Climate of Change (39 page)

“There are dresses in the closet. Find one that fits you, and don it.”

Worse. But she could afford neither to balk nor to annoy him. She went to the closet region, which was around a corner and out of sight of the main chamber, and found a number of lady's garments. These were surely Jes's, unused because they were too fancy for that woman's taste. She found one that was too large for slender Jes, and only slightly tight on Haven herself. She glanced back, saw that no one was spying on her, and with relief made a quick change. There were even matching slippers, loose enough so that she could use them.

There was a basin with water. She peered down into it, seeing her reflection. If she left her hair dowdy, the prefect might suspect she was trying to dissuade him, and that would be troublesome. So she combed out her hair and let it hang long and loose, fastened only with a wooden brooch. She now looked entirely too feminine.

If only Rebel were here! Rebel could make Haven look dowdy just by being near, and for once she would have appreciated it. Rebel also
could have handled a situation like this, as she didn't mind with whom she had sex, as long as it was in some fashion by her choice. As it was, the prefect would surely find Haven appealing, and her friends were hostage to her behavior.

There was no help for it. She stepped out into the prefect's sight.

He was busily eating his dinner. He looked up. “Yes, that is a great improvement. You are a comely woman.”

“Thank you, Prefect, sir,” she said weakly.

“Call me Roland.”

“Sir?”

“My given name. I think you and I should become better acquainted.”

“Yes, sir, Roland.” She was not the fainting type, but she felt faint.

“After all, it is not as if we are of different species. Franks and Iberians have interacted before.”

He didn't realize that she was Basque, not Iberian. That was surely just as well.

“What is your name?”

“Haven, sir. Roland.”

“And what is your background, Haven?”

He had asked, and she had to answer. But perhaps this gave her a way out. “I am Basque.”

He snorted. “You can't be! They are rude, uncivilized primitives who live on acorn bread, clothe themselves in strips of woolen cloth, and are shod with boots of twisted hair.”

“True, sir.”

“You were not so garbed.”

“I changed apparel, for fear a Basque woman would suffer roughness at the hands of civilized folk.”

He laughed. “Well put, Haven! I see you have a mind as well as a body. I like that. What else is there about you I should know?”

She steeled herself and answered. “I am married.”

He considered her thoughtfully. “And you are afraid that if you refuse me, I will have your husband killed.”

That wasn't quite it, but was close enough. “Or my family, sir.”

He nodded. “A legitimate concern. So it would be best not to refuse me. Is your husband close by?”

“No, sir. Not in this city.”

“Roland. But family or friends are here?”

“Yes, Roland.”

“As a married woman, you surely have an excellent notion how to please a man. No clumsy moves. No sloppy kisses or embarrassing messiness. No foolish screams or giggles.”

She was silent. She did know these things.

“So there is something to be said for the married state. But also something to be said for innocence. I will make you this compromise: Be sure a suitable wench reports by dusk, or else come yourself, garbed as you are now. I think I would rather have you, with your experience, but I also prefer willing women. If you must come yourself, be willing.”

“Yes, Roland.” This was evidently a dismissal, so she backed away and out.

She realized that her heart was pounding. Roland had given her a chance to escape by being sure there was a wench. But if none could be found, she would have to report—and pretend to like it. He would know better, but since all he wanted was a good body, he didn't care. He was being reasonable, by his definition.

She had faced such a situation before, she was sure, though she couldn't remember it. There had to be some way out!

She returned to the kitchen. “Oops,” Flo said, spying the change of clothing.

“He made me change. If there is no wench by dusk, he wants me.”

Flo frowned. “Go tell Ittai. He may not realize the urgency.”

Haven went to find Ittai. She found Jes instead.

“Don't tell me,” the woman said. “Let me guess. The Frank made you get into one of my dresses.”

“Yes. If there is no wench by dusk—”

“I will make sure there is. I wouldn't want my husband to see you in that outfit; he might lose interest in me.” Then she smiled, showing that this was humor. “I'll bring a wench to the kitchen, and you can take her up.”

“Thank you!” Haven said gratefully.

“We all know what's at stake here. These Franks are conquerors, primed for mayhem. We have to pacify them, so that they will move on and do their mischief somewhere else.”

“Yes.” Then Haven moved in and kissed Jes. She knew she had been rescued—again.

They had to make meals for a number of Roland's subofficers, and for their own household. Haven knew that all over the city, other households were performing similarly. No one wanted mayhem.

Just before dusk, Jes showed up with a lovely woman. “This is—”

“Sis!” Haven exclaimed, astonished. For this was Bub's sister.

“You had someone else in mind?” the woman inquired coolly.

“But your brother—” For suddenly it came back: Bub was the one who had pursued her.

“So maybe I owe you something for that.”

“Owe me?”

“He tried to rape you, and almost killed your sister. Sometimes he gets a bit high-handed. I prefer gentler measures. I will make sure the prefect doesn't bother you.”

“Thank you,” Haven said, feeling faint again. Was it possible that Sis would make up for her brother's ro guishness?

They went up to the prefect's suite. Haven entered first. He was resting on the bed. “Roland, sir, here is your wench,” Haven said.

“Too bad,” he replied.

Sis stepped forward. “Oh? What do you think of this?” She opened her robe, showing her breasts.

The Frank nodded. “You are evidently experienced.”

“To be sure.” Sis strode on up to the bed, disrobing as she moved.

Haven quietly departed. She hated to be beholden to Sis, of all people, but apparently she was.

She returned to the kitchen. “Never can tell how things will turn out,” Flo remarked. “Bub raped me, long ago, before I started getting fat. Now his sister is saving you from similar.”

“You?” Haven asked, surprised.

“It's his way. Maybe one day someone will kill him.”

“That would be nice,” Haven agreed bitterly.

The Franks did not depart immediately. Instead they remained in the city, and Haven and Keeper had to remain too, locked into their duties.

Then the reason came clear: the second Frank army had been forging through Barcelona, and now was coming to join this one, here in Pamplona. From here the unified forces would move on to Saragossa, which would become the provisional capital of the Frank conquest of Hispania.

In due course the armies did merge, and King Charles led his forces southeast toward Saragossa. The bulk of the Frank force moved out of Pamplona. But not Roland. He was in charge of the rear, securing the area so that no enemy could cut off the army's supply route. So Haven and Keeper still couldn't get away, much to their frustration.

Their work, however, was light. Roland was out much of the time, verifying local conditions. The fact was, the neighborhood was hostile to the Franks. The Basques were Christian, as were the Franks, but knew that north of the Pyrenees the Franks did not allow the Basques self-government, while south of the mountains the Moors were more tolerant. So just as some Moorish factions preferred to ally with the Franks rather than other Moors, the Basques preferred to remain in the territory of the Moors rather than that of the Franks. Any Frank forces that ranged too far out into the countryside risked attack. Haven had good sources of information, as messages were delivered constantly to Roland, and word spread privately among the Basques.

Roland had a simple way to handle the situation: he did not range too far out. As long as food and supplies continued to flow into the city, and from there on to the main army, he would not rouse himself to action. The citizens of Pamplona were not pleased with this burden, but were wise enough to avoid antagonizing the Franks; cooperation was good. There was no sense in stirring up the enemy pointlessly.

Not so for the main Frank army, however. There were skirmishes throughout its march toward Saragossa, and when it arrived, the city gates were locked against it. It seemed that the local commander of the city did not support al-Arabi's rebellion, so was supporting the other side. King Charles was furious, but there was not much he could do, as
he had not brought siege equipment. This was supposed to be his base of operations, not a city to be conquered.

There were a number of inconclusive skirmishes. But the supply line was being increasingly squeezed, and hunger and discontent plagued the army. The Franks had expected to relax in Saragossa; instead they were stuck in the field unprepared. So Charles decided to give it up as a bad job, and the army returned to Pamplona.

Haven was relieved. Obviously the Franks would proceed directly to the pass at Roncevaux and be gone. Then life would return to normal, and she and Keeper could go home at last.

Her relief was mistaken. The Franks, angry at being balked, took it out on Pamplona. All the city's cooperation counted for nothing. It was thoroughly sacked.

Haven and Keeper were safe, as they were confined to the house. But they looked out to see the plundering proceeding. Every house was systematically stripped of its valuables. The Frankish soldiers broke into closed rooms, finding the hiding girls, and raped them along with their mothers. All food was taken, and what the invaders couldn't use, they piled in the streets and burned. To protest was to die—and many men were killed simply for being there. There was a pall of smoke from the destruction, which included many houses that hadn't yielded enough loot.

Haven was in tears as she brought dinner to Roland. He noticed; evidently Sis was out at the moment. “What seems to be the problem, Haven?”

“The needless destruction,” she said. “We cooperated; we caused you no mischief. Now you are destroying us.”

He shrugged. “This is the way of war.”

“But we would have been as well off locking our gates against you.”

“True. Perhaps better off, as is Saragossa. What is your point?”

She realized that this was hopeless. She set down his meal and departed before she said something to anger him.

She took food out to Keeper, at the stable, for he could not afford to leave the horses during this unrest. She stayed to talk with him. “The prefect doesn't care about the damage to the city,” she said.

“Conquering armies don't.”

“But we cooperated!”

“Only to avoid getting sacked before. But I think they would have let this city go, if Saragossa had been open to them. They are angry, and taking it out on us.”

That was of course the case. “Still . . .” she started, and paused. Three Frank soldiers were entering the stable.

“Look here!” one exclaimed. Haven had picked up some of their language, so could follow common utterances. “Horses!”

“These belong to the prefect!” Keeper protested, stepping out to bar access to the animals.

The leaning soldier didn't even respond. He simply reached out and struck Keeper on the side of the head, knocking him down. The men grabbed for the bridles of the nearest horse.

“You can't do that!” Haven cried, appalled by the attack on her brother.

“And a woman!” All three Franks oriented on her.

Too late she realized that she should have kept her mouth shut and fled. Now she did, turning and running toward the house. The men pursued, but she had a head start, and managed to reach the door first. But as she opened it, one man caught her trailing arm, hauling her back.

“What's this?” a voice asked sharply. It was Roland, coming to the door.

“The horses!” Haven screamed, knowing that would concern the man more than any threat to her or Keeper.

“The horses!” Roland strode through the Franks, ignoring them. They faded back, realizing that they could be in trouble. In a moment they were gone.

Keeper was back on his feet, standing before the horses. A bruise was forming on the side of his forehead, and he looked unsteady.

“Any problem here?” Roland asked.

“No, sir,” Keeper replied.

“Good.” Roland made a military turn and strode back to the house. Haven followed, lest the soldiers return. They wouldn't touch the horses, now, but she had no such protection. As far as Haven could tell,
the prefect hadn't even noticed Keeper's condition. The horses were all right; that was all he cared about. He wouldn't have cared if Haven had been caught and raped, or if Keeper had died. In that he was typical of the invading army, and of the ways of war.

When she was sure that the soldiers were not coming back, Haven went out to check on her brother. “I'm so sorry,” she said, sponging off his bruise.

“You saved the horses,” he said. “You distracted the Franks until the prefect came.”

She hadn't seen it that way. Surely the horses were better off in the prefect's charge than as spoils of individual soldiers. But that was no praise for Roland; he was simply the lesser of evils.

The carnage continued, but didn't touch them directly again. Apparently most Franks did know that this was the prefect's residence. This was small relief, however, considering what was happening everywhere else.