Savage Games of Lord Zarak (9 page)

“Will that be enough?” he asked politely.

“You didn't address me by my title, slave!”

“Will that be enough water—my lady?”

“Of course not, fool! Fill it up!”

Fill it up!
Roland did not answer. He knew that filling that tub would take many trips up and down the stairs. He was sure it would take at least two hours of hard work. However, he tried to let nothing show in his face, and he left at once for the kitchen.

On one of his many trips up and down, he asked a guard, “Don't they usually have several slaves carrying water?”

“They do.” The guard grinned. “You must be in favor. She's letting you do it all alone.”

Gritting his teeth, Roland went at it. He walked down and back, down and back, time after time.

He became aware of the young female slave who seemed to be attending the Lady Lara. She said nothing to him on most of his trips, but once—when the lady was out of the apartment—she looked around nervously and whispered, “It's very hard, isn't it?”

Surprised, Roland straightened up wearily, his back aching from the carrying.

She was a small girl with chocolate brown eyes and brown hair drawn back in a single braid. She wore
a simple gray garment. She whispered, “My name is Bettis.”

“And I am Roland.”

“Don't be discouraged, Roland,” the girl said. “It is hard, indeed, but better things will come for you.”

“I don't know why you would think that,” Roland said. He was still surprised at her friendliness. “How long have you been a slave here?” he asked curiously.

“All my life. I was taken from my parents when I was only a year old, and I was raised to serve the Lady Lara.”

“Well, I can't say much for your mistress. She's as mean as a snake.”

The girl's hand flew to her mouth. “Don't say that,” she whispered. “Really, she has a good side to her. She's very kind to me—sometimes.”

“And very cruel sometimes?”

“She's—she's spoiled, but really she—”

At that moment footsteps sounded, and Lady Lara entered the chamber. “And just what are you two talking about?” she demanded.

“I was wondering if there is enough water in the tub,” Roland said quickly. That was true enough, he thought.

“I'll tell you when it's enough!” She walked to the tub and looked in. “Keep bringing water until it's
full,
” she said.

Roland knew that the water would be cooling off by now and that this was just her way of tormenting him. He knew better than to say anything, however, and he made more trips.

When the tub was full to the brim, Lady Lara said, “That's enough. You can go now. Come back in an hour, and you can empty the tub and clean it.”

“Yes, my lady.” Roland ground his teeth, and this time apparently he did not successfully conceal his anger.

Lady Lara moved closer. “Stand still,” she said. “Look me in the eye.”

Wondering what to expect now, Roland fixed his gaze on her face. She was a beautiful young woman. He had to admit that. But she was also cruel. Besides, he resented being ordered about by anyone.

“I was recently told,” Lady Lara mused, “that the eyes give people away.” She studied his eyes carefully. “You have strange-colored eyes. They are green. I have never seen eyes quite like that.” She waited for him to speak. When he did not, she leaned closer. Then she said, “I was told it is possible to see rebellion and hatred in the eyes of some.” She studied him for several moments more, then said, “I think I see it in you.”

“And what would you expect from a slave, Lady Lara?”

Apparently stunned at his bold reply, Lady Lara's mouth fell open. “And what do you see in
my
eyes, slave?”

At once, without really thinking, Roland said, “I see a spoiled, cruel young woman who has no thought for anyone but herself.”

Lady Lara stiffened, and anger darkened her face. “Get out!” she screamed. “Get out! I don't have to listen to a slave.” She was pale with rage.

As he left the room with the empty water container on his shoulder, he could hear Bettis say, “Don't be angry, my lady. He didn't know any better.”

 

“He'll learn to submit!” Lady Lara vowed as the slave Roland closed the great oak door. “He'll learn to
submit!” She turned to Bettis. “You heard what he said. It's a lie, isn't it? Isn't it a lie?”

Bettis had learned to be tactful beyond her years. “He just doesn't understand you, my lady. After all, he's just a slave. How could you expect him to?”

“Well, I suppose that's true enough, but he has such an arrogant streak in him!”

Bettis thought but did not speak.
Not as arrogant as yours, Lady Lara.
She changed the subject by saying, “Now will you have your bath?”

 

On the day following his unpleasant encounter with the Lady Lara, Roland finally had a chance to speak with Sarah and Josh. He had been cleaning the stables again and was wheeling his load out to the garden when he saw the two of them. They were spreading the manure that he had brought the day before. “Josh, Sarah!” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

Both Josh and Sarah turned with surprise. “Roland!” Sarah cried. “We've been worried, wondering what happened to you.”

“Nothing really too bad so far,” he said. “What about you?” He saw at once that both Sarah and Josh were pale and looked half-starved. “Aren't they feeding you?” he asked.

“Aw, we're all right,” Josh said. “The food's terrible, and they work us from dawn until long after dark, but we're all right.”

“Me too,” Roland said. “What do you think the others are doing? Do you think there might be a rescue attempt?”

“Not a chance,” Josh said. “Look at those castle walls.”

The three talked while Sarah and Josh raked manure.

But then a guard came along and said, “Get to work, you!” He swished his short whip and struck Roland across the shoulders. “Get back to your work! And you two, let's see that dirt fly!”

There was no more chance to talk with Josh and Sarah, but Roland found himself glad that they were all right.
They're having a rough time,
he thought and was a little surprised at himself. He had never before felt much concern for anyone but Roland Winters.

Later that afternoon, when he was back at grooming the horses, he heard the clanging of swords out in the courtyard. Curious, he decided he would lead Lady Lara's mare to the blacksmith at the far end of the court. Then he could see what was going on.

At once he saw that several officers including Lord Zarak and his henchman Sheriff Cranmore were engaged in sword practice. A small crowd stood watching. He would have passed by, but Lady Lara's voice rang out. “Slave, stop! Where are you going with my horse?”

“She needs a new shoe, my lady. I was taking her to the blacksmith.”

“Let me see!”

“It's her right rear hoof, my lady,” Roland said. “You can see that part of the shoe is worn off. It's going to make her lame if it's not replaced.” Lady Lara's eyes opened wider. “Well, you do know something about horses after all.”

“A little, my lady.”

Then there were shouts, and both Roland and the princess turned to see that Sheriff Cranmore had been victorious over one of the soldiers. He had his sword tip pressed against the man's chest.

“Don't kill him, Cranmore,” Zarak said, laughing.

“He may be good for something. Maybe for serving in the kitchen.”

The sheriff turned away from his defeated foe. He was grinning broadly. “Not much competition around here.”

Lady Lara cast a glance at Roland. “You probably never saw anyone who could handle a sword as well as Sheriff Cranmore. You would have no one in your country capable enough to beat him.”

An impish impulse came over Roland just then. He knew that everyone was listening, and he said loudly, “Oh, I've seen a few. My younger brother could take him. He would probably carve him up like a turkey.”

Sheriff Cranmore's eyes blazed. He came over and put the tip of his sword under Roland's heart. “I'll kill you for that, slave!”

“No, no, Cranmore. Let him fight you!” Lord Zarak said. “That will give you opportunity to carve him up as you please.”

Roland saw the swift glance Zarak exchanged with Cranmore. The two understood each other. “All right,” the sheriff agreed. “Give the beggar a sword.”

One of the soldiers advanced and handed a sword to Roland, hilt first. The man's expression was not encouraging. He said, “Well, I hope you've had a full life, because it's over now.”

Even Lady Lara showed alarm. “You can't fight him!” she cried. “You'll be killed!”

Roland took the sword, hefted it, and tried to hide the light of battle he was sure was in his eyes.

“You can sing at my funeral, Lady Lara,” he told her. “I know you'd enjoy that.”

A surprised mutter went up from the soldiers, and
Lord Zarak said loudly, “The slave is insolent. Make it short and sweet, Cranmore.”

The sheriff laughed and swung his sword in the air. “Come to me, slave!” he said. “Would you rather have my blade in your throat or in your heart?”

“As you please, Sheriff Cranmore,” Roland said. What he knew and the others did not know was that all of his life he had practiced with a sword. He had been a champion when he was only sixteen years old and had never been beaten since. He also had seen Cranmore fight and had studied his style. Now he simply stood before the sheriff with his blade half-lifted.

“He doesn't even know how to hold the blade,” Cranmore jeered. “Well, this will be a lesson in swordsmanship for you, slave, but you won't stay alive to profit by it.”

 

Lady Lara watched Cranmore spring forward with the clear intention of ending the battle with one swift blow. But the slave's blade flew up, misdirected the sheriff's aim, and the thrust drove by him.

Humiliated by his failure, Cranmore clenched his teeth and began a series of rapid lunges. The ring of steel on steel filled the courtyard, and other servants and soldiers were drawn to the conflict. Many looked down from the windows.

Lady Lara could scarcely believe what she was seeing. She realized that Roland could have killed Cranmore more than once.
I never saw anyone who could handle a sword like that,
she thought
. He is just playing with the man!

On the sidelines, Lord Zarak was furious. He shouted, “Kill him, Cranmore!”

The sheriff was trying his best. Around and
around the two went. Now Cranmore was breathing hard.

There was a smile on Roland's lips as he easily parried the sheriff's sword thrusts. And then, abruptly, with a strange, twisting movement, he drove forward, and the tip of his blade was inside Cranmore's guard. He wrenched away the sheriff's sword, and it went spinning high into the air. Instantly Roland placed the tip of his blade on Cranmore's throat. “Would you rather have it in the throat or in the heart, my lord?”

“Stop him!”
Zarak cried.

Instantly soldiers surrounded Roland and took away his sword. Zarak shouted, “You'll be executed for this!” But Lady Lara said, “This is my slave, my lord, and it was your plan that failed. I cannot help it if your underlings are incompetent.”

She turned then to Roland. “Come with me, slave. You may take my horse to the blacksmith. Then I have work for you to do.”

The crowd watched in silence as Roland went to retrieve the mare and follow her.

When they were out of hearing distance, she said to him, “You are in great danger. Cranmore is a very dangerous man.”

“But why should you care?” The exercise and the challenge and the victory had obviously quickened Roland's boldness. “I'm just a slave, and you don't care about slaves.”

“That's not true,” she protested angrily. “I care for Bettis.”

“And what about those that are starving outside this castle? What about the slaves who work here night and day so that you can live in comfort?”

Lady Lara never could stand criticism. She slapped his face. “I'll have you thrown back into the dungeon!” she cried. “You can't talk to me like that!”

“You see? I was right.” There was no quieting him. “You don't care for anybody but yourself.”

“Guard, put this slave in the dungeon!” she screamed.

Lady Lara watched as he was led away. Oddly, she found herself trembling. She stabled the horse herself and then went to her chamber.

Bettis came to her at once. She was sure the maid had watched the duel from the window.

“What is wrong, my lady?”

“That Roland! That slave! He told me that I didn't care for anybody but myself.”

First, it seemed that Bettis was going to keep a tactful silence. But then she simply said, “He is a good man, Lady Lara.”

“He is a slave.”

“Still, if he were a prince and had come on a powerful warhorse, clothed in armor, would you not look on him with favor?”

Lady Lara stared at the girl. “Well, he's not, and he didn't, and I've had him thrown into the dungeon. He'll learn how to treat me with respect.”

A
ll right, you. Come with me.”

Startled, Sarah looked up at the tall, forbidding woman who stood before her. It was Dagmar, who was in authority over the slaves that worked in the kitchen.

“Come where?” Sarah asked. She glanced over at Josh, and he appeared to be as startled as she was. The two had been scouring pots and pans, and both were greasy and filthy.

“I don't know what you've done to deserve this honor,” the woman sneered, “but Lady Lara's maid is sick. Her command is that you will take her place.”

“Me?” The woman's news startled Sarah, but she knew there was no arguing with it.