Under the Green Star

For the time being, it seemed simplest to merely do as we were bidden without asking questions, voicing protests, or in any way drawing undue attention to ourselves. The question of our being permitted to continue on our way to Phaolon simply did not arise for discussion. Certainly, without active assistance of the outlaws it would have been impossible for us to do so, although it occurred to me several times that we could easily have escaped from the outlaw stronghold any time we wished, since we were never under guard at any given occasion and could move about as we wished.

I don’t know whether Yurgon and his fellows considered us to be prisoners or what, but there was certainly no need for him to place a guard over us. We had not the slightest idea of our whereabouts, nor in which direction lay the Jewel City that was our goal, and without information or the help of the outlaws we could not have traveled the distance and would have been completely lost in moments, had we been so foolish as to make the attempt unaided.

I did not mind the tasks assigned to me, for my muscular body demanded exercise and I was eager to continue learning the use of the Laonese weapons. A brief tour of guard duty every night or so was no great burden and I rather enjoyed the rough, manly camaraderie of the guards, so very different from the languid and effete relationships I had known at the court of the Princess of Phaolon. There, but for the sturdy fellowship I had enjoyed with my brave, loyal Panthon and the other guards assigned to my entourage, I had known nothing like this rough and ready masculine comradeship.

For Niamh, however, the life we shared with the outlaws of Siona’s band must have been very trying, although to give the gallant princess credit where credit is due, she allowed no word of complaint to escape her lips. Siona had, I think quite naturally, assigned the princess household duties such as were shared by the unmarried or underage women of the encampment. It was her task to keep the fires going, to share in cooking the meals and in serving them, and to clean the kitchen and the eating implements after their use.

Frankly, I thought little of this. It did not for any reason occur to me that Niamh was being singled out for rough or dirty or degrading work, since the same tasks were the common lot of the other women who worked cheerfully at her side. However, the delicately reared princess had never been accustomed to performing even the slightest household labor, having been reared in conditions of the greatest luxury, surrounded by maids and servants of every description, and the simple tasks that now fell to her lot must have been a bothersome burden to her. Doubtless she had little in common with the bold-eyed kitchen girls and it was not long before they sensed this from her queenly reserve and the maidenly reticence of her speech, which was very unlike the crude and bawdy language they employed, spiced with oaths and flavored with rude jests.

At any rate, even I, in my ignorance, soon became aware of a change in the way in which Niamh was being treated by the wenches—despite the fact that she never gave voice to a word of complaint when she was with me.

In particular, I noticed that she no longer ate with me during the daylight meals, and instead had become one of the serving girls who tended the tables. This did not seem to me to be worthy of comment, for without thinking much about it I naturally assumed that the kitchen girls were assigned to wait on tables according to some sort of rotation system. But she continued in this role and it soon became obvious to me that the task had been made hers in punishment.

I first became really aware of this when I noticed that she was exclusively waiting on Siona during these meals, and that the huntress more than once spoke sharply to her, upbraiding her for some clumsiness, either actual or fancied. These scoldings were loudly performed before the full company in such a way as to degrade and shame her even before the other kitchen women. And it shortly became obvious that Siona was going out of her way to mistreat and insult the dainty Princess of the Jewel City.

One evening in particular stands out in my memory. Niamh had been at work for many hours at the hot and wearisome task of turning the spit upon which our dinner meat was cooked over a slow fire. This singularly disagreeable task was generally reserved for those girls who had misbehaved in some manner and were being punished for their lapse. As the meats dripped continually into the spluttering fire, the girl assigned to tend the spit became splattered with grease from head to foot in no time, and Niamh was no exception to this.

While serving wine at Siona’s peremptory command, the wine beaker had slipped in Niamh’s greasy fingers, spilling purple liquid over Siona’s finery. Shrieking a particularly vile name, the Amazon girl sprang to her face, dealing Niamh a buffet on the cheek that sent her sprawling.