Out of the Darkness

So she had to live her life from day to day as best she could. Fortunately, Ealstan had managed to save up a good deal of silver. She didn’t have to rush about looking for work--and who here, who anywhere, would take care of Saxburh even if she found it? One more worry, though a smaller one, to keep her awake at night. The silver, as she knew too well, wouldn’t last forever, and what would she do when it ran out?

What she did after yet another night where she got less sleep than she wished she would have was take Saxburh, plop her into the little harness she’d made so she could carry the baby and keep both hands free, and go down to the market square to get enough barley and onions and olive oil and cheese and cheap wine to keep eating a while longer.

The market square was a more cheerful place than it had been for a long time. People went about their business without constantly looking around to see where they would hide if eggs started falling or if dragons suddenly appeared overhead. The Algarvians had struck at Eoforwic from the air a few times after losing the city, but not lately--and their closest dragon farms had to be far away by now.

New broadsheets sprouted like mushrooms on fences and walls. One showed a big, clean-shaven man labeled unkerlant and a smaller, bearded fellow called forthweg advancing side by side against a mangy-looking dog with the face of King Mezentio. They both carried upraised clubs. The legend under the drawing said, NO MORE BITES.

Another had a drawing of King Beornwulf with the Forthwegian crown on his head but wearing a uniform tunic of a cut somewhere between those of Forthweg and Unkerlant. He had a stern expression on his face and a stick in his right hand, A KING WHO FIGHTS FOR HIS PEOPLE, this legend read.

Vanai wondered what sort of king he would end up making and how much freedom from the Unkerlanters he’d be able to get. She suspected--indeed, she was all but certain--she and Forthweg as a whole would find out. If King Penda didn’t live out his life in exile, if he tried coming back to his native land, he wasn’t likely to live long.

More food was in the market square and prices were lower than they had been for a couple of years. Vanai praised the powers above for that, especially since everything had been so dear during the doomed Forthwegian uprising against the redheads. She even bought a bit of sausage for a treat, and didn’t ask what went into it. Saxburh fell asleep.

Over in one corner of the square, a band thumped away. They had a bowl in front of them, and every now and then some passerby would toss in a couple of coppers or even a small silver coin. Forthwegian-style music didn’t appeal to Vanai; the Kaunians in Forthweg had their own tunes, much more rhythmically complex and, to her ear, much more interesting.

But the novelty of hearing any music in the market square drew her to listen for a while. Out here, in her sorcerous disguise, she wasn’t just Vanai: she was also Thelberge. She thought of the Forthwegian appearance she wore almost as if it were another person. And Thelberge, she thought, would have liked these musicians. The drummer, who also sang, was particularly good.

He was so good, in fact, that she gave him a sharp look. Ethelhelm, the prominent musician for whom Ealstan had cast accounts for a while, had also been a drummer and singer. But she’d seen Ethelhelm play. He had Kaunian blood in him. Half? A quarter? She wasn’t sure, but enough to make him tall and rangy and give him a long face. Enough to get him in trouble with the Algarvians, too. This fellow looked like any other Forthwegian in his late twenties or early thirties.

She couldn’t applaud when the song ended, not with her hands full. Several people did, though. Coins clinked in the bowl. “Thank you kindly, folks,” the drummer said; it was plainly his band. “Remember, the more you give us, the better we play.” His grin showed a broken front tooth. He got a laugh, and a few more coppers to go with it. The band swung into a new tune.

And he was looking at her, too. She’d got used to men looking at her, both when she looked like herself and in her Forthwegian disguise. It was, more often than not, an annoyance rather than a compliment. She’d felt that way even before Spinello did so much to sour her on the male half of the human race.

But the drummer wasn’t looking at her as if imagining how she was made under her tunic. He wore a slightly puzzled expression, one that might have said, Haven’t I seen you somewhere? Vanai didn’t think she’d ever seen him before.

The song ended. People clapped again. Vanai still couldn’t, but she did set down some groceries and drop a coin in the bowl. One of the horn players lifted his instrument to his lips to start the next song, but the drummer said, “Wait a bit.” The trumpeter shrugged, but lowered the horn once more. The drummer nodded to Vanai. “Your name’s Thelberge, isn’t it?”