Raptor (37 page)

But of course I
was
followed—or, rather, Juhiza was—and obviously had been ever since I had seen Jaeirus and Robeya together. The moment I fled from them, they must have sent one of their car-bearer slaves chasing after me, and I would not have noticed such an anonymous pursuer among the street crowds. Apparently that slave or some other person, or series of persons, had kept an unremitting watch on my lodgings from that day to this. He, or they, must have had a tedious and frustrating wait, not seeing Juhiza ever emerge again, and having no reason to remark on my comings and goings as Thorn. But
someone
had at last been rewarded for the long wait, when tonight Juhiza did leave the deversorium.

Gudinand and I had often before become goose-prickled of skin when in our transports of passion, but this night the air was so crisp that we got goose-fleshed as soon as we had undressed. And at the instant we both were naked, our goose bumps and even our hair must have lifted higher, because there was a sudden rustling in the brush nearby and a hoarse voice—the voice of Jaeirus—said loudly:

“You have had many a turn with that wench, Gudinand, you stinkard cripple. Now it is a real man’s turn. Tonight is
my
turn!”

Gudinand and I were defenseless. We were both nude, unprotected, unarmed, and Jaeirus came out of his hiding place swinging a heavy wooden cudgel. I was lying flat on my back, Gudinand bending over me, when I heard the simultaneous sounds of the cudgel’s thud and Gudinand’s grunt, and my friend fairly flew off into the darkness to one side of me.

Next moment I was pinned under the heavy, sweaty weight of Jaeirus. He was fully clothed, but had disarranged his garments sufficiently to free his fascinum, and he began jabbing with that at my nether parts. I struggled and flailed and cried for Gudinand’s help—but Gudinand was either stunned or dead—and Jaeirus only laughed at me.

“You know you like this sport, little girl. And from me you do not risk catching the falling sickness, as you would from your freak friend yonder.”

“Get off me!” I raged. “I
choose
my friends!”

“And you will choose me, once you have enjoyed me. Now cease your foolish fighting and listen to me.”

I did not cease struggling as fiercely as I was able, but I could not help listening.

“You know my mother, Robeya. And she says you know her
well.”

I gasped, “I know that she is an unnatural—”

“Hush your blithering and pay heed. For her latest lover, my mother took the tonstrix who dyes her hair, a little slut of a commoner named Maralena. When my mother finally tired of Maralena’s bedtime inadequacies, she bequeathed the slut to me. Mother told me and showed me how to pleasure Maralena, and Mother watched and instructed as we two frolicked. And—would you believe?—Maralena enjoyed my attentions even more than those she had had from my mother. I promise that you will, too, child. Here, give me your hand. Just
feel
the size of my fascinum. So now let us proceed to—”

There was another sound of
thud!
and, just as suddenly, Jaeirus whisked away sidewise into the darkness as Gudinand had done, and I was lying alone. Well, it was all I
could
do: lie there, dazed, and try to get my breath back, and try to sort out the bewildering series of events that had so rapidly occurred. Then a callused hard hand was laid on my forehead, but gently, and a voice that I knew said:

“Be easy, urchin. You are safe now. Take your time and collect your wits.”

I croaked, “Fráuja, is it really you?”

“If you do not recognize whiskered old Wyrd, your wits must really be disordered.”

“Ne… ne… I think I am all right. But what of Gudinand?”

“He is slowly coming awake. He will have a headache, nothing worse. So will this other friend of yours. I did not bludgeon him hard enough to kill.”

“Friend?!”
I croaked indignantly. “That is the son of a bitch-dragon—”

“I know who it is,” said Wyrd. “By the nose and ears that Zopyrus cut off his own head, but you do have a talent, urchin, for making acquaintances. First Gudinand, the city’s laughingstock. Now Jaeirus, the city’s best-hated bastard.”

“I did not invite the acquaintance of—”

“Shut up,” Wyrd said, as gruffly as of old. “Put some clothes on. I do not care a ferta if you comport yourself indecorously, but you do not have to
look
it.”

I fumblingly began to get dressed. So did Gudinand, removing himself to some distance, obviously fearful of Wyrd’s anger at finding him and me in such a situation. As my confusion cleared, I said contritely and in a low voice:

“Fráuja, I never meant for you to see me thus.”

“Shut up,” Wyrd growled again. “I am an old man, and I have seen much else. So much that it would take more than anything you might do to scandalize me. I told you long ago that I have not the slightest interest in… well, whether you piss standing up or sitting down. Or whatever else you choose to do with your private parts.”

“But…” I said, as I fumblingly began to get dressed again. “Come to think of it… how do you happen to be here, fráuja? Just when Gudinand and I needed help.”

“Skeit, urchin, I returned to Constantia a week ago. However, when I saw a watcher posted outside our deversorium, I decided to take lodging elsewhere, and to keep watch myself. I have seen you going in and out, sometimes in that womanly garb you once showed me in Basilea. Then, tonight, when you emerged and were followed, I simply followed the follower. Now the question is: what do we do with this son of a bitch-dragon?”

Jaeirus had heard none of this, but was now sitting up, groggily fingering the lump on his skull. As well as I could see in the darkness, he looked thoroughly apprehensive.

“Tie a large rock to him,” I said viciously, “and sink him in the lake yonder.”

“It would be a pleasure,” said Wyrd, and Jaeirus’s face turned white enough to be quite visible in the darkness. “Under Gothic law the creature would be accounted a nauthing—a person so worthless that the law would not punish, fine or even scold the killer of him.” But Wyrd went on:

“I would slay him without hesitation if he were any ordinary brute rapist. However, he is the son of the dux Latobrigex. While every inhabitant of Constantia—and even his father, the dux himself—might rejoice at the disappearance of Jaeirus, there would inevitably be questions asked. Also, his spying minions—and no doubt his mother—must have some notion of where he is at this moment. So those questions would be asked of
you,
urchin, and of your friend Gudinand, and the questions would probably be asked with the persuasive aid of a professional torturer. I recommend that we spare Jaeirus his life, and thereby avoid putting you two at such hazard.”

As usual, Wyrd’s advice made good sense, so I only inquired sullenly, “What do you suggest, then, fráuja? That we ask the cohortes vigilum or the judicium to decide his punishment?”

“Ne,” Wyrd said, with scorn. “Only a weakling or a coward resorts to the law to resolve a dispute involving personal honor. In any event, Jaeirus being who he is, he would be instantly acquitted.” Wyrd turned to Gudinand and said, “You and this eminent personage are of about the same age and size. Would you agree to face him in fair and equal and public trial by combat?”

Gudinand, looking relieved that he was not already being belabored by Juhiza’s fearsome guardian, said that a fight with a mere Jaeirus would be a pleasure.

“So be it,” said Wyrd. “Let us escort him to the city and invoke the ancient law of ordeal by battle.”

“What?!”
squealed Jaeirus. “I, the son of the dux Latobrigex, fight hand to hand with a
commoner?
With the city’s most contemptible cripple and simpleton? I absolutely reject such an outrageous—”

“Shut up,” said Wyrd, as indifferently as if he were addressing me. “Urchin, bind his wrists with that kerchief of yours. His own belt will serve me for a leash to lead him along. Gudinand, bring that stout cudgel that has already twice tonight been wielded. If the prisoner tries to flee, use the cudgel again, and with a will.”

So once more, and that very night, I appeared in public as Juhiza, this time in the Basilica of St. John. Like most provincial churches, it served also—between churchly functions—as the site of civic tribunals. There I stood before the hastily convened judicium of Constantia, and accused Jaeirus of assault and attempted rape, and asked that his guilt or innocence be adjudicated by the rite of ordeal, and begged the three judges’ permission to let Gudinand serve as my champion in that combat.

“I suggest, my lords,” said Wyrd, who was acting as my jurisconsultus, “that the matter be settled in the city amphitheater—so that all of Constantia may see that justice is done—and that the weapons be cudgels, since the cudgel appears to be the favorite implement of the accused.”

There was considerable frowning and muttering among the judges, and that was hardly surprising because—in addition to myself, Gudinand, Wyrd and the still kerchief-bound Jaeirus—there was also present the dux Latobrigex, his wife, Robeya, and of course the church’s priest, Tiburnius. This was the first time I had seen Latobrigex, and, as he had been described to me, he was a nondescript man of very modest demeanor. His only objection to the proceedings was delivered in a voice almost meek:

“My lords,” he said, “the petitor making this accusation is but a stranger to this city, a wandering waif. I will not impugn her probity, but I do submit that her morals might be questionable. This incident allegedly occurred when she went unattended, well after dark, to a remote and deserted patch of shrubbery, which no decent female—”

He was interrupted by his wife. Her dark eyes glaring hatred at me, Robeya barked ferociously:

“And this wanton wench of a stranger dares to accuse a native citizen of our own Constantia. The son of our dux. The son of Rome’s legatus. A scion of the ancient house of Colonna. I
demand,
my lords, that this slanderous accusation be dismissed, that Jaeirus be absolved of all taint upon his reputation—
and
that this wayfaring little whore be publicly stripped naked and
whipped
beyond the city precincts!”

The judges put their heads together again, to mutter some more, and I said aside to Wyrd, “It is as we might have expected. But what was that about the house of Colonna?”

“At one time,” Wyrd whispered back, “one of the first families of Rome, but now dismally degenerate. Well, just look at the spunkless Latobrigex Colonna yonder. Would a man of any family less enfeebled have married such a virago as Robeya? And sired such a wretch as Jaeirus? Of course, each of them still pretentiously affects the status of clarissimus, but—”

There was another interruption, and this time from the priest Tiburnius, who said unctuously:

“My lords, the Church does not interfere in purely civil matters, and neither will I, as a servant of the Church. But I was a Constantia merchant long before I became Constantia’s priest, and I beg leave to say a few words that may possibly be worth consideration in these proceedings.”

Naturally the judicium deferred to him, and naturally I expected Tiburnius to say something that would truckle to the dux Latobrigex. But the newly made priest had clearly been inflated by his newly bestowed ecclesiastical authority—and must have welcomed this opportunity to exert it—because he astounded me by saying:

“True, it is a mere and meager passing stranger who has made this grave accusation against a respected citizen of Constantia. But I remind you, my lords, that our Constantia derives its prosperity from none
but
the strangers who pass through its gates. Every citizen, from highest to lowest, earns his every least nummus coin of profit from those strangers: the traveling merchants and traders and purveyors. Now, were the word to go abroad that only Constantia’s citizens are protected by Constantia’s laws—that a stranger might here be the victim of injustice, even such a nonentity as this apparent young vagrant whore—what then, my lords, might happen to the prosperity of Constantia? And that of yourselves? And of this, God’s church? I recommend that you grant the petitor’s appeal for a trial by combat between Jaeirus and Gudinand. It will relieve you of the onus of finding for or against either of the contending parties. In the rite of ordeal, it is the
Lord
who will judge.”

“How dare you?”
flared Robeya, while her husband simply stood silent and her son began perceptibly to perspire. “You frocked shopkeeper, who are
you
to consign a member of the nobility to a vulgar public fight against that outcast and brainsick vermin—just for the sake of this worthless piece of female trash?”

“Clarissima Robeya.” The priest addressed her respectfully enough, but also leveled at her a stern forefinger. “The duties and dignities of the nobility are in truth weighty matters. But far weightier is the office of the priest, because, come the day of the divine judgment, he must give account even for
kings.
Clarissima Robeya, should you excel all the rest of the human race in dignity, still your pride must bow before the stewards of the Christian mysteries. When your priest speaks, it is for you to pay respect, not to dissent. I most solemnly warn you of this. I warn you as your priest, and it is Christ who warns you through me.”

“That,” murmured Wyrd, “scared even the bitch-dragon.” Indeed, the lady had gone quite ashen-faced during the rebuke, and she said nothing further, and Jaeirus sweated more copiously than before. After a moment of silence, it was Latobrigex who spoke. He laid a hand on Robeya’s arm and said in his mild voice:

“Tata Tiburnius is right, my dear. Justice must be served, and in the ordeal it is God who will decide the right. Let us trust in God—and in our son’s strong arm.” He turned to the three men of the judicium. “My lords, I concur in the appeal. Let the combat take place tomorrow morning.”

The news must have gone overnight to every corner of the city, and beyond. Next morning, when Wyrd and I arrived at the amphitheater—and I was being Thorn again, incidentally—the entire population of Constantia and its surroundings seemed to be at the gates, clamoring to buy the clay tesserae tokens of admission.