Lara: Book One of the World of Hetar. Bertrice Small

mercenary closed his eyes but a brief moment, then opening them, took the quill and signed his name in a strong, legible hand. With a deep sigh he handed the pen back to the secretary. Then to his surprise the Master of the Merchants held out his hand.

      “You have done a hard thing this day, John Swiftsword,” Gaius Prospero said. “I shall look forward to your victory in the tournament in a few months. The Crusader Knights need men like you.”

      The mercenary shook the hand offered him. “Thank you, my lord,” was all he could say. He had just sold the child of his heart into slavery.

      “Come along now, John Swiftsword,” the secretary said, ushering him from the august presence of Gaius Prospero. “Now tell me if you have a preference in goldsmiths, for I must send a messenger to he with whom you choose to open your account.”

      “I have no experience with goldsmiths,” the mercenary said honestly. “Will you recommend someone to me?”

      “With pleasure,” Jonah replied, and a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. This man would soon belong to an important group, and while Jonah served one of the most important men on Hetar, it could not hurt to have a friend among the Crusader Knights. “Avram the goldsmith has his shop just outside the Garden District. He is honest, and has many of the order as his patrons. With your permission I shall open an account for you, and transfer the five thousand cubits to his keeping. If you will come with me I will give you a receipt for the gold.”

      John Swiftsword was suddenly in a daze. “Yes,” he answered the secretary. Jonah, like his master, was assuming that he would gain one of the places open into the Crusader Knights in the coming tourney. The mercenary followed Jonah, waited while the receipt was made out, and then offering the secretary his hand, he shook it, took the receipt and departed the house of Gaius Prospero. Outside he found the transport awaiting to return him to the gates of the Golden District. The cart traversed the quiet parklike area once again, and then he was outside in the noisy, dirty streets of the City, the receipt for five thousand cubits clutched in his hand. He quickly tucked it into his doublet. Retrieving his sword from the guardsman at the gate he began walking back across the City to the Mercenaries Quarter where he lived. Where his wife, his son and his daughter awaited his coming.

      The day was waning, and the streets grew dusky with the coming evening. John Swiftsword moved quickly. He was more than capable of defending himself, but he didn’t want to have to bother right now. He reached the gates of the Quarter just before they closed for the night, nodding at the two old pensioners who guarded those gates, but not stopping to chat with them as he often did. Turning into his lane he stopped a moment. Then a deep sigh issued forth from him. He was a brave man, but he truly dreaded what was to come.

      He could see the candlelight in the window of his hovel. Smoke rose from the narrow chimney. Straightening his shoulders John Swiftsword walked down the lane, opened the door to his hovel and stepped inside. Susanna was at the hearth stirring a pot from which arose a savory smell. She turned at the sound of his boot steps. Her face was serene with the familiar task she performed.

      Looking up she asked softly, “Is it done, husband?”

      He nodded. “Where is Lara?”

      “Bathing Mikhail for me,” Susanna answered. “The supper is almost ready. The butcher gave me several pieces of poultry that he would have otherwise discarded. I didn’t even ask. I have made us a fine chicken stew, husband.”

      “Then the word is already about that I am entering the tourney,” he replied, and he sat down at the table near the fire. “Of course it would be. Nothing is a secret for long in the Quarter. Give me something to drink, wife. I am parched. I have had nothing all day from the moment I departed our hovel.”

      She set a mug of cider before him. “Where is the gold?” she asked bluntly.

      “With Avram the goldsmith. He has a shop outside the gates of the Garden District. Gaius Prospero’s secretary, Jonah, deposited it, and gave me the receipt. I have made a bargain with the Master of the Merchants. Half down, and half on delivery of Lara. And she will remain with us until the day after the tourney’s end.”

      Susanna came up behind him, slipping her arms about him. She kissed the top of his head. “It is a fair bargain, husband, and how proud your daughter will be to see you win your place among the Crusader Knights. When will you tell her?”

      “Tonight, before I lose my courage,” he replied. “You must leave us after the supper that Lara and I can be alone to speak on it.”

      She nodded, and then she smiled as her stepdaughter entered the room, her baby brother in her arms. “Here he is, all sweet and clean, stepmother. Will you nurse him now, or after our meal?” She handed the baby to its mother.

      “Afterwards, I think. Put him in his cradle. He will be content to play with his toes while we eat,” Susanna said, and she handed her son back to Lara, who put the baby boy down in the cradle.

      “What?” John Swiftsword said teasingly. “No greeting for your old father, lass?”

      “Where have you been all day, Da?” Lara asked, kissing his cheek and sitting down on the floor by his knee. She lay her head against it, smiling up at him.

      He reached out to stroke that head. Her hair was a color he had seen only once. Lara had the golden gilt hair of her mother. And she had Ilona’s lime-green eyes. In fact, everything about her was Ilona. Everything except her full lips, which she had inherited from him. “What have you been doing?” he asked, ignoring her query.

      “Mistress Mildred watched Mikhail while my stepmother and I visited several mercers’ shops in the Merchants Quarter. We wore our best skirts and bodices so they would not think we were beggar women,” Lara reported. “Oh, Da, I have never seen materials such as I saw today. I never even knew such fabrics existed. And everyone was so kind to us! One of the mercers gave me a silver ribbon for my hair!”

      His heart contracted. So they knew in the shops as well. Well, gossip was the meat and drink of the City. He should not be surprised.

      “The supper will be cold if you two do not eat it,” Susanna said briskly.

      Lara scrambled to her feet and took her place, while her father swung about again to face the table. “I have put my ribbon away, but I will get it after supper to show you, Da,” the girl said. “I shall only wear it on special occasions.”

      They ate the chicken stew that Susanna had ladled onto the worn wooden plates, tearing chunks off a small round loaf to mop up the gravy. They ate in silence. When they had finished, Lara quickly removed the plates and mugs from the table, taking them to the small stone sink outside the back door. Then she went to the hearth, and taking a kettle of hot water, poured it into the sink, refilled the kettle and replaced it on its hood over the fire. Adding a little cold water to the sink, she washed the wooden plates and mugs clean, dried them with her apron and replaced them in the bureau on the wall across from the hearth. Her father and her stepmother had been speaking quietly, but now Susanna arose, took Mikhail from his cradle and went into the garden to nurse her son.

      “Come back and sit with me,” John Swiftsword called to his daughter. “I must speak with you, Lara.”

      She rejoined him saying, “You look so sad, Da. What is it?”

      “You know,” he began, “that the tournament of the Crusader Knights will be held again this spring.”

      “Aye, Da, I know. You should be one of them! You should! Why have you not entered the tournament before?” Lara asked him.

      “To enter the tournament a man must meet many requirements. He must know how to use certain weapons. He must be able to read and to write.”

      “You are a great swordsman, Da, and you can read and write,” Lara said.

      “But I have not been able to meet the third requirement, Lara. I do not look like I belong among the Crusader Knights,” John said to his daughter.

      “Why