Page 41 of The Maiden

“I cannot lie,” Montgomery said stiffly.

Jura groaned. “Not that knightly honor again! You can lie when it means preventing a war, damn you! Give me four days. If I do not bring him back in four days, there will be no need to send anyone after us. Can you do this, boy? Are you man enough?”

“Man enough to lie?” Montgomery asked.

“Man enough to take on responsibility. You will have to fight those high-nosed knights of his and I don’t know if you can do it.”

“I can do whatever is needed.”

“Good,” Jura said. “This must be kept as quiet as possible. Saddle my horse and I will get a bag of food. Wait! Tell people I have gone with Rowan to be alone with him. Tell them I was jealous of all the women yesterday and he has taken me away to soothe me. With such an excuse you can stay here and fend off the people for as long as I need.” She was on eye level with the boy, and although she felt much older, she was actually only two years older than he and he had the dark good looks she liked so much. She put two fingers under his chin. “And this will be less of a lie for you. Your master and I have indeed gone off together and you will not know where.”

Montgomery did not feel that Jura was especially older than he was, and to her surprise, he took her fingers and kissed the tips. “My master is a fortunate man.”

Jura, feeling a little confused, snatched her fingers away. “You will behave yourself with my Irials,” she said. “I do not want half-English brats nine months from now. Now, saddle my horse so I can ride.”

Montgomery smiled at her as Jura left the stables. “Insolent English pup,” she muttered.

Jura’s first task was an argument with Cilean. Cilean wanted to go with Jura, but Jura wasted valuable moments saying that Cilean’s absence could not be explained.

“I must go alone. Just draw me a map as quickly as possible so I can leave at once.”

Cilean began to draw but she argued all the while. “How will you find him? He is many hours ahead of you.”

“I will think like a blond Englishman. Do you think he is wearing mail and carrying an English banner? Oh, Cilean, pray for me. If he is killed, it will mean war. The Irial people will glorify his memory after his honey-tongued speech yesterday.”

“Here is the map,” Cilean said, then hugged Jura hard. “I am sorry I doubted you. Go and find this errant king of ours and bring him back safely.” She pulled away. “How will you dress?”

Jura grinned. “As an Ulten. That should keep people away. My aunt has Ulten clothes in storage and I plan to remove them.”

Cilean kissed her friend’s cheek. “Go with God and come back soon.”

• • •

Jura rode into Vatell territory cautiously. The old, ragged Ulten garment she wore stank so bad her horse had pranced in anger at first and Jura did not blame it for she could barely abide herself. She had stolen the faded, once-brilliant costume from her aunt’s house and dipped it in the muck of a pigsty then rolled it in ashes to get the proper aroma and color of an Ulten costume. Smelling herself, Jura knew why Ultens were the only tribe to be allowed to roam freely. No one coveted anything that belonged to an Ulten, although quite often Ultens were hanged for little or no reason.

Under the filthy garment Jura wore the green hunting uniform of the guards and an arsenal of weapons.

She rode west, staying on narrow paths that wagons and large groups of people could not travel. Whining, she begged food and water from people in front of leaky huts and dried-up vegetable patches. After a day of travel she began to almost understand why Brita had attacked the richer Irial lands to the south.

Late at night she came to a public house. Candles blazed from inside the little wattle-and-daub shack and she could hear raucous laughter and the clank of steel. She tied her horse in the darkness of the surrounding forest and went to the door. A fight surely meant she had found her English husband. She just hoped she had time to save him.

She walked in the door but no one paid her the least attention as they were all watching two Vatell guards play-fighting each other with broadswords. Feeling a little foolish, Jura pulled her filthy hood further over her face and took an empty seat at a table. Immediately, everyone at the table looked about in horror at the smell, then when they saw the hooded figure, they moved away. A skinny woman asked Jura what she wanted to drink and bade her give a copper bead in exchange.

From under the shade of the hood, she looked around the small tavern but she saw no sign of the blond Englishman. Along the walls stood several Vatells almost as dirty as she was.

Jura drank her ale and the fight ended and goods and garments and animals traded hands as wagers were won and lost.

“What is that smell?” a drunken voice yelled.

Jura put her mug down and started to stand. She meant to leave as quickly as possible, but someone put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“An Ulten boy,” someone yelled. “Let’s teach him a lesson.”

A hand grabbed Jura’s hood just as she moved away. Her face was exposed.

“Gor,” someone said. “A girl.”

“And a beauty.”