Unconquered (48 page)

Miranda outlined her own history and downfall. “Thanks to
Sasha, however, I shall escape, and you will come with me, Mignon,” she said confidently.

“Did you love Lucas?” the Frenchwoman asked suddenly.

“No,” said Miranda candidly. “He was a good man, but the only man I have ever loved is my husband, Jared.”

“I loved him,” Mignon whispered low, “but until you came I didn’t believe his heart could be touched at all.”

“He was not like us,” said Miranda. “His life as a slave was better than his early years. It was different for us. Did you ever go hungry? Were you ever cold?” Mignon shook her head. “I thought not,” Miranda continued, “and though you were not your father’s legitimate daughter, he loved you and he saw to your welfare.”

Miranda shifted her position, for the baby was making her uncomfortable. “I lacked for nothing. But poor Lucas had none of these things, nor did he understand what freedom really was. Neither do the rest of the poor souls captured at the farm. But we do, Mignon. Trust me, we will be free.”

“You will have your baby soon. It will not be easy, Miranda.”

“We will succeed!” came the confident reply.

The two women sat companionably for several more minutes, and then they retired beneath the cart to sleep under the warmth of Miranda’s wide wool cape. They had barely dozed off when a shriek tore into the night. They woke together, and both realized what was happening. The women who were not virgins were being raped by their captors. The two women huddled close together, hands over their ears, attempting to blot out the cries, and as the noise gradually died they dozed nervously until dawn, when Alghu shook them awake. He had brought them mugs of steaming sweet black tea and cold meat.

Miranda took out her brush, and brushed both her own and Mignon’s hair. Then they both rebraided neatly, and washed their faces and hands in the cold stream nearby. The journey began again.

“Keep your eyes out for early strawberries,” said Mignon. “I suspect they mean to walk us all day again without any real rest or food.”

“But why?”

“Tired and beaten prisoners don’t run away. They’ll feed us well at night so we’ll arrive in ’Stanbul in fairly good condition, but they want the journey to wear us down. Look for the strawberries, Miranda. Their sweetness will help keep us going.”

“I don’t need another day’s trek to be too tired to run away,” replied Miranda wryly. “I’m exhausted. But I told Prince Arik I could keep up, and I will.”

Their lives took on a monotonous pattern: up at dawn, hot tea and cold meat, walk all day except for a few minutes’ rest around noon when the Tatars watered their ponies, stop for the night, broiled meat to eat and water to drink, exhausted sleep. They supplemented their diet with the strawberries Mignon found, and one day as they marched by the sea Miranda captured several large crabs, which they wrapped in seaweed and cooked that night in the hot coals of Alghu’s little fire. Nothing had ever tasted so good, Miranda thought, as she picked the hot, sweet meat from a claw.

The warm Black Sea spring weather held for almost two weeks, and then one day they awoke to a steady downpour. The word was passed through the camp that they would rest all day in shallow caves that would protect them from the rain. The slave women were grateful for the rest, for they were all exhausted. They slept while the children played games. Their captors, however, preferred to drink and gamble, and by midafternoon had become unusually surly. Old Alghu had fallen into a drunken sleep. A couple of the Tatars wandered over to the cart where Mignon and Miranda were talking quietly.

“What a shame the silver blond is so far gone with child,” remarked one of them. “She looks like she could fuck a man into paradise.”

“Too thin for me, Kuyuk. Now this plump little quail is more to my taste,” the second Tatar said, dragging Mignon onto her feet, and pinioning her against his body with one hand while the other hand fumbled with her breasts.

“Please,” Miranda cried, struggling to her feet, “my servant is with child. Prince Arik promised me she would not be touched!”

The men stopped. But when they realized Alghu’s drunken condition, they resumed their abuse. “On your back, slave!” snapped the second man, and Mignon complied without a word.

“No!” screamed Miranda. “I will report you to Prince Arik!”

“Gag her!” carne the command, and Miranda found a dirty rag stuffed into her mouth. “She can watch, Kuyuk, and though she is about to whelp, her tits aren’t off limits!”

“By God, you’re right, Nogai!” He sat down on his haunches and dragged Miranda with him. He placed her firmly on her knees between his spread legs and, sliding his hands around, he grasped her swollen breasts and squeezed. She gasped with pain, but bit her lip. She would not give this Tatar the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her.

Miranda could feel the child within her moving restlessly, trying to escape her cramped position, and a sudden great anger welled up within her. Mignon was submitting in order to save her baby possible harm, and also to save Miranda. Furiously she jammed both her elbows into Kuyuk, taking him by surprise and knocking the wind from him. She scrambled clumsily to her feet and ran, tearing away the gag as she went. The Tatar thundered after her.

“Prince Arik!” she screamed. “Prince Arik! Prince Arik!”

Kuyuk caught up with her and slapped her several times. Her head reeled, but she shrieked nonetheless. Her cries brought slaves and Tatars running. “Pig of a Tatar! Your mother was born of a pile of dog droppings, and coupled with an ape in order to beget you!”

He delivered a brutal blow to her belly. “Bitch!” he roared. “Pregnant or not, I am going to take you like a stallion takes a fractious mare! Your belly isn’t going to protect you any longer! On your knees before the whole camp, woman!”

Waves of pain overcame her, and she vomited. Gathering her last ounce of strength, she shouted, “Prince Arik! Is this how the word of a Tatar is kept? Your word has no value!”

Suddenly the crowd surrounding them parted, and the Tatar chief was there. His blazing eyes flicked from the disheveled Kuyuk to Miranda, now on her knees clutching her belly. The prince knelt, and with surprisingly gentle hands brushed the hair from her face. A sharp command brought a flask, and he forced a potent fiery liquid between her lips. She gagged, but managed to keep it down. “Take deep breaths,” he commanded her, and when the color returned to her face he commanded quietly, “Explain!”

“Two of your men, this one and his friend, Nogai, came to
where Mignon and I were resting. They have raped Mignon despite her pregnancy. I have been subjected to their abuse as well. I think,” here Miranda’s voice caught and tears rolled down her cheeks, “I think they have killed her.”

“Where was Alghu?”

“Drunk,” she answered.

Prince Arik turned to Buri. “Find out!”

For several minutes they all waited in deathly silence. The crowd of Tatar warriors and their captives stood quietly, and then Buri returned with both Alghu and Nogai. “She’s right,” he said. “The Frenchwoman’s dead, and her baby with her. What a waste!”

The Tatar prince stood very still and looked around at his warriors. “I put this woman and her servant off limits to you all,” he said. “You have not only violated my word, but you have wantonly murdered two expensive slaves, the woman and her unborn child. The punishment is death. As for you, Alghu, you seem to love wine more than you love your duty. You are no longer fit to be called a Tatar warrior. You will lose your sword hand, and if you don’t bleed to death, you may follow us to Istanbul, but you are exiled from Tatar life forever. Temur!”

A young warrior leaped forward. “Temur, I am placing this woman in your keeping. I know you will do your duty better than Alghu did his.” He looked to the captives. “I want another house servant,” he said, and Marfa quickly stepped forward. “See to the lady, girl, until you are told otherwise.”

“Yes, master!” Marfa leaned down and helped her mistress rise. Miranda swayed dangerously. Temur picked her up and carried her back to the cart, Marfa hurrying behind. Temur set Miranda gently down. Hurrying off, he returned a few moments later with a huge armful of fresh-cut pine boughs, which he placed near the fire. Rummaging in the treasure cart, he pulled out a sheepskin rug and tossed it over the pile of pine boughs. Over this he placed a simple woven wool hanging that Miranda recognized as having come from the dining room of the villa.

Picking her up again, he set her gently on this comfortable bed and covered her with a cape. “We are not all beasts,” he said. “I am ashamed for Kuyuk and Nogai, and I am sorry about your friend. Rest now. No harm will come to you while I guard you.”
He fumbled in a pouch of his belt. “Here, girl, make your mistress some tea,” and he handed her a small packet of leaves.

Miranda lay very still, gazing at the place where Mignon had lain. The body had been removed, and a dark patch of her blood was all that remained of the horrible death Mignon had known. Miranda wept softly. Perhaps now she was with Lucas and their child, but she would never see her beloved Paris again.

“Tea, Miranda Tomasova. Drink.” Marfa helped her sit up, and put the mug of boiling sweet liquid to her lips. Miranda sipped at it, and soon she became very sleepy. The child was quiet now too, and the pain in her belly was gone. She fell asleep, a sleep so sound that she did not hear Alghu’s cry of anguish when his sword hand was severed, and the stump stuck in boiling pitch to prevent his bleeding to death. Nor did she hear the hissing “Ahhhhh” of the spectators at the swift executions of Kuyuk and Nogai.

The rain grew worse during the night, and in the morning Prince Arik made the decision to remain camped in the caves. After the previous day’s tragedy, the mood of the camp was deeply subdued.

Miranda awoke to a terrible, wracking pain that tore from her back through her belly. She was in labor. It was too soon. The baby wasn’t due for three or four weeks, but it was coming now. She gritted her teeth and groaned. The young Tatar was immediately by her side, his eyes sympathetic.

“My baby is coming,” she whispered hoarsely. “There are midwives among the slave women. Get me one!”

“I’ll go!” volunteered Marfa. “You’ll want Tasha. She is the best,” and she ran off.

“I’m here,” the Tatar soothed Miranda, then stated proudly, “and I can help if necessary. I’ve helped my ponies foal many times.”

She almost laughed, but he meant to be kind. “Please,” she begged him, “just a little sweet tea. I am so thirsty.”

He got to his feet as another sharp pain knifed through her. Marfa returned with a stocky, capable-looking woman who said briskly, “I’m Tasha. Is this your first?” Miranda shook her head and held up two fingers. Tasha nodded. Kneeling, she drew the cape back to examine her patient. “Your waters must have broken
while you slept,” she observed. “It will be a dry birth.” She probed her patient gently, finally announcing, “The baby’s head is down in position. It is just a matter of your pushing.”

Temur brought her a tiny bit of tea, which she drank greedily. Her lips were dry and cracked. He moved behind her and, kneeling, propped her body up with his. Tasha nodded approval. “At the next pain, I want you to push,” she said. Miranda thought back to her son’s birth, and was barely conscious of the pain of this one. She followed Tasha’s instructions and after a while heard her calling, “It’s a girl!” Then Miranda heard one weak cry, but nothing more. She slid in and out of consciousness until, finally, she fell into a restful sleep.

When she awoke again it was with a feeling of great relief. She was free again, and now she must gather her strength, for they would reach Istanbul in several more weeks. She would escape. She would be free.

A whimper by her side made Miranda turn her head. With a shock she saw a small, swaddled bundle tucked in next to her.
The child!
Why had they not removed it? Then her mind began to clear. Only on the farm would they have taken the child away. Here in the Tatar camp the child was believed to be the offspring of her lawful husband, and she could hardly reject it. Damn! The brat would slow her up. Oh well, she could always leave it behind with Marfa when she fled into the city.

The baby whimpered again. Rolling onto her side, she drew the infant closer, gently loosening the swaddling clothes around it, remembering as she did her first inspection of little Tom. This child was beautiful—tiny, so very tiny, but beautiful. Her downy hair, barely visible, was Miranda’s own silver gilt—or was it Lucas’s? Her eyes were violet, but Miranda immediately noticed something strange about those lovely eyes. She passed her hand across the child’s face, but the baby didn’t react at all. Was the baby blind? The child had a tiny cleft in her chin, as both her parents had. Miranda touched the soft rose-tinted cheek so like her own, and the infant turned its small head, revealing an enormous dark purple bruise.

Miranda sighed. Kuyuk’s vicious blow had found its mark after all, injuring her child. As she rewrapped the baby securely she suddenly realized what she had been thinking. Her child? Yes, it was
her
child, and she couldn’t deny it any longer. It had
been forced upon her in a frightening, degrading way, but the baby was just as much a victim as she had been.

Miranda struggled to a sitting position and, unbuttoning the front of her caftan, put the baby to her breast. Although the child seemed to nuzzle at her, it made no attempt to take the breast and suck. Gently Miranda forced her nipple into the baby’s little mouth, and then began to milk herself. Suddenly the infant understood, and began to suck weakly. A smile lit Miranda’s face. “There, my little one,” she cooed at the child. She spoke in English. Her daughter was an American. Yes, she realized again,
her
daughter.

Prince Arik came into the light of her campfire and squatted next to her. His eyes moved admiringly over her. By God, he thought, this is a real woman! She looks as fragile as an early rose, but she is as tough as iron. He motioned toward the baby. “Let me see her,” he said.

Miranda turned the child from her breast for a moment.