaving lungs. She found a thicket of berry bushes and hid until she finally caught her breath, then slowly made her way through the dense forest keeping a sharp eye for either the bandits or the troopers. She had absolutely no idea where she was, but she knew that Havenhall was perhaps a day east of her location. If she could find some small outlying village, perhaps she could steal a horse and enough provisions to make her way back to Alataria. She was worried about the fate of little Jon, however she was in no position to help him. He was obviously valuable property otherwise he would not have been with her in the wagon. Hopefully, the brigands would keep him for ransom and not mistreat him or the troopers would defeat them

For half a day she trudged through thick forest and marshy lowlands observing the sun to make certain she was traveling east. The thin shoes the wagon master had provided her with were starting to tear around the heels and were becoming difficult to keep on her feet. She was tired and exhausted and the growling in her stomach was telling her it was past time to eat. She soon broke out onto a small road leading in the direction she was heading and made the decision to follow it despite the dangers it presented. Slogging through the rough forest and marshy terrain had taken a toll on her waning strength.

In less than an hour, she caught up with a farm cart pulled by a lumbering ox heading in the same direction. The back of the cart was full of red potatoes and onions. A young man and his wife sat in the front of the rickety cart on the large pile of potatoes. They were surprised to see her, but offered friendly smiles. They made no comment about her disheveled appearance assuming she was some local girl heading for the city. They had learned from a life time of experience not to interfere in the ways of the rich and powerful. If she was a runaway, that was nothing to them.

“May I ride in the back of you cart?” Analia asked uncertain how to explain her sudden appearance in the middle of nowhere.

“Climb aboard,” the young woman replied. “We’re heading for the market in Havenhall. Hopefully we’ll make it before dark if we can get Juniper to walk faster. She’s an old girl with not much speed left in her.

Analia settled down on the pile of potatoes and watched the road behind them. “Like it or not, I’m heading for Havenhall,” she quietly mused. “If I can get in, I can get out!”

STATIC

The Lone Traveler - Part Eighteen  (13+) A young farm girl undertakes a fantastic and perilous journey in a Medieval like world. #2070173 by Oldwarrior