"Mistress Courtney?" Alex spoke impersonally.
"Are these the soldiers who attacked you in the lane?"
What would happen if she said "no?" Denied that she
could make a positive identification? Would they escape without retribution, or
would Jed's identification be sufficient? But Jed must have turned the corner
of the lane too late to see anything but Ginny running toward him. Slowly, she
turned to look at them and felt revulsion creep like a sticky slug's tail over
her skin. She had invited nothing!
"
Yes,"
she said and walked to the door without a second glance at anyone in the room.
Alex made no attempt to stop her. He had intuited every
nuance of her thoughts during that moment of silence when she had stood with
her back to them, and he knew that, as always, she had made the courageous
decision, but it was not over for her yet, as she would discover soon enough.
Ginny went up to her room, sick at heart, but unable to think
what she could have done to alter this afternoon's inexorable path. The only
thing she did know was
that
she could not face anyone at this
moment. For a while, she busied herself mending the ripped lace of her gown,
men, that task completed, she went to the window. The stableyard was deserted
except for Jed who was grooming Bucephalus with a wisp of straw, burnishing the
black coat. Jed would answer the question that she didn't want to ask, yet knew
that she would get no peace until she did.
Running lightly down the stairs and into the yard, meeting no
one on the way, she walked over to Bucephalus. Jed, whistling tunelessly
through his teeth, acknowledged her
wi
th
a nod that despite its brevity was not unfriendly.
Ginny ran her hand down the warm, sinewy indentation
of
the charger's neck. "What will happen to them,
Jed?"
"A floggin'," he said impassively.
"
Twenty lashes at sundown."
Ginny made a strange, incoherent little sound, turning away.
"It's a light sentence," Jed said. "They
'
ve got to be fit to march tomorrow."
"How can you be so callous?" But even as she
accused th
e
soldier, she knew that it was Alex
who had pronounced sentence, Alex who had had practical droughts of the morrow
in mind.
Jed did not deign to reply, merely sucked on another wisp of
straw, wetting it thoroughly before moving it down t
he
horse's flanks.
Ginny went back upstairs, knowing that she should not
be
surprised, should certainly not be horrified. Flogging
and death were facts of life, as freely applied to
the
civilia
n
population
as to the army. It had always been so. T
he
whipping
posts and stocks in the market squares were
a
familiar-enough
sight, and she rarely thought twice about them. It had certainly never occurred
to her to question
the
appropriateness of such
retributive methods, and she was sure, although she had never heard him do so,
that her father, the gentle John Redfern, in his capacity as magistrate, must
have passed similar sentences in his time. The difference here was that she was
in some way responsible. Even while common sense and an innate sense of justice
told her that that was not so, she could not help feeling it. And if even Alex
believed it, so would everyone else. Her position in the brigade would be
totally untenable unless she could do something to repair the situation.
She remained in the stuffy
little
chamber for the rest of the afternoon, waiting in curious
dread for sundown; yet still the piercing call of the bugle and the beat of the
drum
s
, sharp and alert in the gathering
twilight, took her by surprise. Her heart began to thu
m
p as she went to close the casement, to shut out the
sound. There was a swift tread
on
the stairs
outside. Then the door opened, and Alex stood on the threshold, sword and sling
buckled at his waist,
"Come," he said quietly, "it is time."
Ginny just looked at him, for the moment dumbfounded. He
could only mean one thing. Dumbly, she shook her head, holding onto the back of
the low, armless chair.
"Come
,
" he
repeated, extending his hand imperatively.
"No ... no, I will not." She shook her head agai
n
violently. What kind of man was he, to expect this of
her?
"You must," he said implacably. "It is
justice, and it must be seen to be done
.
"
"Not by me," she affirmed, her voice sounding
stronger.
"Yes, by you. You will attend, and then you will fully
understand that my interdictions are not made simply for the pleasure of
power."
Ginny gripped the chair back tighter. "You would punish
me in this way, then? By forcing the victim to witness the punishment of her
attackers?"
Alex did not answer, instead reached for her hand. "Come
along, Ginny."
Grimly, she hung onto the anchoring chair as he pulle
d
her forward.
"
You
cannot force me to do this, Alex. I wil
l
not
come." The chair dragged across the wooden floor, as he pulled her,
willy-nilly, toward the door. Ginny let go of the ineffectual anchor and with
quiet desperation adopted the tactic of passive resistance by sitting down
abruptly on the floor.
"Get up!" Alex looked down at her, jerking on her
hand.
Ginny shook her head. "You will have to drag me or carry
me every step of the way," she said with icy determination. "And I
shall scream and keep on screaming."
Looking into those gray eyes, glowing with purpose,
recognizing the stubborn set of that wide, generous mouth, Alex knew he was
defeated. Like all good campaigners, he wasted no time in accepting the need
for an orderly retreat. Releasing her hand, he gave her a mocking little bow as
she still sat upon the floor, turned on his heel, and strode from the room.
Ginny waited until the sound of his step on the stair had
faded before she stood up. She now knew exactly what she
wa
s going to do and knew she had
little
time to waste. The ca
m
p would be deserted, and there would be no guards
around the inn for as long as this punishment parade lasted. She collected what
she needed from her baggage roll, the
sa
lves
and strips of boiled cloth, the thick, herbal paste that would form a poultice
if
the
cuts of the lash went deep. Swiftly,
she ran down the stairs and out into the deserted
stab
leyard. The drum was still beating, but it was the
only sound, and there was no one in sight. Perhaps all the inhabitants of the
inn had gone to witness the spectacle. No doubt, it would afford some of them
considerable pleasure.
Once in the lane, she slipped through the hedge and
f
ound herself in the campground. Here there were
guards,
an
d when she was challenged, Ginny
informed them in tones of complete confidence that she was here to tend the
wounds of the prisoners. They would be expected to march on the morrow and
would do so better if their pain was eased.
It was clear that the men knew who she was, just as they knew
what had happened that afternoon. But her tone was so decisive and
authoritative, the implication that she had the colonel's permission for her
errand of mercy so clear, the sense of her statements so obvious, that she was
shown without further question to the tent where her attackers would be
brought.
As she waited, Ginny noted, with a degree of abstract
interest,
that
she was not at all afraid. At any
minute, the place would be filled with angry, disconsolate men, but they would
not harm her now, whatever they might think of her. Whether she could get them
to accept her presence and the very genuine help she could offer was the
central question. If they did so, she would in some way be making amends, while
at the same time indicating that she bore no grudge for the violence done her,
that in her mind the matter was at an end. Curiously, she did not once think of
what Alex's reaction might be if he were to discover her errand.
The drum, at long last, stopped beating, and the sound of
marching feet came closer. Ginny sat quietly in the tent at the rear of the
camp. There were voices outside; then the flap opened, and the two men were
helped in by the four corporals she had seen this afternoon. Ginny gave them no
time to say anything but took charge with brisk authority, directing them to
lay the men upon the pallets as she dropped to her knees beside them, rolling
up her sleeves. She worked in silence, watched with amazement by a gathering,
gawking crowd, and when the cuts were clean, she spread the herbal paste
thickly before laying strips of cloth over the wounds.
"
There,
you will sleep easier now," she said, getting to her feet, rolling down
her sleeves. "You," she gestured to one of the corporals who came
over immediately, a look of wonder in his eyes. "In the morning, you will
use this salve, and also in the evening until the cuts close. If you need me
again, you may pass a message through Jed." Why she was so certain that
Jed would conspire with her in this, Ginny had no idea, but she was quite
certain. Picking up her basket, she left the tent, and the ranks of men opened
to let her through. Ginny could feel no hostility, only puzzlement.
"Mistress?" A voice spoke suddenly,
,
hesitantly. Ginny stopped and turned. "Can you
do anything for this?" A soldier pushed through to the front, holding out
his arm. Ginny examined the ugly, suppurating sore with a frown.
"This should have been seen to days ago," she said
quietly. "I will do what I can." She again used the herbal poultice,
bandaging the arm tigh
tl
y. "Keep it dry and clean, if
you wish to avoid malignancy. If there is no improvement in two days, send a
message through Jed."
Suddenly conscious of the time, she began to hurry through
the camp, although sensing that there were others who wished to speak with her.
She did not know whether Alex would understand what she had done and why, and
after this evening
'
s confrontation, Ginny knew that
another one so soon afterward would spell disaster.
Reaching the stableyard, she saw Jed talking with a group of
his fellow soldiers, who looked at her askance and stopped their talk. Ginny
went over to them boldly. "May I speak with you, Jed?"
Without a word, he moved away from the group in his customary
economical fashion. Ginny told him in a few
words
what she had done, and what she was prepared to
con
tinue doing with his help.
"
It
would be best if the colonel were not to know of this for the moment
,
" she finished,
m
eeting his eye.
"Aye
,
" Jed
agreed, stroking his chin, and that thin smile appeared again. ‘Twould at
that, mistress. I'll not be tellin'
h
im,
but ye're a courageous lass, I reckon." He gave a snort
of
laughter as he turned away and went back to his
companions.
Ginny hurried into the kitchen, suddenly conscious of the
tact that she was ravenous. A leg of lamb was turning on the spit over the
fire, Goodwife Brown was rolling pastry on the wooden table, a kitchen maid was
mashing floury potatoes
in
a pot, another chopping fresh mint.
The goodwife smiled at Ginny, the smile of conspirators, and Parliament's ward
wondered with a sudden wash of weariness how many other conspiracies she would
hatch under the nose of her lover and her enemy.
"
Can
I be of any help, goodwife?"
,
she
asked, placing her basket discreetly in a corner. She didn't particularly want
to be seen with it; it might call for awkward explanations.
"That's kind of you," the goodwife said. "If
ye'
ll
fetch the soup into the parlor, I
daresay the colonel and hi
s
men are good and ready for it."
She cast Ginny a shrewd glance.
"
You
too, I reckon. It's a bit peaky you are, this evening."
Ginny smiled, lifting the heavy kettle off its hook over the
fire. "I’ll not deny it's been a long day. Is the ladle on the
table?"
"Aye, and the bowls."
Ginny carried the kettle with its fragrantly steaming
contents into the parlor, glad to have this task to perform that would make her
entrance seem natural and would mask her awkwardness at the prospect of having
to face them all, and Alex in particular.