Hurry up! Get a move on!”
Roland Winters felt a stick strike him across the shoulder, and he blazed with anger. He straightened up and whirled, but then he saw the sneer on the face of the soldier guarding him. The man was as broad as a barrel and had huge paws for hands. Roland swallowed hard and nodded without saying a word.
“Go ahead. Why don’t you come at me? Try it. Maybe you could put me down.” The soldier stood waiting, almost eagerly. “Come on. Take a try. Maybe you can pull my sword out and take off my head.”
Roland was strongly tempted to do exactly that, but out of the corner of his eye he saw two other guards loitering in front of the stables. They stood watching with grins on their faces. Even if I did get this one, he thought, those two would be on me before I could get away. So he simply stood there, quietly waiting.
The guard rapped him sharply on the crown of his head with the stick. The blow stung, and the man laughed. “You’re just a real meek pussycat, aren’t you? I thought maybe you’d give us a little fun. The last one that tried to get away from here did fairly well. He got out of the castle, but the dogs tracked him down.”
Roland continued to stand and wait. He had learned that all the guards liked to poke fun at him. They enjoyed seeing him flare up with anger, and at first he had given them that satisfaction. But he had soon learned better. Now he simply clamped his lips together and stared blankly over the soldier’s shoulder.
“Well, you’ve got no spirit. I can see that.” The guard seemed to consider striking him again, but then laughed shortly and turned away. “Clean up the rest of these stables! I want ’em as clean as the princess’s rooms. Mind you what I say!”
Wearily Roland began to shovel the muck out of the stables. He had always loved horses and had not minded caring for his own, but there were many stables here and many horses within the stables. He also suspected that the other stable slaves had been moved to other jobs so that he would have to do them all.
“They haven’t broken me yet,” he muttered under his breath as he filled the wheelbarrow. Then he wheeled the load toward the garden where it would be used for fertilizer. He dumped it onto the pile that he had begun there. Then he straightened up and took a deep breath.
He had been up well before daybreak. The sun was just beginning to rise even now. As usual, his breakfast had been revolting, but he had learned to gulp it down, knowing that he needed the strength it would provide. For a week now he had done nothing but clean stables, and every ounce of fat was pared off him. Because of the hard exercise, though, he had to admit to himself that he was stronger and in better shape than he had ever been before.
Roland’s gaze ran around the wall of the castle, and he thought, There’s got to be some way to get out of here! With a sigh he glanced at the towers that rose high in the air. His eyes took in the ramps where armed guards paced back and forth continually, and doubt and discouragement came over him. Still, though he was not accustomed to being a slave, he had not let what was happening to him break his spirit. He felt good about that.
As he wheeled the empty barrow back to the stable, Roland noticed the Lady Lara coming out of the castle door that led to the royal apartments. He quickly looked down and hurried by, for he disliked having her speak to him. She never failed to make fun of him.
But the king’s daughter saw him and stopped abruptly. “You there, slave! Come here!”
With a sigh, Roland set down the wheelbarrow and started toward her. She was wearing a green riding habit, and a small cap was perched on top of her black hair. Her dark blue eyes seemed to sparkle as he approached. But then she held up her hand. “Stop! That’s close enough!” she said. “You surely smell worse than the pigs. Don’t you ever bathe?”
Roland knew she was well aware that there were no facilities for slaves to bathe. He gritted his teeth and stood waiting, keeping his face as blank as possible.
“Get my horse and saddle her at once.”
“Yes, my lady.”
He had learned to answer at once and to obey quickly. He walked rapidly into the stable, where he chose the white mare and put a saddle on her. He led the horse out to where Lady Lara stood waiting.
“Well, help me up, you oaf!” she ordered.
He put out one hand to support her and felt the weight of her foot. As he propelled her upward, he was tempted to heave her all the way over the horse, but he managed to restrain himself.
She seated herself and then reached down with her riding crop and tapped him on the cheek. “I understand you are not happy cleaning stables.” She waited, but Roland did not say a word. She laughed, then said, “Well, you have learned your place, I see. Get on with your work.”
Roland watched her ride away.
At the castle gate, Lord Zarak was waiting for Lady Lara to join him. They rode across the drawbridge, followed by a pack of dogs.
Zarak said, when they had slowed their horses to a mere walk, “You look beautiful today, my lady.”
“Thank you, Lord Zarak.”
“Do we have to be so formal?” he complained.
She laughed at that. “Certainly. I believe in formality. Oh, and did you happen to see the slave that I’ve made into my groom?”
Zarak was able to conceal his anger. “Yes. And I still don’t trust him.”
“He’s harmless enough. He will be a good manservant for my father, perhaps, once he learns obedience.”
“He’ll never learn that. Don’t you know that, Lady Lara?”
She gave him a surprised look. “Why?”
“Did you look into his eyes?”
“I don’t make it a habit of looking into the eyes of slaves.”
“No, and that is the reason you do not know them. If you had been in the world as much as I have, you would learn to recognize rebellion when you see it. I once had a horse,” he said, “that behaved very well most of the time. But then suddenly—when he got a chance—he would kick the brains out of any man who came close to him.”
“So you think Roland is being a good slave just to get a chance to strike out, or perhaps to escape.”
“And I think you’re wrong. But the next time, Lord Zarak, I shall look deep into his eyes.” Her own eyes twinkled. “I’ll report to you what I see there. Come, White Cloud, let’s go!”
Lord Zarak had to spur to keep up with the king’s daughter. She was a wonderful horsewoman.
The guards kept Roland working steadily at cleaning the stables and grooming the horses. From time to time he thought about the two imprisoned Seven Sleepers. He had not had a glimpse of either Josh or Sarah since they were separated, and he wondered what had become of them. But there was no one he could ask. He kept his ears open listening for a reference to them, but none of the soldiers ever spoke of them.
“And what are the rest of the Sleepers doing?” he complained under his breath. “The least they could do is try to get us out of here. That’s what I’d do if I were out and they were in!”
With one part of his mind Roland knew that this was not so. He knew how virtually impossible it was for the Sleepers and Goodman to stage a successful rescue. The castle was too well guarded. It would take a long siege and a powerful army to bring it down.
The sun was high overhead when the rattle of the chain that lowered the drawbridge caught Roland’s attention. He saw Lord Zarak and the Lady Lara ride in across the moat, and he hurried at once to take her horse. At the gate, he reached up to take the bridle, then hesitated.
“Well, help me down, you stupid slave!”
“My hand is dirty, my lady,” he said.
Lady Lara sniffed. “I’m wearing gloves. I can throw them away after I’ve touched you.” She took his hand, and he helped her to the ground.
“Thank you for the ride, my lady. It was a pleasure as always,” Lord Zarak said. He gave Roland a hard look, then rode away toward the stables where his own mounts were kept.
“Give White Cloud a good rubdown and an extra portion of grain,” the princess ordered.
“Yes, my lady.”
“After that, I have another job for you.” An impish smile turned the corners of her lips upward. “I know you don’t take baths, but I do. As soon as you’ve rubbed down White Cloud, bring hot water to fill my tub. I shall tell the guards you will be coming. The kitchen will furnish the hot water.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Roland took away the mare and walked her for a time until she cooled down. He was still thinking about Lady Lara’s orders as he cared for the horse and whispered in her ear, “If I could just see that gate open for one minute, I’d be on you, White Cloud. And then we’d see if they could catch me.”
The mare whinnied and reached over to nibble at his hair.
He smiled and patted her nose. “You’re much better tempered than your mistress. I wish she had some of your good nature.”
After finishing with the mare, he went to the kitchen. “The Lady Lara says she wants a bath, and that I’m to bring her hot water.”
A huge woman with mannish features glared at him. “Well, why don’t you get at it, then?” “I don’t know what to do.”
“You heat water in that big pot over there. Make sure it’s steaming hot. Then you carry it up to her chambers.”
“How many does it take to fill up the bath?” “As many as she says. Now I’d suggest you get started.”
Roland built up the fire under the huge pot and waited until the water was hot. He poured it into a large earthen carrying vessel. Then he refilled the pot and put it back over the fire.
The effort to lift the heavy water container to his shoulder made him grunt. Picking it up required all of his strength. He was pleased to think that not many men could have carried it as easily as he did.
Roland asked where the stairs were and made his way up two flights. The steps were steep and treacherous, and he knew that there would be broken bones if he fell.
On the third floor he said to a soldier, “Hot water for the Lady Lara.”
“Down the hall—where the guard is standing.”
Roland went on down the corridor to where another sour-looking guard faced him. “Lady Lara ordered hot water.”
“Stay there. I’ll see if you can go in.” The guard approached the heavy oak door, spoke to someone inside, and then returned. “In there, fellow,” he said.
When Roland carried the water container inside, he was astonished at the luxury he saw. The chamber ceiling was high, and the walls were decorated with beautifully colored tapestries. His gaze fell on one that amazed him. It was at least twenty feet long and twelve feet high. It portrayed a hunt of several men and one woman on horseback. They were chasing a stag. He saw that the woman looked very much like Lady Lara.
“Well, don’t stand there! Pour it into the tub!”
Then Roland saw the lady herself standing and watching him. She had changed clothes, and the gown she now wore was light blue. She motioned toward a large, raised marble tub behind purple curtains that were drawn aside. Carefully, he swung the jug from his shoulder and emptied out the steaming water.
“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.”