~ 11 ~

The touch on his shoulder brought him instantly awake. As he rolled to his feet, he remembered the bunk above him and ducked beneath its bottom support pole. Sun slanted through the shuttered windows, indicating the rain had stopped.

“It’s okay,” Anlin said quickly. “There’s no emergency. It’s about four hours passed dawn, and this is when you told me to awaken you.”

Anlin looked at him warily and Faulk realized, as he’d come to his feet, he’d pulled his sword from the scabbard that had lain at his side all night. He now towered over her with a naked blade in his hand, ready to fight. He gave her a self-deprecating smile and slid his sword back in its scabbard.

“I slept like the dead,” he said, quickly regretting his word choice when she frowned. “But the sleep did the trick. I’m no longer exhausted. Now I’m hungry.”

She smiled then, her change of expression like the sun coming up, the plains and angles of her face filling with beauty. Her dark hair, fluffed out to dry, now came to her shoulders in a riot of spun silk. The white blaze, flowing back from her temple, reminded Faulk of a shaft of sunlight coming through a window into a dark room.

“The bread is getting a little stale,” she said, “but we still have plenty of bread and cheese. It’s over on the table by the door. I looked to see if there were any food stores here, but I couldn’t find any.”

Faulk rotated his shoulders, trying to take the tightness out of them. He’d slept in his hauberk, not wanting to be unprepared for any further surprises, and, while it didn’t disturb his rest, it still led to awakening with stiff muscles. The wound made by the pike made itself known as he moved. He should strip and clean it before the cut became septic. His nose wrinkled at the slightly feral smell that surrounded him. More than just the wound needed cleaning. But if the conclusions he’d reached last night were correct, there was no time for such niceties. They would have a long ride today.

“You’ve had the opportunity to look around in daylight,” he said, walking toward the table and the offered food. “What do you make of this place?”

“It’s a way station of some sort,” Anlin said. “There’s room to sleep twenty-six people and plenty of fodder in the lean-to to feed that many horses. All seems to be in readiness for the arrival of some group. There haven’t been any horses here for a while, though, or else everything has been meticulously cleaned. There’s not a speck of manure in the corral that would indicate that someone came through here not long ago.”

“I agree,” Faulk said around a mouthful of cheese. The bread was a bit chewy, but the cheese was sharp and tangy. “Too bad whoever prepared the place didn’t leave any ‘fodder’ for humans. A big smoked ham hanging from the rafters would be nice.”

Anlin laughed, pushing her hair back from her face. “I’d have liked to have found a ham as well, but there is no food here. Believe me; I was very motivated to look carefully into every nook and cranny.”

“I see you also spent your time locating where we are and where we plan to go.” Faulk motioned to the map that Anlin had spread out on the table. The corners, which wanted to curl, were anchored with silver coins from the packs.

“Yes. I’ve been examining the map. I know exactly where Nerth said this mysterious Ridgemere should be and can make an informed guess as to where we are now. The only problem is that the trail we’ve been following isn’t indicated on this map.”

“Since the way is supposed to be secret, you wouldn’t expect it to be.”

“But it can’t be all that much of a secret,” she said. “The trail is too obvious, too much in use. We were able to follow the trail at night, even without moonlight. No one coming across it could miss it.”

“Perhaps people don’t just happen to come this way. We didn’t pass any farms or steadings last night. The area around the trail is devoid of habitation.”

“How can we be sure?” she asked. “It was raining and consequently, very dark.”

“You’re right, but in the darkness, we should have seen at least some strips of light that escaped around shutters. We should have smelled farm animals, but we didn’t. Did you hear a dog bark? No, I think the Rennish have cleared all people from this path. It is secret only because they choose to think of it as such.”

“Then, if it’s not really a secret, why would those men have attacked us?”

“Because we’re not supposed to be using this track. We’re not husbands.”

A look of quick comprehension crossed Anlin’s face. “Yeah, that makes sense. This place was set up to house the husbands on their way to Ridgemere.”

Faulk nodded his agreement. “And if this assumption is right, there should be another place like this one about a day’s ride away. If we start soon, we’ll be late in arriving, but it will give us a good place to stop and there should be fodder for the horses again”

“I think you’re right,” she said, beginning to roll up the map. “I’ll go get the horses ready.”

“No. Wait.” He put his hand on her arm to stop her movement. “I want to get this whole husband business straight in my mind before we go on. Do all the men in Rennic have one of these sequestered wives?”

“No, only about half of them have wives. You know who they are because they’re the ones with facial tattoos. Of course, all men hope they will be chosen to be a husband, since that’s the only way that they can have true children. Any children born to slaves are simply that, slaves. They don’t really count as people. I can’t even think of one instance when a man acknowledged, or even kept, such a child.”

Such an attitude was so foreign to Faulk’s nature that he couldn’t really understand it. It was hard enough to understand how a man could ignore his own child in Fallucian society, although Faulk was living proof that it happened. “How is one chosen for the role of husband if this is so important?”

“Selectors come through the various areas about twice a year. I was always locked up with the rest of the slaves when this happened, but I did get a glimpse of one once. The selector was a woman—that I could tell. I got the feeling she was old by the way she moved, but there was no way I could be sure since she wore a loose robe and her face was veiled. She was accorded every respect and met with the village headman for most of the day. After that time, some men were called in, and they later appeared grinning like maniacs and wearing new tattoos. There isn’t a man in Rennic who doesn’t wish for true progeny.”

Faulk could well understand the desire for heirs, but this process sounded more than strange. Like everyone in Fallucia, he knew the Rennish were different, but he’d never imagined a culture so dissimilar to the one he knew lay just across an imaginary boundary. “Were all the men who owned you husbands?”

Anlin shook her head. “No, only Nerth had the facial tattoo and went twice a year to be with his wife. Gilpin, the first man who bought me, was fairly young, and I think he still hoped he would be selected. Martic, on the other hand, my third owner, had given up expecting to be chosen. Maybe that’s what made him such a cruel man. Or maybe he was not selected because he was cruel to begin with. I don’t know, but he was mean and embittered.” She shivered. “Sweet Cheelum, I can’t tell you how awful it makes me feel to revisit all this.”

Faulk could well understand her aversion to this conversation. He thought he’d rather die than give someone else such power over him. He knew the questions he felt he still needed to have answered would make her even more uncomfortable, but he didn’t see how they could be avoided.

“Even men who were husbands only saw their wives twice a year?” he asked.

“Yes, as far as I know.”

“Then what did men, even ones with wives do for…” He stopped, considering how he was going to approach this. “I mean, were there taverns or something similar that had available women?”

“You mean whores?” She asked it without inflection. “There was no need for whores. Almost every man had a female slave who was used for that purpose.”

“And all these female slaves were Fallucian?”

“Heavens no! Most of them are Rennish. If a girl does not have the necessary magical qualifications to become a wife, she’s sold. To be a woman in Rennic is to be either a wife or a slave.”

“What a horrible choice.” Faulk felt a flare of anger for these unknown women. “Of course, I guess that is wrong. The women never get a choice—they are chosen. Do you know how this happens?”

Anlin shook her head. “I have no idea. I’d guess that it occurs when girls are quite young. I’ve seen female Rennish slaves as young as about ten.”

“What a peculiar way to live,” Faulk said. “Without a slave, even a married man had no, eh…”

“Night comfort,” Anlin supplied.

“Well, yeah. As I said, this way of life is very foreign to me. Well, it’s the Rennish way of life, so I guess it should be foreign to me.” He gave her a quick smile, but hesitated again, once more not sure how to broach the next subject. “Were all of the female slaves treated as you were? I mean, were there no men and their slaves who formed an emotional attachment? It would seem normal that this would happen.”

Anlin’s look of shocked horror was almost comical. “Not that I knew of or even heard of. I think it’s because the laws and customs keep this from happening. Between a man and his slave, there is supposed to be only fornication. None of the touching like we did.” She looked down, evidently embarrassed by the memory. “Martic touched me, but only to hit or hurt. That seemed to excite him.”

Faulk didn’t know how to respond to this. He’d known similar men, men who could only become aroused it they inflicted pain. No one country or culture was immune to this type of behavior, sick though Faulk considered it to be. As weird as the Rennish evidently were, the fact that they had chosen to withhold the honor of allowing such a man as Martic to take a wife was laudatory.

“Do Rennish men treat their wives in the same way?” he asked.

“I never met a wife, and I was hardly in the position to ask.” Anger now flashed in her eyes.

It made sense to Faulk that wives would be treated differently. But even then, to see one’s spouse only twice a year was unnatural. And if only wives lived in Ridgemere, then what was Anlin’s son doing there? He couldn’t see what it had to do with Telm’s perhaps being tainted with Fallucian magic.

“I have no more questions,” Faulk said before Anlin’s anger could boil over. “I think we need to get moving. Assuming another way station exists, we’ll probably not get there until after dark.

* * *

Pleasant, rainless days passed. Each night another way station presented itself. The ride would have been enjoyable had Faulk not been constantly alert for hidden dangers. If this was the secret way to a hidden place, there should have been guards, or at the least, lookouts. But there were none in evidence. The whole area seemed to be bereft of any human presence.

The path continued to slowly climb. They passed large expanses of forests of towering pines interspersed with broad meadows that had never felt a plow. The husbandman in Faulk wondered at a people who could huddle in mean village like Chirlon and ignore the potential bounty of the land they passed. The Rennish made no sense.

How could two peoples live so close to each other and be so different? The customs Anlin had told him about were more than different, however. To Faulk they appeared distorted, sick. People were not meant to live this way, with husbands and wives separated and with most of the population simply breeding like animals whenever lust overtook them. Faulk had thought it would be horrible to live as Anlin had, but he decided being a man in this society wouldn’t be an easy thing either. Even the men seemed to have very limited choices.

Not that Fallucia had been gifted with a perfect social order. There were great inequities in Fallucian society. The Lords of High Places ruled all those under them, and regardless of how hard a man worked, he could only improve his lot to a limited degree if he’d not been born a Lord.

For all the intermittent horrors of his childhood, Faulk had been lucky. Unlike solid fighting men like Kevin and Waylon, Faulk had been given a basic education. He could read and write, abilities often restricted to the noble class and to the clerks who served them.

With Lealand, Faulk had found a family, a place to belong. Lealand and Lady Patrice had often treated him more like a son than a server. Because of them, and yes, even because of that sick bastard Abbot Jezrel, he’d been given the means to rise in Fallucian society. His own ability and Anlin’s approval had given him his much-desired land. He would never be a Lord. He would always be Philip Giffard’s sworn man. But in this he could be satisfied.

His only fear was that the place he had attained would be jeopardized by the increasing capriciousness of King Fremmor. The mental deterioration of the king destabilized the whole country. It allowed the venal and corrupt like Edmund Tarn to take control. Tarn had too much power for someone like Faulk to ever take down, but revenge for what had happened to Lealand was a persistent daydream, a continuing but forlorn hope.

They arrived at the next, expected way station just as the sun was setting. The slanting light illuminated a set of buildings almost identical to those that they’d stayed in earlier.

Although everything here was larger, evidently built to accommodate more people, there was the same circular dormitory with its conical roof, the same lean-to, the same corral. An extra building had been added, however, a smaller circular structure that was attached to one side of the dormitory.

As always, Faulk and Anlin approached cautiously, but once again, they were the only ones there.

“I’ll settle the horses,” Faulk said. “I’m assuming this place will be furnished as the others were and that there will be plenty of feed available for the animals. Why don’t you search for a surprise smoked ham hanging in the rafters?” With the mention of the imaginary ham, Faulk’s stomach emitted a low growl.

Anlin’s angular face broke into the sudden smile that made her look beautiful. “I’ll get us another hare if the ham doesn’t materialize.”

Faulk grunted in response. Rabbit and hard cheese—again. Their menu was ever repetitive. He led the horses away, stripped off the saddles and packs, and pulled hay into the bin in the lean-to. All the horses pushed toward the food. Baring his teeth, Faulk’s big gray took pride of place. “Greedy buggers, all of you,” Faulk said, still trying to banish the vision of ham from his mind.

It took him three trips to get all the packs stowed in the dormitory. He then stripped off his hauberk, greatly relieved to be shed of the weight after a long day in the saddle. He saw no need to sleep in it again. He and Anlin seemed to be the only people in this entire area.

While Faulk finished his chores, Anlin assembled their less-than-exciting meal. It was, however, filling and made him appreciate Anlin’s skill with a bow. As they ate, Anlin spread the map between them.

“Judging from the position of the stream and the shape of the big hill we passed not far back, I think we’re about here.” Her finger traced a spot on the map. “If Nerth told the truth, Ridgemere should be here.” Her finger moved to a spot not too distant. “I’d guess about half a day’s ride.”

Faulk washed down a lump of cheese with water. “That close? Then I guess it makes sense that these buildings were designed to hold more people. Evidently men would be coming from all over, and this would be their last stop.”

“I think your assumption is correct. This must be the final gathering place for husbands coming to Ridgemere, and because it is, I have a surprise to show you when you’re done eating.” Anlin gave him a shy smile that made his mid-section tighten. He wished their relationship could always be this relaxed. He felt a yawning hole in his life because of what they were missing.

He quickly finished his meal and followed Anlin’s dancing steps to a door in the far wall. The lintel was heavily carved with various fruits surrounding a short phrase in Rennish. “What does that say?” he asked.

“It says ‘Holy duties bring joy.’”

“I’d always felt these buildings had a religious significance. Is this a temple of some sort?”

She giggled. Anlin actually giggled. Amazing. “Maybe of some sort,” she said, pushing the door open.

The smaller round room was decidedly odd, but it didn’t look like any temple Faulk had ever seen. A big metal cauldron, its sides much higher than its girth, rested in the middle of the room. Under it smoldered a fire that filled the room with an aromatic smoke before drifting though slits in the ceiling. Surrounding the cauldron in a wheel-spoke pattern that echoed the arrangement of the bunks in the larger room were large wooden troughs. It was like nothing Faulk had ever seen, and he was at a loss to figure out its use.

As if understanding his confusion, Anlin announced, “It’s a bathhouse. A real bathhouse.” Then she literally danced, weaving her way among the troughs, spinning and laughing.

“A bathhouse,” Faulk repeated, still not fully comprehending. He was familiar with bathing, of course. This usually took place in a stream, but in the winter, a fat barrel could be laboriously filled with hot water. There the bather could squat and relish a good soak. In Faulk’s case, the soak was generally not long in duration. He was seldom the first to use the barrel and the water was cooling. To fit, his chest was usually pressed against his folded legs and this was not a comfortable position for long.

“This is the only thing that I’ve missed about Rennic,” Anlin said, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. Seeing Faulk just standing there, she continued, “I started the fire while you were out with the horses so the water should be nice and hot.” She then pulled up a sliding door that looked much like a sluice gate on a dam and water poured from the cauldron into one of the troughs. She raised another door and a second trough began to fill.

As steam slowly rose from both troughs, Anlin began undressing. She heeled off her boots, shucked her riding pants, and pulled her tunic over her head. She then stood there, completely and gloriously naked, watching the water flow. Faulk wasn’t sure which surprised him more—the room or Anlin’s behavior.

When the water approached the lip of the trough, she pushed the door back down and the water stopped. She then did the same with the second. She trailed her hand in the water and murmured, “Yes, yes.” At this point, she seemed to become conscious of Faulk’s just standing there.

“Undress and get in,” she said. “The water is perfect.”

Then, matching action to her words, she slipped over the side and into water. She completely submerged and then sat up, ringing the water from her hair, grinning like an idiot. She pushed back and leaned her head against the sloping end of the trough with a contented sigh. She could completely stretch out with room to spare. Her breasts broke the surface of the water like islands in a calm sea.

Faulk stood transfixed. He realized that other than that first, horrible night, he’d never seen Anlin completely unclothed, and it was a sight well worth the watching. He was amazed at her relaxed demeanor. He would have to ask her if the aroma from the smoke had some sort of soporific effect. If so, it might be a good idea to buy some of the substance to take back to White Ford.

“Are you just going to stand there like some hulking tree?” she asked, opening her eyes a slit.

“No.” The word had to be forced out around a throat that felt constricted. He didn’t want Anlin to see he was aroused. He wanted nothing to frighten her, nothing to make her think of the type of relationships she’d had here in Rennic. They seemed to have come to some sort of accommodation on this journey. She hadn’t disappeared into her own mind during their touching. Faulk hoped that maybe, just maybe, he and Anlin could find something good between them with time.

Turning his back to her, he quickly stripped off his clothing and entered the trough and it was—wonderful! Unlike the barrels he was used to in Fallucian bathhouses, here he could lie on his back with his shoulders and neck braced by the back of the trough. The hot water could reach every one of his tired muscles. The now healing pike wound initially stung, but quickly became painless.

Faulk bent his knees and pulled his shoulders into the water. Ah, it was heaven. He would definitely have to look at the big cauldron and the sluice gates. The blacksmith at White Ford was quite talented and if Faulk could make decent enough drawings, the smith could probably build something similar. The idea of adding a bathhouse to his holding in Fallucia was very appealing. It was surprising that the primitive Rennish had come up with something his own countrymen hadn’t thought of.

Anlin seemed to be dozing. She was short enough that she could have slipped below the water, but Faulk was sure she’d awaken if that happened, so he leaned his head back and joined her in completely relaxing. He wasn’t sure if this was one of the “holy duties” mentioned on the doorframe, but it certainly brought joy.

Slowly the water began to cool. Faulk knew he should get out, but he felt practically boneless. With effort, he pulled himself to a sitting position, water sloshing around him. He was about to pull his legs under him when the voice behind him said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Then everything happened at once. He swiveled toward the voice, Anlin screamed, and he thought stupid, stupid as he saw the blur of the log that connected with his temple and slipped him into blackness.