When they got to the town, it didn’t seem worth reaching. The Unkerlanters must have fought hard there; it looked as if a giant had set it afire and then stamped out the flames with his feet. A military constable asked Galafrone to which regiment his men belonged. The captain told him, looking apprehensive.
But the fellow just nodded and said, “You’re only the third company through--this wretched weather is playing hob with everyone. Use the northwest road--that one there. The Unkerlanters, curse ‘em, are mounting another counterattack.”
“I thought King Swemmel was supposed to be running short of men by now,” Tealdo said as he and his comrades slogged on to try to throw the Unkerlanters back yet again.
“You’ve been in the army awhile now,” Trasone answered. “Don’t you know better than to believe everything you hear yet?” Tealdo pondered, grunted, nodded, and kept marching.
Tired as usual after a long day’s labor, Leofsig made his way through the streets of Gromheort back toward his home. He stepped carefully; the pavement was wet and slippery from a shower that had passed through earlier in the afternoon. He was wet from the shower, too, which meant he was a little less filthy than on most days. He thought about heading for the baths, but decided not to bother. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could eat and sleep. Nobody was as clean as in the days before the war.
He’d got more than halfway home before he noticed the new broadsheet pasted to walls and fences and trees. The Algarvians had put it up, of course--the penally for a Forthwegian putting up a broadsheet was death, and the penalty for a Kaunian probably something worse. But, regardless of whether the Algarvians had put it up, it showed the tough, jowly image of Bung Plegmund, arguably Forthweg’s greatest ruler, and a troop of hard-looking soldiers carrying spears and bows and dressed in the styles of four hundred years before.
PLEGMUND SMASHED THE UNKERLANTERS, read the legend below the illustration. YOU CAN, TOO! JOIN PLEGMUND’S BRIGADE. BEAT BACK BARBARISM. Smaller
letters gave the address of the recruiting station and also warned,
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
