Into The Darkness

Ealstan hustled past the work gang, lest the Algarvians make him join it. Sidroc followed, but kept looking back over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and staring as he watched the solider amuse himself. "Come on," Ealstan said impatiently.

"Powers above," Sidroc muttered, as much to himself as to his cousin.

"Wouldn't you like to do that with a woman?"

"Sure I would, if she wanted me to," Ealstan answered, even though thinking a woman might one day want him to do such a thing required all the imagination he had. But despite that, he noted a distinction Sidroc had missed: "That soldier wasn't doing it with her - he was doing it to her. Did you see her face? If looks could kin, she'd have wiped out all those stinking redheads."

Sidroc tossed his head. "She was only a Kaunian."

"You think the Algarvian cared?" Ealstan asked, and shook his head to give the question his own answer. "He would have done it to" - he started to say to your mother, but checked himself-, that hit harder than he wanted to - "to Conberge the same way. Everybody's fair game to Mezentio's men."

"They won," Sidroc said bitterly. "That's what you get when you win: you can do as you please."

"I suppose so," Ealstan said. "I never thought we could lose."

"We cursed well did," Sidroc said. "We might even be worse off, you know? Would you rather we were off in the west, and King Swemmel's Unkerlanters came stomping through Gromheort? If I had to chose between them and the Algarvians-"

"If I could make a choice, I'd choose to have all of them go far, far away." Ealstan sighed. "But magic doesn't work that way. I wish it did."

They got to the school just as the warning bell clanged, and then ran like madmen to their first class. In spite of his lethargy, Sidroc didn't want to have his back striped after all. "Why couldn't the Algarvians have dropped an egg here?" he muttered fretfully as he flung his bottom on to his stool.

But the master of classical Kaunian was not in the chamber to note - and to punish - his tardiness and Ealstan's. After a heartfelt sigh of relief, Ealstan turned to the scholar next to him and whispered, "Did Master Bede have to visit the jakes?"

"Don't think so," the other youth answered. "I haven't seen him at all this morning. Maybe the Algarvians have him grubbing stones."

"He'd be on the other end of the switch if they do," Ealstan said.

Seeing the Kaunian woman molested had bothered him. He could contemplate the master's being put to hard labor without batting an eye.

A man strode into the classroom. He was a Forthwegian, but he was not Master Bede, even if he did carry a switch in his left hand. "I am Master Agmund," he announced. "From this day forth, by order of the occupying authorities, all studies in classical Kaunian are suspended, the langauge being iudged useless both because of its antiquated, outmoded nature and because folk of Kaunian blood have wickedly attempted to destroy the Kingdom of Algarve."

He spoke as if reading from a script. Ealstan gaped. Master Bede and earlier masters of Kaunian had drilled into him - often painfully - that anyone in eastern Derlavai with the slightest claim to culture had to be fluent in the language, regardless of his own blood. Had they been lying?

Or did Algarve have its own purposes here?

Agmund answered that in a hurry, saying, "Instead, you shall be instructed in Algarvian, in which subject I am your new master. Attend me."

One of Ealstan's classmates, a youth named Odda, thrust his hand in the air. When Agmund recognized him, he said, "Master, can we not learn Algarvian from the soldiers in the city? Why, already I can say 'How much for your sister?'Just from having heard them say it so much."

A vast silence fell on the classroom. Ealstan stared, admiring Odda's defiant bravado. Master Agmund's stare was of a different sort. He advanced on Odda and gave him the fiercest thrashing Ealstan had ever seen. Agmund said, "My clever little friend, if you were half as funny as you think you are, you would be twice as funny as you really are."

When the beating was over, the lessons began. Agmund proved himself a capable enough master, and was plainly fluent in Algarvian. Ealstan repeated the words and phrases the master set him. He had no desire to learn Algarvian, but he had no desire to be whipped, either.

He and Sidroc took turns telling the story around the supper table that evening. "The boy did a brave thing," Sidroc's father said.

"He certainly did, Uncle Hengist," Ealstan agreed.

"Brave, aye," his father said. Hestan looked from Ealstan to Sidroc to Hengist. "Brave, but foolish. The lad suffered for it, as you and your cousin said, and his suffering is not over yet, either, unless I miss my guess.

And his fanuily's suffering will barely have begun."

Hengist grunted, as if Hestan had hit him in the belly. "You are likely to be right," he said. "Of course this new master is an Algarvian lapdog.