Читать книгу Lara: Book One of the World of Hetar - Бертрис Смолл, Bertrice Small - Страница 6

“WE MUST SELL Lara, husband. There is simply no other choice if you are to have your chance,” Susanna, wife of John Swiftsword, said quietly. She was uncomfortable with this matter, but sometimes her husband would not face simple facts. And the simple fact was that John had a beautiful daughter for whom he could no longer provide. But that same daughter could provide for them all, given the opportunity.

“I cannot,” her husband replied, but his voice was filled with the desperation that came from knowing she was right. Lara was all he had left of his brief union with the faerie woman, Ilona. The faerie had loved him for a brief time, given him their daughter whom she had named Lara—shining one, in her tongue—and then disappeared from his life as easily as she had entered into it that midsummer’s night so long ago. He had not married until two years ago, and while he loved his Susanna, the memory of Ilona would remain with him forever.

“Listen to me, husband,” Susanna’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “Have you considered what is to become of Lara? We are poor people. There is no dowry for her. How can there be, given your situation? Many fear her faerie beauty and her faerie blood. Who will wed a dowerless girl like that? And if she is not married, what will happen to her? All your life you have wanted but one thing—to become a member of the Order of Crusader Knights. You have served as a mercenary soldier since you were fifteen, and your reputation as a great swordsman is known throughout the land. But you know as well as I do that your poverty prevents you from attaining your greatest desire. The tournament for entry into the ranks of the Order of Crusader Knights is to be held in just a few months, husband. It will not be held again for another three years.” Could he not see, or understand? Why did she have to be the one to point out these things? She very much liked her stepdaughter, but John needed to advance, and she wanted a better life for their son. There was but one way to achieve their goals.

“But to sell my daughter into slavery,” John Swiftsword protested weakly.

Susanna sighed. “I know, husband, how much you love this child, but she is all we have that is of any value. She is so beautiful that it almost hurts the eyes to look upon her. I have grown to love her, too. Still, think of what little we have, and consider the son I gave you but six months ago. What will happen to Mikhail? The hovel we live in is yours only by virtue of your service to the Guild of Mercenaries. Your sword gives us food and small necessities, but nothing else. What clothing we possess is ours, but when your sword is no longer useful, where will we go? How many of your kind have deliberately allowed themselves to be killed in battle rather than face a homeless old age? And how many of their women roam as beggars without sons to provide for them?”

“But if Lara is sold into slavery what will happen to her?” John Swiftsword asked his wife. His gray eyes were troubled, and he ran a nervous hand through his brown hair.

“She will most likely be bought and trained to be a Pleasure Woman for one of the great Pleasure Houses here in the City,” Susanna said. “It will be a good life for her, and in all likelihood some magnate will eventually purchase her from the Pleasure House to be his own personal Pleasure Woman. She will enjoy a life of luxury, husband, which is a far better future than we can offer her.” Susanna put a comforting hand on her husband’s sinewy arm. He was a good man, but like many men he needed to be led in the right direction. Such was a wife’s duty.

“How can you be certain that she will be so fortunate in her fate?” he demanded.

“I have already gone to Gaius Prospero, husband,” Susanna answered honestly.

“You went to the Master of the Merchants of the Midlands, and he saw you?” John Swiftsword was astounded by her admission.

“The Master of the Merchants holds an open audience once each month for any who would come to proffer him something of value. I took Lara with me several days ago that he might see what we had to offer him. Gaius Prospero is who he is because he is a clever man, and always eager for profit. He has told me what he will pay for Lara. It is a more than generous sum. With it I can purchase the finest materials to make your application garments. With it you can order up the best suit of armor, new weapons, and the best warhorse bred, for whom I will sew the most beautiful caparisons that you may be proud of yourself, your talent with the sword and your perfect appearance. I have already alerted the armorer and the swordsmith. They are eager to service you, husband, because they know that if you enter this tournament you will win your place among the Crusader Knights, thus burnishing their own reputations. Gaius Prospero was particularly pleased when I told him why we were selling Lara. Your skill as a great swordsman precedes you, husband.” She spoke strongly. He must be convinced that this was the right thing for all.

“Susanna…”

“Think, husband!” She interrupted him. “When you gain your rightful place we will be given a house in the Garden District where all the Crusader Knights and their families reside. Oh, it will be small at first, I know, for until you have made your mark among the knights in battle you will not merit a large home, but one day we shall have one, I know. And even the lowest of the Crusader Knights is given a servant. I will have someone to help me. Our son, Mikhail, will be raised as a knight’s son with an automatic place within their ranks should he merit it, but if he is not the warrior his father is, he will receive an education that will keep him in the upper strata of our society. Selling Lara to Gaius Prospero will benefit us all. She will live a life of luxury, and we will climb into the ranks of the elite. You will have your dream. Our son will have more opportunities than even we can imagine. There is no honor or advancement in poverty, husband. There is only the certainty of death.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

John Swiftsword nodded. Susanna was absolutely right in this matter. This was an opportunity that would not come again for him. His daughter was exquisitely beautiful even as her faerie mother had been. But he could not provide Lara the kind of life to which she was entitled. And of late, the Mercenary Guild had not been as active as they had always been. Those needing their services were seeking men-at-arms not allied with his guild to whom they might pay a lower wage. It mattered not that these outsiders had no real training, or skills. They were cheaper to employ, which meant more profit, and if they died, they died. It was no great loss. Most of the assignments that did come into his guild these days were going to those men willing to share a percentage of their wage with the guild sergeants.

“I will need to speak with Lara,” he said. His eyes mirrored his anguish.

Susanna looked up into her husband’s face. “Yes,” she agreed. Reaching up she touched his rough cheek with her fingertips. “I would wish it otherwise, husband,” she said. “If Lara were plain of face and meek of spirit we might have put her as a maidservant into the house of a magnate’s family. She would have earned her keep, and even been able to put a bit aside for a dowry portion. But she is beautiful, and high-spirited.”

“Like her mother,” he half whispered. “Ilona was glorious to look upon, and fiery of temperament. I can understand why she left me. But at least when she did, she left Lara so I should never forget the faerie who once loved me.” He sighed sadly.

Susanna felt a stab of jealousy, but she hid it from him, saying instead, “Your faerie woman was a fool, John Swiftsword, for you are as good a man as ever was born!”

He looked down at her, and marveled that after all those lonely years he had found Susanna of the Lea. He had been heartbroken when Ilona had departed despite his pleas. He was a man with an infant daughter, and an old mother. It was his mother who had taken charge of his child, finding a wet nurse, and raising Lara while he was off in service to whoever was willing to pay for his skillful sword and his temporary loyalty. And then his mother had died when Lara was ten years of age. To his great surprise, his daughter took over the household chores. Whenever he returned home she would be waiting for him with a hot meal, lively chatter and a clean bed for him. He was grateful that his mother had trained his daughter so well, but he found himself growing lonely for the companionship of a good woman. Pleasure Women he had aplenty, but John Swiftsword wanted more now. At Lara’s suggestion he went to the matchmaker.

Susanna of the Lea was the daughter of a farmer from the Midlands. She was the youngest of eight daughters and a son. Her family was delighted to find a husband for her who was willing to accept her miniscule dower portion, consisting of the clothing on her back, her shoes, a second skirt and bodice, a woolen cloak, a feather bed, two down pillows and a single silver coin of a small denomination. And she was willing to leave the country for the City.

“You’ll not find a better wife,” the matchmaker had told him. “She is pretty enough, but most important, sweet-natured. She is not fearful of that faerie child of yours, either. She will be a good mother to your daughter.”

“If she is such a good catch then why is she still unwed?” he asked the matchmaker.

The matchmaker sighed. “It’s the dowry, John Swiftsword. She’s the last of her parents’ children, and there is practically nothing left for her. Usually these girls remain at home to care for their elderly parents, but her mother died last year, and the old farmer, her father, took himself another wife, a widow. The girl is not needed any longer, and the new wife wants her gone. She has an ugly daughter who will be the one to stay home and look after the farmer and his new wife. Only when I told the farmer there was no way I could get a decent husband for her without silver was the coin offered, and grudgingly at that. The new wife is not happy about it, but the girl’s brother spoke up for her, and as he is the one who will inherit the farm one day, his voice carried weight.”

John Swiftsword nodded. He understood what it was like not to be wanted. He had been born on a Midland farm himself, but being one of his parents’ younger children, he was encouraged almost from birth to find his own way. He had been fortunate in that his eldest brother’s wife was the daughter of a mercenary, who had come to live with them in his old age. It was the old soldier who had taught John how to use a sword, and encouraged him to join the mercenaries that he might have a life of his own.

“I’ll take Susanna of the Lea for my wife,” he had told the matchmaker, and it had been done. He had gone to her father’s farm, found that the matchmaker had not lied, and they had been united on the next Marrying Day, along with twenty-two other couples, by the Squire who ruled the Midlands region. The Squire performed this service one day each month.

And Susanna had come back to the City with him immediately afterwards, spending their wedding night in their hovel. She had shrieked satisfactorily when he broke through her maidenhead, so he knew with certainty that any children he got on her would be his. She was a good bedmate, and he quickly realized he had found a treasure of a wife in her. His hovel was kept clean. His daughter was cared for and his meals were excellent. When he got a child on her he knew his life was a good one. Good except for the fact he could not think of a way to make his dream of joining the Order of the Crusader Knights come true.

When he had first come to the City and joined the Mercenaries, he quickly learned that mercenaries were not a particularly respected group. They were needed, yes, but not well-regarded. Mercenaries were the cannon fodder used by the Crusader Knights in the wars they had once conducted. Nowadays mercenaries were hired to protect the caravans that traversed the four kingdoms. They were the men-at-arms used when one traveled the streets at night or carried valuables. They had no stature at all. The district in which they lived was a poor one, and their hovels were not their own. They were at the mercy of their guild, and the only escapes available to them were death, or entry into the Order of the Crusader Knights. Having earned the appellation Swiftsword for his skill with a blade, John wanted more than anything to be a Crusader Knight.

Entry into this high order was not an easy task. Every three years the Crusader Knights held a great tourney in the City to replenish their ranks, due more to old age and death than battle these days. But the Crusader Knights would not take just any man. Men who applied to enter the tourney had to appear before the entrance board properly garbed in fine garments. If they gained a place in the tourney they had to arrive that first day well-equipped with a warhorse, a good suit of armor and an array of fine weapons. Any man not appearing as required was immediately disqualified, and sent away.

For the next five days the applicants would battle with each other. At the end of each day the winners would be separated from the other aspirants. And on the sixth day all the previous winners would battle. At day’s end, the last few men remaining were paired to fight Crusader Knight opponents. One run only with horse and lance. If the applicant was not unhorsed he would be accepted into the order. Those men who tumbled from their mounts were sent away. It was a grueling tourney, but John Swiftsword knew in his heart that he could prevail if he could only enter.

But it was such an expensive undertaking, and he had never made enough coin to be able to put some aside. He barely managed to support his family. It was very rare for a mercenary to be able to enter the tourney. Most applicants came from families of some means with second and third sons who had been trained to fight in hopes of joining this vaunted order. But now his wife had offered him a solution to gain his dream. He could still not bring himself to sell his beautiful daughter, but at Susanna’s suggestion he invited both the armorer and the swordsmith to a local inn so that they might speak together. Both were enthusiastic at the possibility of his entering the tournament.

“You’re a warrior born, John Swiftsword,” Rafe the armorer said enthusiastically. “I would be proud to make your armor. You’ll win, too, you know.” He grinned. “I’ve seen you in the practice yard wielding your blade. There isn’t a man who can stand against you.”

“I’m not as good a horseman as I would want to be,” John replied slowly.

Rafe leaned forward, and lowering his voice said, “I’ve three Crusader Knights among my patrons. I have told them you may enter this tourney, and they all evinced enthusiasm at the prospect, for your reputation precedes you, though you are too modest a man to realize it. If I ask, and you have but to give me the word, they will tell me the trainer you will need to polish your other battle skills, John Swiftsword.” He picked up his tankard and drank deeply from it.

Now Bevin the swordsmith leaned forward to speak. “I made the sword with which you have always fought. My own skills have improved over the years, and I will make you the finest sword ever created. It will sing a song of death as you wield it, John. You will be envied by all, for this sword’s beauty will almost equal your prowess with it.”

The mercenary sighed deeply. “To realize all of this I must sell my daughter,” he told them. “You know I am a poor man.”

“As you have said, you are a poor man,” Bevin said quietly. “But the faerie you mated with left you a most valuable gift in the person of the lass.”

“And what is to happen to the girl, John Swiftsword, if you do not sell her?” Rafe asked. His direct gaze pierced the mercenary’s own.

John Swiftsword nodded. “I know I have no choice in this matter,” he replied to them. “I will go tomorrow and speak with Gaius Prospero myself.”

“Come just after sunrise to be measured so I may begin working on your armor,” Rafe told him. “We want time to make any adjustments needed.” He downed the remaining ale in his tankard and, standing, bid the other two men farewell.

“You are doing the right thing,” the swordsmith told John. “What good is the girl to you now that she is grown? You have a good wife, and a little son to consider now. Your daughter’s beauty will give her the future that you surely cannot.”

John Swiftsword nodded slowly in reluctant agreement, and then he ordered them each another tankard of ale. He said nothing to Susanna when he returned home late, and the next morning he left their hovel to go into the Golden District, where the magnates had their City homes. He had dressed carefully in his best tunic—he had but two. He had polished his worn boots. His sword hung from a wide leather belt.

Reaching the tall gates of the Golden District, he said to the two guardsmen who guarded those gates, “I am John Swiftsword of the Guild of Mercenaries. I have come to speak with Gaius Prospero.”

“Are you expected?” one of the guardsmen asked.

“I do not know if I am or not,” John answered.

“Wait while we check,” the guardsman replied. Then turning he went back into the little guardhouse, and leaning out a window that opened beyond the gates he called out for a messenger to come.

John waited. Riders and travel wagons carrying the women who lived in the Golden District came in and out of the great gates. He could glimpse what appeared to be a parkland beyond those portals as they opened and closed. Finally after some time had passed the first guardsman motioned him forward.

“You must leave your sword with me, and then you may be admitted,” he said.

“You know who I am,” the mercenary replied, “and I will find my sword here when I return?”

“Do I look like a common thief?” the guardsman responded indignantly.

“Nay, not at all, but so many pass by here, and you could be distracted,” John quickly said. “The sword is my livelihood.”

“I understand,” the guardsman replied. “I am a member of the guild, too, John Swiftsword. I was injured several years ago, but was fortunate to obtain this post. Your sword will be safe in my care. Now go! Gaius Prospero doesn’t like to be kept waiting. You will find a conveyance directly inside the gate that will transport you to his house.” He then took John’s sword from his hands, and ushered him through the gates where the cart was awaiting the visitor. John climbed aboard, and the vehicle moved quickly away from the entrance to the Golden District.

All around him was an incredibly beautiful green parkland. There seemed to be huge trees everywhere, and the grass was neatly manicured. They trotted down a well-paved road. Here and there through the greensward and trees he could see great houses of shining white marble. He had never imagined a place such as this within the City, and Susanna had said nothing about it. How like her, he smiled to himself, to want him to be surprised, and see for himself. And it was quiet. Several feet past the entrance the cacophony of the City had disappeared entirely. He wondered if the Garden District, where the Crusader Knights lived, was quiet like this, too. A man could actually think in such quiet.

John grew alert once more as the cart in which he traveled turned down a narrow road of white gravel. As his transport passed by, liveried servants stepped from behind the flowering bushes to rake the path smooth again. Such a thing would have never occurred to him had he not seen it for himself, he thought, amazed. The cart drew up before the house now. He had no time to observe but that it had a rotunda over the main entrance, before a servant stepped forward to help him from his transport and usher him into the building. He was taken to a wide marble bench in the rotunda, and told to sit. Before him was a rectangular pool at one end of which was a bronze boy on a dolphin. Water spouted gently from the fish’s mouth. There were green water hyacinths floating in the pool.

“Someone will come for you when the master can see you,” the servant said, and then he was gone.

John Swiftsword sat. The day was warm. He was thirsty, and had had nothing to eat as he had departed early from his hovel. First he had gone to the armorer to be measured for the suit of armor he would need, and then he had walked across the City to the Golden District. A cup of water would have been nice, he considered, but John Swiftsword knew he was of little importance, and would be offered no refreshment. He waited. He was startled when a small goldfish leaped up from the pool, splashing back down into the water. The sun reached its zenith, and poured into the rotunda. The air was still, and it grew hot. He struggled not to doze in the still heat. It had not seemed so warm in the City outside of the Golden District this morning. And then finally a man came forward, and spoke to John.

“I am one of Gaius Prospero’s secretaries. You will come with me.” He turned without waiting for any reply. John stood and quickly followed the man into a side hallway, down its length and into a large room. “Wait here,” the secretary said, and disappeared through a door at the end of the room.

John Swiftsword stood quietly. In the center of the room was a great round black-and-gold-flecked marble table with solid gold legs that had gold balls and claw feet. Upon the table was a great round polished stone vase from which a colorful arrangement of exotic blooms spilled. One side of the room was an open colonnade, and beyond it a small garden. He would have liked to have looked into that garden, but he dared not move. His manners, for he did have them, overcame his curiosity.

“Come this way,” the secretary’s voice snapped, breaking his reverie.

He was ushered into another large room where sitting at a long marble table was the man he had come to see, for it could only be Gaius Prospero in that thronelike chair.

“You may go, Jonah,” Gaius Prospero told the secretary. Then he looked at John Swiftsword.

The mercenary bowed politely, and waited for the Master of the Merchants to speak. You did not speak unless spoken to by a great man, he knew.

“So you are to become a Crusader Knight,” Gaius Prospero began.

“I should like to, but nothing is certain, my lord, as you surely know,” the mercenary replied.

“It should please me if you did,” came the surprising reply. “And there are others who agree with me. Your battle skills are legend, John Swiftsword. The Order of Crusader Knights is where you rightfully belong.”

“Thank you, my lord,” John said.

“This will be, of course, about your decision to sell me your beautiful daughter,” Gaius Prospero began the negotiation.

“Yes, my lord,” John replied.

“I had your wife remove her garment. She is exquisitely made. Every Pleasure House in the City will want her. The bidding will be unprecedented. And I had my physician validate her virginity. I am pleased that she is fully intact. Her first-night rights will bring her owner a fortune.” He smiled. “And she is half faerie, if I understood your wife correctly?”

His temples were throbbing. They had stripped his daughter of her clothing to examine her? They had probed her innocence? He blinked back the bloodred in his eyes, swallowed hard and said, “Yes, my lord. Her mother was a faerie woman called Ilona. She was my first woman, and came to me on a Midsummer’s Eve.”

“A most powerful time,” Gaius Prospero remarked. “Now, John Swiftsword, are you willing to sell your daughter to me?”

This was the moment he had dreaded. Closing his eyes briefly, he nodded and said, “Aye, I will sell Lara to you, my lord.” He wanted to weep. He wanted to run from the room where he now stood before the great Master of the Merchants. But he did not. He opened his eyes, and looked directly at Gaius Prospero.

“Excellent! And a most wise decision on your part, John Swiftsword. I am pleased to see you are not restrained by any foolish sentiments for the girl. I shall have Jonah bring the papers for you to sign now. You do write, don’t you?”

“I both read and write,” the mercenary responded, “as does my daughter.”

The Master of the Merchants raised an eyebrow. “Then the girl is even more priceless,” he said. “Magical beauty, innocence and an education.” He rubbed his hands.

“I beg one boon of you, my lord,” John Swiftsword quickly interjected.

“And that is?” Gaius Prospero asked. What could the man possibly want? He was being paid a fortune for his merchandise.

“Please, my lord, I will sign your papers today, but let my daughter remain with me until the time of the tournament.”

So the mercenary loved his child. “You will need monies for your clothing, your armor and your weapons,” the Master of the Merchants reminded John Swiftsword.

“I will ask only what my wife needs for materials,” John said, “and a down payment to the armorer and the swordsmith. They are my friends, and will accept a final payment after the tourney ends.”

Gaius Prospero considered the request. “The girl will not run away?” he asked.

“Nay, she is an obedient lass, and my wife and I will explain all the advantages this change in her circumstances will afford her. Lara is not a stupid girl. She will understand that this future we have planned for her will be a good future. Please, my lord. It is unlikely I shall ever see my child again once she leaves me.”

The mercenary was right, of course. Crusader Knights were family men who generally cleaved to their wives, although he knew some who had the morals of alley cats. Still, it was unlikely this father and daughter would meet again. Gaius Prospero loved his own two daughters dearly, and this was an area in which he was disposed to be reasonable. “I will have it written into our agreement,” he said.

Then he struck a bronze gong that sat on the table, and almost immediately the secretary Jonah was there, bowing to his master. The Master of the Merchants gave him his instructions. “And be quick. John Swiftsword will want to tell his wife and daughter of our agreement today, and he must walk across the City before dark. And I have promised my daughters that we are going to the farm for a few days. Send a message to my wife that we will leave within the hour, and have the traveling vehicle ready.” Then the Master of the Merchants turned to John Swiftsword and said, “Perhaps you would enjoy waiting in my little garden. Jonah will come for you when the papers are ready for us to sign.”

The mercenary bowed, turned and followed Jonah into the anteroom. When the secretary had disappeared in a cloud of his own importance John Swiftsword walked through the colonnade into the small garden. One day he would have a house with a garden like this. A garden where Susanna could sit at her loom, or with her sewing on the warm days. A garden where Mikhail could play in safety. And when he had that garden he would remember Lara with silent thanks. He sighed and sat down on a small marble bench, looking about him more carefully. There was a small fishpond in the middle of the walled garden. There was a miniature flowering tree at the end of each flowerbed. The beds were filled with blooms. Reds and pinks. Purples and lavenders. Yellow, orange and blues. And white flowers that perfumed the little garden with an incredible sweetness. It was so beautiful, and so perfect he felt near to weeping. Or was it the garden? He brushed the tears from his eyes.

He had no other choice. He knew with certainty that if he entered the tourney he would win a place for himself among the Crusader Knights, and in doing so he, Susanna and Mikhail would ascend to a higher social strata. They would never be poor again. Even if he were injured in his duties, and unable to serve his order further, he and his family would be taken care of. To remain a mercenary could only lead to eventual disaster. Susanna was right. His daughter was the only valuable thing he possessed. To retain Lara in his custody would be to doom them all to continued poverty and misfortune. He must put his sentiment, his memories, firmly aside and do what was right for all of them. He heard an impatient cough, and looking up saw the secretary, Jonah.

“My master is ready for you,” the secretary said haughtily.

“Where are the papers?” John Swiftsword asked.

“In the antechamber outside of the library,” Jonah responded.

“I will want to peruse the papers before I sign them,” the mercenary said.

“What?” The secretary looked outraged. “Do you think my master is attempting to cheat you? Such a thing is impossible!”

“Restrain your outrage,” John Swiftsword replied dryly. “I merely wish to see what it is I am signing. Would you sign an important paper without reading it first?”

“No,” the secretary admitted, “but I would hardly think a man in your position would care. You are being paid a most excellent price for your daughter.”

“Were I not in my position,” the mercenary said low, “I should not sell the child I love. Now let me see the papers you have drawn up.” He followed the secretary back into the antechamber where the parchments lay upon the round marble table. Picking them up, John Swiftsword scanned them carefully, his eyes widening at the price he was being paid for his daughter. Ten thousand gold cubits, half to be put with a goldsmith today that he might draw upon it, the other half to be turned over when he surrendered Lara to Gaius Prospero. The surrender date was to be, to his surprise, the day after the tournament was over. “Is this correct?” he asked Jonah.

“The master thought you might want your daughter to see you attain your goal, John Swiftsword. He is a family man himself, and loves his own daughters,” the secretary answered in a gentler tone than he had previously used with the mercenary.

John Swiftsword nodded, and surreptitiously wiped his eyes again. Then he turned his attention once more to the parchment. All was exactly as he had agreed with Gaius Prospero. He handed the parchment back to the secretary. “I am ready to sign,” he said.

Together the two men reentered the great library of the Master of the Merchants.

“I have the papers, my lord,” Jonah said, spreading them before Gaius Prospero, who glanced at them carelessly before taking the inked quill from his secretary’s hand and signing the two parchments. A copy for him. A copy for John Swiftsword. Jonah handed a second quill to John Swiftsword.

The mercenary closed his eyes but a brief moment, then opening them, took the quill and signed his name in a strong, legible hand. With a deep sigh he handed the pen back to the secretary. Then to his surprise the Master of the Merchants held out his hand.

“You have done a hard thing this day, John Swiftsword,” Gaius Prospero said. “I shall look forward to your victory in the tournament in a few months. The Crusader Knights need men like you.”

The mercenary shook the hand offered him. “Thank you, my lord,” was all he could say. He had just sold the child of his heart into slavery.

“Come along now, John Swiftsword,” the secretary said, ushering him from the august presence of Gaius Prospero. “Now tell me if you have a preference in goldsmiths, for I must send a messenger to he with whom you choose to open your account.”

“I have no experience with goldsmiths,” the mercenary said honestly. “Will you recommend someone to me?”

“With pleasure,” Jonah replied, and a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. This man would soon belong to an important group, and while Jonah served one of the most important men on Hetar, it could not hurt to have a friend among the Crusader Knights. “Avram the goldsmith has his shop just outside the Garden District. He is honest, and has many of the order as his patrons. With your permission I shall open an account for you, and transfer the five thousand cubits to his keeping. If you will come with me I will give you a receipt for the gold.”

John Swiftsword was suddenly in a daze. “Yes,” he answered the secretary. Jonah, like his master, was assuming that he would gain one of the places open into the Crusader Knights in the coming tourney. The mercenary followed Jonah, waited while the receipt was made out, and then offering the secretary his hand, he shook it, took the receipt and departed the house of Gaius Prospero. Outside he found the transport awaiting to return him to the gates of the Golden District. The cart traversed the quiet parklike area once again, and then he was outside in the noisy, dirty streets of the City, the receipt for five thousand cubits clutched in his hand. He quickly tucked it into his doublet. Retrieving his sword from the guardsman at the gate he began walking back across the City to the Mercenaries Quarter where he lived. Where his wife, his son and his daughter awaited his coming.

The day was waning, and the streets grew dusky with the coming evening. John Swiftsword moved quickly. He was more than capable of defending himself, but he didn’t want to have to bother right now. He reached the gates of the Quarter just before they closed for the night, nodding at the two old pensioners who guarded those gates, but not stopping to chat with them as he often did. Turning into his lane he stopped a moment. Then a deep sigh issued forth from him. He was a brave man, but he truly dreaded what was to come.

He could see the candlelight in the window of his hovel. Smoke rose from the narrow chimney. Straightening his shoulders John Swiftsword walked down the lane, opened the door to his hovel and stepped inside. Susanna was at the hearth stirring a pot from which arose a savory smell. She turned at the sound of his boot steps. Her face was serene with the familiar task she performed.

Looking up she asked softly, “Is it done, husband?”

He nodded. “Where is Lara?”

“Bathing Mikhail for me,” Susanna answered. “The supper is almost ready. The butcher gave me several pieces of poultry that he would have otherwise discarded. I didn’t even ask. I have made us a fine chicken stew, husband.”

“Then the word is already about that I am entering the tourney,” he replied, and he sat down at the table near the fire. “Of course it would be. Nothing is a secret for long in the Quarter. Give me something to drink, wife. I am parched. I have had nothing all day from the moment I departed our hovel.”

She set a mug of cider before him. “Where is the gold?” she asked bluntly.

“With Avram the goldsmith. He has a shop outside the gates of the Garden District. Gaius Prospero’s secretary, Jonah, deposited it, and gave me the receipt. I have made a bargain with the Master of the Merchants. Half down, and half on delivery of Lara. And she will remain with us until the day after the tourney’s end.”

Susanna came up behind him, slipping her arms about him. She kissed the top of his head. “It is a fair bargain, husband, and how proud your daughter will be to see you win your place among the Crusader Knights. When will you tell her?”

“Tonight, before I lose my courage,” he replied. “You must leave us after the supper that Lara and I can be alone to speak on it.”

She nodded, and then she smiled as her stepdaughter entered the room, her baby brother in her arms. “Here he is, all sweet and clean, stepmother. Will you nurse him now, or after our meal?” She handed the baby to its mother.

“Afterwards, I think. Put him in his cradle. He will be content to play with his toes while we eat,” Susanna said, and she handed her son back to Lara, who put the baby boy down in the cradle.

“What?” John Swiftsword said teasingly. “No greeting for your old father, lass?”

“Where have you been all day, Da?” Lara asked, kissing his cheek and sitting down on the floor by his knee. She lay her head against it, smiling up at him.

He reached out to stroke that head. Her hair was a color he had seen only once. Lara had the golden gilt hair of her mother. And she had Ilona’s lime-green eyes. In fact, everything about her was Ilona. Everything except her full lips, which she had inherited from him. “What have you been doing?” he asked, ignoring her query.

“Mistress Mildred watched Mikhail while my stepmother and I visited several mercers’ shops in the Merchants Quarter. We wore our best skirts and bodices so they would not think we were beggar women,” Lara reported. “Oh, Da, I have never seen materials such as I saw today. I never even knew such fabrics existed. And everyone was so kind to us! One of the mercers gave me a silver ribbon for my hair!”

His heart contracted. So they knew in the shops as well. Well, gossip was the meat and drink of the City. He should not be surprised.

“The supper will be cold if you two do not eat it,” Susanna said briskly.

Lara scrambled to her feet and took her place, while her father swung about again to face the table. “I have put my ribbon away, but I will get it after supper to show you, Da,” the girl said. “I shall only wear it on special occasions.”

They ate the chicken stew that Susanna had ladled onto the worn wooden plates, tearing chunks off a small round loaf to mop up the gravy. They ate in silence. When they had finished, Lara quickly removed the plates and mugs from the table, taking them to the small stone sink outside the back door. Then she went to the hearth, and taking a kettle of hot water, poured it into the sink, refilled the kettle and replaced it on its hood over the fire. Adding a little cold water to the sink, she washed the wooden plates and mugs clean, dried them with her apron and replaced them in the bureau on the wall across from the hearth. Her father and her stepmother had been speaking quietly, but now Susanna arose, took Mikhail from his cradle and went into the garden to nurse her son.

“Come back and sit with me,” John Swiftsword called to his daughter. “I must speak with you, Lara.”

She rejoined him saying, “You look so sad, Da. What is it?”

“You know,” he began, “that the tournament of the Crusader Knights will be held again this spring.”

“Aye, Da, I know. You should be one of them! You should! Why have you not entered the tournament before?” Lara asked him.

“To enter the tournament a man must meet many requirements. He must know how to use certain weapons. He must be able to read and to write.”

“You are a great swordsman, Da, and you can read and write,” Lara said.

“But I have not been able to meet the third requirement, Lara. I do not look like I belong among the Crusader Knights,” John said to his daughter.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“I must have a warhorse, and the beast must be well caparisoned. I must have beautiful armor and fine weapons. I need more than my skills, Lara.”

“How silly,” the young girl replied. “I would think your skills would be what counted most, not your appearance.” She slipped into his lap and kissed his rough cheek.

“But my skills are nothing if I do not look like one of the order,” he said. He put an arm around her, giving her a little hug. It was rare that he allowed himself to show her any real affection, but now their time together was growing short.

“And we are poor,” she noted. “Have we nothing of value that we could sell that would allow you to enter the tourney, Da?”

“It is very costly, Lara, and I have not the means. Or so I thought until recently. I have one item, and one only, of great value. I have you.”

“Me?” She said genuinely surprised, and a small tendril of fear rose within her. She pushed it away. “What value have I, Da?”

He smiled at her innocence. “Lara, you are extraordinarily beautiful, and you have your virginity, which has great value. As you have noted, we are poor. I have no dowry for you. I cannot make a match for you without one. It is all I can do to make ends meet. Now that my guild is receiving fewer and fewer assignments, there is less work for me, which means no coins in my pocket. I need to move up in the world, Lara, for all our sakes. What will become of you, of Susanna, of your brother if I do not? I know I can triumph in the coming tournament if I can but find the means to enter it.”

“That is why Susanna took me to the house of Gaius Prospero, isn’t it, Da?” she said thoughtfully. “That is why I was stripped naked, and why a physician probed my body, isn’t it? The Master of the Merchants will pay a handsome price for me. He would purchase me.”

“Ten thousand cubits, daughter,” John Swiftsword replied.

Lara nodded slowly. “It is a great price, Da. Am I truly worth all that gold?”

“More,” he told her, “for Gaius Prospero expects to make a profit from you, Lara. I think he will probably gain double or more when he sells you.”

“What will he do with me, Da?” she asked. Suddenly she was truly afraid, and she trembled. Then swallowing hard, she fought back her fears, reminding herself that her father loved her. He would do nothing to harm her.

“I expect he will sell you into a Pleasure House,” her father answered, his arm tightening around his daughter in a small gesture of comfort.

“Pleasure Women are admired, Da. They live lives of great luxury and privilege,” Lara said. Then she reached out and patted his hand. “You must not be sad. What other future could I have? You have sold me then?” She had to be brave for her father’s sake. She could see he was distressed. It wasn’t a terrible fate, and actually a better one than she had considered, given their circumstances.

He nodded wordlessly.

“When must I go?” Her face was pensive. “Not right away, Da!”

“The day after the tourney, daughter,” John Swiftsword told her.

Lara clapped her hands. “Then I shall see you attain your goal, Da! That is good. I will go with a light heart knowing that I have been able to aid you in this way.”

“If there were any other way, Lara,” he began, but she put a little hand over his mouth.

“If there were, Da, you would have found it for us,” she said quietly. “The Celestial Actuary gives us each a talent. Yours is skill with a sword. I will make my way through life using my beauty. If I had been born ugly, you would have already put me into service in some magnate’s house where I would be at the mercy of all. Nay. This is much better. I shall be a famous Pleasure Woman like Roxelana of the Rose. She bought her freedom, and now manages a Pleasure House. I would be like that. Charting my own destiny. At the mercy of no one.”

“I had not expected such understanding from you, Lara,” he told her gratefully.

“Sometimes I think my mother comes to me in the night, and whispers wisdom in my ear, Da. I am young, but there are times when I feel that I have lived a thousand years or more,” she told him with a small smile.

“There are moments when you amaze me, daughter,” John Swiftsword told his eldest child. “Thank you for understanding my position, for understanding what I must do. I did not make this decision that will affect all of our lives either easily or lightly.” He tipped her from his lap, kissing her brow. Then standing, he said, “I will go and tell your stepmother of your courage now.”

Lara remained where she was seated. Her life had stood still for so very long, and she had always wondered what would happen to her. She was fourteen, and grown. Many girls her age were already wed, or in service, but neither would be her fate. She did not mind. She had always wanted to know what lay beyond the City, and now perhaps she would have that opportunity. She could be sold into a Pleasure House in the Coastal Region. It was said the coast was a rich and beautiful land. The Midlands were dull, just farmers and their crops. Women in the Midlands Pleasure Houses lived dull lives. It was unlikely any of them could purchase their freedom one day. The land of the Shadow Princes was the one she knew the least about. Few in the City knew a great deal about the Shadow Princes. Did they even have Pleasure Houses? And as for the Forest Lords, they kept to themselves, for they were the most ancient of the clans on Hetar, with the purest of bloodlines—or so they claimed. Their lives were guided by tradition.

But she was beautiful, her father said. Beautiful enough that the Master of the Merchants would pay ten thousand gold cubits for her, and then resell her for more. Lara had not a great deal of experience with life outside the Quarter, but she knew that if her value was that great then her future could be even greater. Her prospects were exciting and she eagerly awaited her fate. She was half faerie, and now more than ever she felt that part of her stirring restlessly. Susanna said it was because Lara now suffered her woman’s blood flow each moon span that her mother’s influence was upon her more than it had ever been before. There was no denying her faerie heritage, Susanna said.

Lara was happy that her going would help her family rise in the social ranks, but she felt no sacrifice at what was to come. She saw only great opportunity ahead, and the promise of a golden future. Yet it niggled at her that her stepmother had been the one to provoke the changes that were to come to them all. Should not John Swiftsword have been the one to instigate these shifts in their lives? Susanna had changed since the birth of Lara’s baby brother six months ago. Still, she did not envy her father’s wife. The thought of being tied to one man as Susanna was tied to her father was abhorrent right now. Again her faerie blood spoke, but she had never confided any of these thoughts to anyone. Her stepmother, she suspected, would have been shocked. She had no friends her own age. The girls in the Quarter did not treat her well at all. Many were afraid of her faerie blood. She often wondered what they thought she was going to do to them. She knew no spells or magic. But now she realized that it was also her beauty that kept them at bay. Beauty, it would seem, was both a blessing and a curse. She must remember that in the times to come, Lara considered.