Women of Wasps and War

Chapter One

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'Wasp Woman.'

A glob of spit thwacked her cheek. Her eyes flashed but she clamped her jaw shut as the guards dragged her into the Great Hall of the Eel, past the throng of townsmen.

'Sinner.'

They hacked and snarled at her, their disgust striking her face like rain. She held her chin high but with her hands secured behind her back, she couldn't wipe her face clean.

'Murderess.'

Foul-smelling fishermen, goat-herders in hessian, callous-handed blacksmiths and even merchants dressed in silk shoved and jostled her as she struggled through the crowd.

'Filth.'

Hands grabbed her hair. Strange fingers tore at her grubby clothes and groped her breasts. She gasped through clenched teeth, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

But she said nothing.

Soon she would speak and they would be forced to listen.

'Traitor.'

The guards shoved her into a chair in the centre of the room beside the others. She grunted as her elbow struck the hard wood. The Masters of the Shield and the Scion sat in front of her. Behind them was the low dais where the High Table sat and the forest green, gold and terracotta tapestry woven with the eel sigil of Ambrovna covered the wall.

The side door opened, hushing the mob and the Duke entered, his golden brooch glinting against his terracotta-red surcoat. The guards thumped their swords against their shields to announce his arrival, a deafening metallic din rising up to the vaulted ceiling. The pushing stopped and the townsmen bowed their heads.

Her belly clenched like a fist.

As he sat on the carved wooden throne, the blank-faced Duke nodded to the Master of the Shield. Lord Kalin lifted a dark eyebrow and began.

'Men of Ambrovna. According to the laws of the Kingdom of the Four Rivers and the Duchy of Ambrovna, Gerthorn Nyvard, the thirty-fourth Duke of Ambrovna is present in this Great Hall to hear the accusations made against these women. In this realm, the Duke's decision is final and justice will be served today.'

She rolled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was ready.

PART ONE

THE RETURN

Chapter Two

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Seven days earlier.

'They're here! They're here!' Children's voices carried down the doglegged Alleys and through the open door of Rabel's dirt-floored wooden shack. Horns blasted and the Temple bell pealed as merrily as at the Festival of the Father.

'Come on, Ma.' Rabel's eldest boy grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the door, grinning. Her sandy-headed four-year-old twins pulled at the hem of her hessian tunic, too young to understand but caught up in their older brother's excitement. She wiped her brow to hide a grimace.

'He's home. Hurry, Ma,' Teo said, the nine-year-old's eyes were big and grey-green like his father's.

With the floors swept, the blankets neatly folded away, the table dusted, the water jug full, the chipped bowls and dented pot rinsed and drying, she could not delay this moment any longer.

Tying her kerchief around her head, Rabel shooed her other two children out of the shack door. And all the while, her stomach churned.

***

'A perfect day for a homecoming,' the Duke said, admiring the last gasp of summer, as green turned to amber under a cloudless blue sky.

On horseback, in a terracotta-red surcoat, he led the procession of men, smiling and joking as they wound their way through the rocky red hills towards Ambrovna and the sea. Their pace was brisk despite the bleary eyes from last night's stop in Bolsk where the cider flowed freely. They were war heroes after all and they were almost home after nearly two long years.

A freckle-faced boy scuttled out from between the rust-coloured boulders onto the dirt road, followed by his flock of three shaggy goats, bells clanging around their necks. The boy's eyes glistened as he studied each man marching by. 'Pa?'

A man with a jagged raw scar across his forehead broke away from the pack and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Tavoy,' he said, shaking his head.

The boy ignored him. 'Pa?' he said again, his voice fading but his eyes still scouring the waves of passing men, not even recognising the Duke in his search for his father.

'I'm sorry, Tavoy,' the scarred man said. 'He was brave. He's in the Land Beyond the Sunset now. His fightin' made the Father proud.'

Tavoy's face crumbled.

'Chin up. You're the man of your house now. You need to be strong. Protect your Ma and sisters.' The man patted him on the back and the boy, no older than seven, gulped. 'Don't disappoint the Father. You must follow in the footsteps of your Pa and show courage.'

Tavoy stared blankly at the ground. The man slapped his narrow back once more and joined the rest of the returning warriors, leaving him to stand alone by the side of the road, his head bowed. His goats wandered over the boulders and out of sight as the first tears trickled down his freckled cheek.

The Duke rubbed his goatee and sighed. The day would not be sweet for all.

***

'They are coming, m'Lady,' her stout maid said from the window.

Agata smoothed her terracotta-coloured tunic, adjusted her gold tasselled belt and danced over to join her maid. The view from her bower in the castle keep stretched over the red hills, beyond Ambrovna and into the surrounding lands of the Vorosy Clan. A caravan of horses and men on foot streamed past the grass-thatched brick cottages of the goat-herders at the far outskirts of town.

'He is almost here.' Agata twirled around, patting her black braided hair coiled on top of her head. 'How do I look?'

'Lovely, m'Lady,' Sira said, with a smile but the warmth did not extend to her eyes. Her birthmark splashed diagonally over her left eye and cheekbone, the violet stain making her blue eyes seem all the icier. 'The Duke will be very glad to see you.'

'And I to see him.'

Agata squinted into the golden autumn sun, searching for her husband among the small figures but they were still too far away. She grinned and fidgeted. She couldn't wait to drink in his warm familiar scent and tell him everything of the past year.

'It will be good to have the men back, m'Lady. In the eyes of the Father. Life can return to normal. It will be a weight off your shoulders.'

Agata chewed on her lip for a moment. 'The dais is ready? The pennants are all up and the wine?'

'Yes, m'Lady. Everything is in place.'

'Fetch my cloak, Sira. I must be there waiting for him when he arrives in the Square.' Agata picked up her skirts, dashing out of her bower door and along the brick corridor, her stomach fluttering.

***

'Welcome home, brave men!' hollered a toothless old man at the gates of the Brickworks, dropping to his knees before the mounted Duke. And you, m'Lord.

The red soil of Ambrovna was perfect for bricks but since the death of King Rados and the inevitable declaration of Civil War, the bustling brick-makers had fallen silent. Thick spider webs covered upturned wheelbarrows and the furnaces were stone cold.

'Thanks to the Father for bringin' you home,' said his flint-haired wife, her eyes lowered as she traced the circular sign of the Father on her forehead.

'Tomorrow, once your heads have cleared,' the old man yelled, hobbling alongside them, 'come back and I'll give you work. All of you.'

The men cheered.

'No one is complaining about blisters now,' said Lord Kalin with a smirk, the Duke's life-long friend on horseback beside him.

The Duke beamed.

The dirt road became paved red brick and the cottages gave way to carpentry workshops, potters' kilns and tin smiths, all built from the same bricks. Their doors and windows were firmly shuttered, closed for business like the Brickworks.

At the roadside, a barefoot tawny-headed girl handed out fist-sized purple plums to the passing parade of soldiers. The Duke stopped his horse beside her and she curtseyed deeply.

'M'Lord,' she stuttered, holding the basket above her head. 'Welcome home.'

He nodded as he reached for a plum. 'Thank you, girl. How I've missed our fruit.'

Sneaking a glance at the Duke, the little girl gasped. She fumbled to cover her mouth and almost tipped over her basket.

The Duke smiled weakly.

'Does it hurt?' she blurted.

Kalin flung out a gloved hand but the girl ducked in time. 'How dare you speak to your Duke.' His eyes were cold and grey. 'Learn your place, girl.'

'Kalin. She is only curious,' the Duke said, frowning. He smiled down at the girl. 'It did hurt. Very much. But with the Father's blessing, I am healed and strong once again.'

The girl nodded, averting her eyes. She curtseyed once more before bolting away.

The Duke sighed.

'What cheek. And you were too lenient,' Kalin grunted. 'If this is any indication, the rest of the town will be in a fine mess after a year under your woman.'

'I will have to get used to it,' the Duke's voice trailed away as he flicked the reins. He swallowed hard, picturing Agata's face when she finally laid eyes on him, or what was left of him.

***

'You missed a spot, Irina. Get up there and scrub it right now,' Froma said. 'Your master will give you a thrashing when he comes home and sees this filth.'

'Yes, Mistress.' Irina scuttled up the ladder, the wooden bucket swinging from her skinny arm.

Froma squeezed her generous nostrils closed. 'And wash yourself once you are finished. You reek.' She paced up and down the street in front of her merchant store, running her fingers along the lead-lined window panes, tutting. 'Do I have to do everything myself?'

Two middle-aged women in jewel-toned silk tunics and matching headscarves walked by, arm in arm. Froma wiped the dust from her finger, adjusted her own headscarf under her chin and plastered on a smile. 'Lady Reyna. What a pleasure. Isn't it a lovely day?'

'Oh, Mistress Plesec. I did not see you there.' Lady Reyna peered down her nose despite Froma's towering stature. 'The Father must be pleased with our men to put on such a beautiful day for their return.'

'In the eyes of the Father,' Froma said, making a circle on her forehead.

'You are not heading to the celebration?'

'Soon. Everything must be perfect for his return, Lady Reyna. I want to show him how well I have managed his interests while he has been away.'

'Quite. But you will be glad to have Master Plesec returned home safe and well?' Lady Reyna flapped her lace fan.

'Of course,' Froma said, a little too quickly. 'I must say what a splendid tunic, my Lady. The colour is so becoming.'

'I have been saving it especially for today. Although my dressmaker...' Lady Reyna sighed heavily. 'Lazy churl almost failed to finish it in time.'

'How awful. Good help is hard to find.' Froma glanced up at her maid scouring the window sills. 'But the afternoon winds, my Lady? Very chilly this time of year. You would not want to fall ill. Perhaps I could interest you in a cloak. I have a lovely plum one inside lined with squirrel fur, perfectly suited...' Froma gestured to the open door of the store.

Lady Reyna smiled coldly. 'Not today, Mistress Plesec. Today is not a day for trade.'

'Of course,' Froma lowered her eyes.

Cheers erupted in the distance and Lady Reyna turned away.

'Perhaps we shall meet in the Square later, my Lady.'

'Perhaps.' Lady Reyna shrugged and strolled away, her companion giggling behind her fan. 'The gall of that woman,' Lady Reyna said without lowering her voice. 'Trying to sell me a garment, today of all days.'

'Disgusting. What do you expect from a foreigner?' her companion replied.

'Thank the Father the men are back. Put her in her proper place. Along with the Duchess and the others in that Committee.' She shook her head and tutted. 'Carrying on like a man. Shameless.'

Froma narrowed her eyes and glared at the backs of their colourfully covered heads as they disappeared into the crowd. The clomp of marching boots and men in song drifted around the corner. Froma sucked in a breath and ran her finger down the crooked line of her nose. They said war changed a man. Froma hoped this was true.

'Haven't you finished yet?' she yelled up at the maid. 'Useless girl.'

Chapter Three

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Agata skipped down the castle keep stairs, over the bricks worn smooth by a thousand years of the Nyvard family. Her feet travelled so fast even Sira struggled to keep up. Finally, after a long year of rattling around the castle on her own, she would see his face and hold him again.

Her belly fluttered and yet she cringed, recalling her behaviour on the day before he left.

While Ambrovna had bustled with war preparations, Agata had hidden away in the solar. The stream of golden sun through the windows and her intricate needlework had not been enough to quell her nerves and a few wayward tears had splashed onto her stitches.

'Here you are, my dear,' the Duke had said, sitting by her side. Sira had curtseyed and in her unnerving way, faded like smoke into the background. 'Now now, no need for tears.'

Agata had sniffled, forcing a smile. 'You are the one going to war, my Lord. I should not be the frightened one. Are you all prepared?'

'Almost. There is one more task. A serious matter I must discuss with you.' The Duke gently took the needlework hoop from her and placed it on the green embroidered cushions, leaving her empty fingers squirming in her lap. He clasped her hands in his and her eyes moistened once more.

'I have a problem,' he said, clearing his throat.

'Anything I can do to help you, Husband?' She squeezed his hand.

'This is highly unusual.' He peered at her intently.

Agata swallowed hard.

'But with last month's terrible accident...'

'In the eyes of the Father,' she muttered.

'Someone needs to rule Ambrovna in my absence.'

Agata's lips trembled as she nodded. Could he see her heart thumping through her tunic?

'My dear. It must be you.'

She had slipped her hands out of his grasp and tried to hide the tremors inside her trumpet-shaped sleeves.

'I know your time here has been short but the people have already shown a great fondness for you.'

'Not all of them,' she said with a weak smile.

'I cannot shirk my duty. I must heed Prince Absalom's call to arms. The Vorosy Clan must take the throne.'

'My Lord, there must be someone else?'

'You are the only one.'

'My father is more broad-minded than many. I know my letters and numbers and your language but I am not as educated as—'

'I know you are only a woman but you are the next in line. The House of Nyvard has suffered its unequal share of death. And we have not been blessed with new life in our short time together.

'Why not Lord Sylwin? Your uncle is too old for war and he is so very wise. Isn't he the right person to take on this responsibility?'

The Duke shook his head. 'He is only my mother's uncle. He is not of the House Nyvard. It must be you. This is the duty you accepted when you took your vows. Although I admit I didn't expect to lose Uncle Moinn so soon.'

Agata fidgeted with the silver tassels at her belt, his words resting uncomfortably on her shoulders. Suddenly she was eight summers old again, the first time she felt the weight of her high-born position, the crack of the birch switch still loud in her ears.

'I have made my decision,' he sighed.

'What if I do something wrong, my Lord?' she said, her voice cracking. 'I could wreck it all.'

'Nothing should go wrong,' the Duke smiled weakly, patting her knee. 'The fighting is far away on the borders of Tramissa and Nithese.'

Agata pressed her lips tightly. Sun-soaked Tramissa was her homeland but with the upheaval of Civil War and the jostle for the throne between the Four Clans, Agata must keep her fears for her family to herself. This was not the time to remind her husband she was born into the Neven Clan.

'The battles should not cross the Jahan Ranges. The town will be safe. All able-bodied men are obliged to come with me. Except for the Fatherhood, of course. The Scion will continue his role as spiritual adviser to the Duchy. He will be here to support you.'

She shivered at the thought of a personal audience with him. In peacetime, Scion Zavis would not lower himself to meet with a woman alone, even the Duchess.

'Do not worry about Zavis. I have known him all my life and he has always been a crop of prickles but he is also very wise. Actually...' the Duke rubbed his fingers through his goatee. 'Yes. This has been done before. A hundred or more years ago. If you are so unwilling...there is another option. The Scion could preside over the Duchy while I am gone?'

'No,' The words catapulted out of her mouth before Agata even finished the thought. Her heart thundered as she realised she had no other choice. She must make her mother proud. She lowered her head. 'I will take on the task, my Lord.'

The Duke nodded, placing his hand on her shoulder. 'With the assistance of the Scion and Lord Sylwin, you will manage Ambrovna well.'

Agata pictured herself sitting on the carved throne in the cavernous Great Hall of the Eel with an old man on either side telling her what to do and say. If only she had a wise sister or aunt or mother-in-law in the castle, but she walked the corridors alone. 'Could I ask some of the other women to assist? Maybe Lady Reyna. And other capable women. A committee? We could work together.'

The Duke frowned. 'A group of women presiding in the Great Hall? It would be irregular.'

'This is war.' She held her body still, her eyes wide. 'We must make do.'

The Duke rubbed the back of his neck. 'I suppose there could be no harm in it. Although the Scion will likely have a different view.'

'I would be wise with their counsel.' Agata nodded heartily.

'Remember the final decision lies with you,' the Duke said. 'These women cannot influence you. You have a position to uphold. You are the House of Nyvard in Ambrovna. You are me.'

'Hurry back,' she had said breathily, clasping his hand.

***

The procession marched towards the town Square past the finer homes and stores with their curlicued eaves and red geraniums swinging in baskets. Women and children in fine silks and threadbare hessian streamed into the streets, crying and singing, cheering and grinning.

A gust brought the first taste of sea air and the sounds of jaunty fiddles and pipes to the Duke. His heart swelled as he watched the town embrace their returned men, thrusting mugs of cider into their hands, slapping their backs. Tears of relief and joy flowed freely. Until this moment, few knew the true fate of their fathers and sons.

One side of the Square led to the blue sea where the wooden jetty was lined with moored fishing boats. A gnarled tree, which was older than anyone remembered, dominated the centre with its trunk as thick as the Temple columns. Shiny ravens, their keen eyes watching over the proceedings, cawed from the twisted branches, which were looped with terracotta eel sigil pennants.

Further ahead, the steep avenue led up to the Duke's castle, which was carved into the red rocky cliffs. The tower, like a sentinel, proudly thrust into the sky overseeing his lands below. This was the longest time the Duke had spent away from the familiar sheer red-brick walls wrapped in verdant ivy, his home since birth.

'Pull back,' shouted Lord Kalin and the men shuffled into rows. The Duke guided his horse to the head of the procession for the final steps into the town Square, a smile on his lips but a tightness in his chest.

***

Rabel loitered by the cotton merchant's store away from the crowd while Teo squeezed to the front.

'Pa? Pa?' he cried, his voice drowned out by the singing and cheering. His was only one of many calling out the same words.

Rabel held her breath, the knot in her stomach pulling tighter with each wiry man with shaggy honey-coloured hair that passed. But Rabel didn't scour the crowd with longing or anticipation.

'A sin in thought is as real as words or deeds. A true follower's mind is as clear as a sunny day, with only the light from the Father, the Sun.'

Closing her eyes, she circled her forehead, but the all-knowing Father already heard the wickedness in her heart. He knew what she wished for.

Rabel would be happier if she never set eyes on her husband again.

Chapter Four

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A breath caught in Agata's chest and her cinnamon-coloured eyes lit up. Perfectly positioned on the dais in front of the Avenue, she saw him the moment he entered the Square. He was so handsome and tall as he led his charge of men. The townspeople burst into song, the song of Ambrovna.

'Ambrovna, the town the Father has blessed,

Our Duke in the castle, the eel on his chest.

The red rocky cliffs, the bountiful sea,

The Temple, the hills and the Old Man Tree.

Our men stand strong, our women obey

And with every breath to the Father we pray.

Ambrovna, the town the Father has blessed,

Our Duke in the castle, the eel on his chest.'

The townspeople's proud words bounced off the cobbles and brick buildings. Everyone sang along, even the small boys and girls. Everyone except for Agata. She could only mouth the words, her time in Ambrovna had been too short to commit the song to heart. This was yet another reminder she was an outsider.

As her husband passed the Old Man Tree, he looked up to the dais and their eyes met. He smiled, he was not yet thirty summers old but his face was gaunt and etched with new wrinkles. What horrors had he seen in the past year? Deaths, maimings and worse still, the politics of the new court of King Absalom in Sulun? Sulun, the capital of the Four Rivers Kingdom, sat at the conflux of the five rivers. This was neutral territory where the five rivers met, including the border with the independent and wild territory of the Akull, the fifth clan.

Unlike his men who were more like a troupe of vagabonds with their scruffy tunics and torn hose, the Duke's beard was trimmed and his tunic was clean. Agata averted her eyes as wives rushed into their husbands’ arms and kissed them passionately. No matter how much she missed him, no matter how much she yearned, a Duchess must remain on the dais and smile. Their own reunion would be behind closed doors. She wet her lips. Only a few more hours.

***

Begrudgingly satisfied with the cleanliness of the store front, Froma joined the rest of Ambrovna in the town Square, her nose high in the air. She pursed her mouth as all around, the lower classes humped and groped like animals. She curtseyed long and low as the Duke passed but his eyes were firmly trained on the dais. And on Duchess Agata.

Froma, whose stature was advantageous, searched the battalion of returning men, her heart battering under her chemise. Her belly pinched at the sight of a rusty-headed burly man on a chestnut mare at the rear. Danis. His cheeks were even rosier and his fish lips thicker than she remembered. Froma gulped as their eyes met and she forced a smile. He waved in her direction but continued on, following the procession towards the stage. She twisted her gold betrothal band around and around her finger as the townspeople rejoiced.

***

'Mama. Mama,' Teo cried, forcing his way back through the townspeople. The broad grin on his little face made his big eyes appear even bigger.

Her heart dropped like a stone as a honey-headed man appeared behind him.

Iwan.

'Look at you.' Iwan pinched the twins' cheeks. His chin was covered in bristles, his nose as red as an apple. 'Not babes anymore.'

The twins scurried away from his reach and hid behind Rabel's patched skirts.

'Forgotten your old Pa?' he teased, pulling them out by the hands. Aula immediately burst into tears and Jorn looked up with a trembling lip.

'Pa's a hero,' Teo told his brother and sister, puffing out his skinny ribs. 'Tell us. How many Hende Clansmen did you slay?'

'Only done my duty, son. One day you'll get to do the same.' Iwan turned and leered. 'Lost your tongue, wife? Aren't you glad to see me?'

'Course I am,' Rabel said with a slight purse of her lips. She leaned in and kissed his rough cheek, her stomach turning at the familiar sickly scent of his cider breath. 'Thank the Father for your return.'

She willed back her tears as his hand clutched her bottom.

'Not much there,' he grunted. 'But enough.'

Rabel's whole body drooped. Life was returning to normal. The Father never listened to a sinner like her.

***

The Duke's bay mare approached the pennant-trimmed dais and Agata's pulse thundered in her ears. Giddy as a child, she clenched her fists to force herself to remain still. Today was like her betrothal day all over again.

The Master of the Shield rode closely behind her husband. Lord Kalin, the keeper of law and order, with his stern face and jet-black hair. His colouring was unusual for an Ambrovnan man, much like her own.

Kalin slipped from his horse first and stopped in front of the Duke. Agata raised an eyebrow. Had a year at war given Kalin a new set of manners? The Duke held his friend's forearm and Agata gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she saw the real reason for Kalin's kindness. The Duke's left stocking was empty.

Stinging tears sprang to her eyes but she bit down on her lower lip and crushed her fingers together on her lap. The eyes of the town were upon her.

The Duke hobbled off his horse, resting on Kalin's shoulder. Kalin gestured angrily and a squire scurried over with an iron paddle. The jovial crowd fell silent and bowed their heads. Men nodded to wives and children as the Duke struggled up the three steps to the dais. Agata gripped the arms of her carved chair, holding herself back from rushing to his aid. She was worldly enough to know bringing attention to a man's weakness was never appreciated. Why were his letters silent about his injury? Why did he keep the secret until now?

The Duke limped towards her and his throne. She jumped to her feet, curtseying deeply and he smiled down at her, his slate-grey eyes shining with a strange mix of pain and happiness. Beaming back, she blinked away her tears and gestured to his empty throne. He waved her away and turned outwards, facing his subjects.

'People of Ambrovna. We have returned triumphant.'

The people cheered and hollered. Horns tooted.

'We lost many Ambrovnan men and many fellow Vorosy Clansmen in our campaign. They fought bravely for the Clan and the Father welcomed them into the Land Beyond the Sunset with all our past ancestors and warriors.'

Some people stared blankly, others dropped their heads to mask their sniffles and muffled sobs.

'I am thankful to be back in my town of Ambrovna with the sea, the red cliffs and my beautiful wife.' He turned to Agata. 'As you can all see, I have had my own minor loss. A leg severed in a battle with the Hende Clan. Although I may not be quite the