Wars of the Aoten

  ***

  In the Rufoux camp, the work on the stockade continued. The Melics remained absent, much to Geoffrey’s agitation, and the Koinoni preoccupied his time. Osewold had dragged away Wyllem so as to keep him from trading away the entire camp.

  “When will Artur of the Rufoux return?” asked Yarrow.

  “We do not know. He left to visit the Bedoua,” said Geoffrey.

  “The Bedoua cannot be trusted,” said Yarrow. “They will not trade.”

  “Really? That’s good to know. Now you’d best be getting back on your boat and wait there for Artur. I’m telling you no one here is interested in talking to you.”

  “But I see still many Rufoux to talk.”

  “Nobody has anything to trade with you. Only Artur will speak to you.”

  “You speak to us.”

  “Stop that confounded spinning. You make me dizzy, by my eyes and ears both.”

  Much, much to Geoffrey’s relief, a crunching sound came out of the nearby forest, and Artur appeared along with one other man. Not for years had Geoffrey hugged his son with such unfeigned affection. “How goes it?” asked Artur brightly.

  Geoffrey merely looked over to Yarrow. “I see you’re practically alone,” he remarked.

  Artur looked about him and saw only Theodoric. Peering into the woods, he quickly surmised all the others had caught sight of the Koinoni and remained hidden. He looked to the stockade wall and saw only Rufoux.

  “I see you’re alone as well,” he said, and Geoffrey nodded.

  Artur whipped out Kylie like a shire reeve and gave out orders, “Back on the boats! Back on the boats!”

  “We have come to talk with Artur,” said Yarrow.

  “I am Artur. If you ever looked at anything but gold you’d remember that. Now get back on your boat.”

  “What do you have?”

  “I have a sword. Get back on the boat,” and Artur made some persuasive gestures with Kylie.

  “Come,” said Theodoric, and he took Yarrow by the sleeve. “Show me your ship. Have you ever seen one of these?” And he took his reed from his belt as they walked toward the boats.

  Artur went into the woods to collect the Bedoua and Melics, and took Picta’s elbow. “Pray, go find your woodsmen,” and she left in the direction of the Melic community. Artur made short introduction of everyone to Geoffrey, and left them all in his care except Aachen and Humus, whom he led to hospital.

  Most of the wounded Rufoux had been removed, but Andreia and a few others remained, no better in Artur’s absence. The Melic and Bedoua knelt beside the Rufoux maid, and Aachen talked to Humus quietly as he made his examination. Finally he stood up, and the Bedoua clicking arose in his throat.

  “Her sickness is not so difficult. I can use the willow we found on the way, and that will bring her heat down. I must go out and find cinchona bark as well, and mustard seed. The other things I already have. I can make her well; we have not arrived too late, I think.”

  He took some branches out of their sacks and gave Aachen instructions to boil down the bark. He gave Artur a bottle and prescribed three drops, if Andreia would swallow them. “No less, and by no means any more,” he warned grimly.

  As Humus disappeared into the forest, accompanied by Mistral for help and Osewold for protection, Ingle and Krait walked about the Rufoux camp. They took note of the buildings, and the stockade being erected. The look of the guards told them to keep a discreet distance as they passed the storehouse. They walked past the metal shop, and saw Jakke at his mighty furnace; he glanced up with a look of puzzled recognition. The two Bedoua noticed the women at their work, the heavy leather clothing being dressed, the cooking over blazing fires. Great stockpiles of weapons scattered about made their eyes grow big. They visited the work around the outside of the camp, and saw the remains of the Rufoux fields.

  “These-sss Rufoux have everything they want. They cannot be trusted,” said Krait.

  “They have much, do they not?” said Ingle. “Their armor and weapons make them formidable. Their fields produce grand crops; no doubt the walls of that storehouse bulge with grain. Their faces glow ruddy with health, and they have mastered fire and metals.”

  “Yes-sss. They are thieves-sss and rich thieves-sss at that, to have all this-sss.”

  “I know of just one thing missing here, Krait. One thing, and do you know what I think it is?” said Ingle.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The rumidonts, Krait, I don’t see any Bedoua rumidonts! And where do they hide the magnificent weavings of rumidont wool? Where are the wonderful cheeses and butters of the rumidont? And why have they made all the cups of metal and pottery, Krait? Where is the glass? And where have you seen any potions here, Krait? If they stole all the Bedoua wealth, why did they come to us for healing potions? Do you know why? Do you know why, Krait? Because the legends tell lies, Krait! All the legends you base your hatred on are no more than lies! Not a single Bedoua treasure resides in this whole damn camp!”

  Ingle had worked himself into such a froth that he almost had to sit down. But he kept his wits about him for one more outburst.

  “No, no Bedoua goods can I find here, but plenty of Rufoux handiwork I do see! And here is an example!” And he whipped Krait’s glasses off his face.

  “Where did you get this Rufoux metal, Krait?!” he screamed, mixed with indignant clicking. “Where’d you get the damn metal?!”