Darkness Descending

With a snort, Leofsig walked on. He had a hard time imagining Kaunians wanting to join a brigade under the control of people intent on grinding their noses in the dirt. For that matter, he had a hard time imagining Forthwegians wanting to join a brigade under Algarvian control. Who would do such a daft thing? Somebody one jump ahead of the constables, maybe. He wished the Algarvians joy of trying to make such recruits into soldiers.

A blond woman about his own age stepped out from between a couple of buildings as he went by. “Sleep with me?” she called, doing her best to make her voice alluring. Her tunic and trousers clung so tightly, they might have been painted onto her.

Leofsig started to shake his head and walk on. Then, to his dismay, he realized he recognized her. “You’re Doldasai,” he blurted. “My father used to cast books for yours.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he had them back. Better for both of them if he’d pretended he didn’t know her and gone on his way. Too late for that now. She hung her head; she must have wished he’d kept his mouth shut, too. “You see my shame,” she said. If she remembered Leofsig’s name, she didn’t want to use it. “You see my people’s shame.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, which was true and useless at the same time.

“Do you know the worst of it?” Doldasai said. “The worst of it is, you can still have me if you pay me. I need the silver. My whole family needs the silver, and the Algarvians won’t let any of us make it any other way.” Nasty promises glowed in her blue-gray eyes, promises of things he hadn’t done, perhaps of things he’d scarcely imagined.

And he was tempted, and hated himself for being tempted. When he still hoped Felgilde would let him slip his hand under her tunic--she hadn’t yet--why wouldn’t he have been tempted to find out what all he’d been missing? Of itself, his hand slid toward his belt pouch.

Doldasai made a peculiar noise, half bitter mirth, half. . . disappointment? Leofsig gave her a couple of coins. “Here. Take this,” he said. “I wish I could afford to give you more. I don’t want anything from you.” That wasn’t quite true, but it kept things simpler.

She stared down at the small silver coins, then abruptly turned her back on him. “Curse you,” she said, her voice thick and muffled. “I didn’t think anyone could make my cry any more, not after everything I’ve had to do. Go on, Leofsig”--she knew who he was, all right--”and if the powers above are kind, we’ll never see each other again.”

He wanted to help her with something more than a little money. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t think of what he might do. And so, ingloriously, he left. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, either, for fear he would see Doldasai propositioning some other Forthwegian who might part with cash for a few minutes’ pleasure.

“You made good time coming home,” Elfryth remarked as she unbarred the front door to let him in.

“Did I?” he said, not wanting to tell his mother he’d fled Doldasai as the Forthwegian army had ended up fleeing the Algarvians.

“Aye, you did.” To his relief, his mother didn’t seem to notice any false note in his voice. “You have time to wash a little”--which meant he remained rank in spite of the rain shower--”and drink a glass of wine before supper. Conberge even came up with some meat to mix in with the peas and beans and pulses.”

“What kind of meat?” Leofsig asked suspiciously. “Roof rabbit?” He meowed.

Elfryth shook her head. “The butcher called it mutton, but I think it’s got to be goat. It’s been in the pot for hours, and it isn’t close to tender yet. But even tough meat is better than no meat at all.”

Leofsig couldn’t argue with her. He wondered how long it had been since Doldasai and her family had eaten meat. His family was going through hard times. Hers was going through catastrophe. He grabbed a towel off the rack and went off to use the pitcher and basin in his room. It wouldn’t be a bath, but would be better than nothing.

Ealstan looked up from a page of work: not problems from their father, for once, but verses of a poem. “Why the grim face?” Leofsig’s younger brother asked.

“I didn’t know I had one,” Leofsig answered as he started to wash.

“Well, you do,” Ealstan said. “How come?”

“Do you want to know why?” Leofsig considered. Ealstan wasn’t a baby anymore. “I’ll tell you why. I ran into Daukantis’ daughter coming home--remember, the olive-oil merchant?” He told the tale in a few words.

Ealstan clicked his tongue between his teeth. “That’s hard,” he said. “I’ve heard other stories like it, but not anybody we know. You ought to tell Father--if anyone can do anything for them, he can.”

“Aye, that’s so,” Leofsig said through the towel he was using to dry his face. He looked over it at his brother. “It’s a good idea, in fact. You’re getting a man’s wits faster than I did, I think.”