The first woman he’d pointed to took her time feeding her children. Quaeryt didn’t see her take a bite herself. He called out. “Squad Leader!”
“Sir?”
“Give another loaf to her.” He pointed to the tired-faced woman.
The woman looked up as one of the rankers vaulted down and extended another loaf to her. Then she looked to Quaeryt. Her face showed nothing, but he thought there might be a brightness to her eyes before she took a bite out of the second loaf. Then, it just might be your imagination.
Almost a glass and a half passed before Quaeryt noted that people were trying to get back inside the perimeter for seconds. He signaled Meinyt that they needed to move on.
When the two companies re-formed around the wagon, and the column headed north along the avenue to the main market square, Quaeryt watched several of the men begin to follow. “That crew over there is following us.”
Meinyt turned and looked. “They know they can’t break the perimeter without taking casualties.”
“You think they’ll try a diversion.”
“It’s possible.”
“Maybe I’ll drop back to ride alongside the wagon.”
“I’ve already got it flanked, sir.”
“I know. But it can’t hurt.”
Quaeryt did slip the half-staff from its leathers, although he couldn’t have said why, as he eased to the west side of the avenue and let the teamster catch up with him before matching his pace to that of the high-sided wagon.
Immediately north of the south market square, there were only a few people on the streets, and all those appeared to be hurrying away … except for the small group of men on the east side of the avenue who kept pace with the wagon.
After riding several blocks more toward the center of Extela, Quaeryt saw a group, almost a small crowd, ahead on the west side of the avenue. When they saw the column and the wagon, they began to cry out.
“Food! We need food!”
“All the food is gone…”
“Food…”
As he rode closer, he saw that the group looked to be composed entirely of women, many with scarves covering their hair and faces, especially those at the sides and rear of the crowd. Quaeryt frowned. He hadn’t seen women crowded together so closely in Extela. Still … he’d only ridden the streets less than a handful of times.
“Please … food…”
“We’re starving…”
He looked at the thronging women again. Only the ones in front had their heads uncovered, and most of them were young … and relatively attractive. They didn’t look to be starving, unlike the gaunt older women who had trudged into the south market square, or even the tired-looking women with babes in arms who had taken bread and seated themselves on the stones and fed their children right in the square.
“Please … kind sir,” begged a young woman, barely more than a girl, for all of the cleavage she let show as she turned to face the approaching governor.
Quaeryt glanced away from her toward the women with covered faces and hair, then immediately called out, “Arms ready!” He knew that the troopers already had their sabres out, but he didn’t know the short command to alert them to an imminent attack.
Abruptly, the younger women dropped back, and the hooded “women” rushed toward the wagon and the troopers. There were also shouts on the other side of the avenue, but Quaeryt barely had time to bring down his staff on the sword arm of a burly man whose hood had fallen back as he rushed toward the ranker in front of Quaeryt. The ranker was already dealing with another attacker and didn’t see or sense the second man.
Then an impact triggered his shields, and he turned in his saddle to strike at another assailant. No more than had he slammed the half-staff across the man’s forearm, dislodging the blade, than both the women and the attackers fled down an alleyway less than three yards away. Quaeryt thought that the second attacker he’d struck was cradling an injured arm.
Abruptly, the avenue was empty except for the troopers and their equipment … and two women lying half on the sidewalk and half on the west side of the avenue and two men facedown on the street, one in a pool of blood.
Quaeryt rode around the rear of the wagon, slowed to almost a halt, to see another body on the stone pavement, and two troopers tying up a man with slashes on his arms and blood running from his scalp.
The dead man on the pavement wore a stylish and tight-fitting silk jacket. Quaeryt couldn’t help but stare for a moment, then looked up as Meinyt rode up.
Quaeryt pointed to the dead man. “Quite a coat.”
“Pimp’s jacket,” said Meinyt. “Haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“That can’t be why they put the women up to it. I can’t believe that they were starving.”
“Most likely they weren’t. I wager they thought there was coin in the wagon.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes, when times were hard, the governors in some provinces would toss coppers and silvers along with the bread. You looked like you might be doing the same thing. The whole city probably knows you recovered the treasury.”
“Do you think they’ll try again?”
“You never know. I doubt it. They got close enough to the wagon to see that the barrel was a flour barrel, not one filled with coppers.”
Quaeryt had never thought about the fact that someone would think he was going to toss coins to the crowds. He shook his head. “Toss the wounded one in the wagon for now.” Glancing back, he could see that one of the fallen women had either gotten away or been dragged off. The other one’s head was twisted at an odd angle that indicated she was dead. “Put the dead woman in the wagon. Leave the dead men.”
“You heard the governor,” said Meinyt, adding in a lower voice, “Good idea. The men’s bodies will remind them.”
Neither mentioned the fact that they didn’t want to leave a dead woman, especially a young one, lying on the street.
While a few people watched from windows, no one approached the column or the wagon closely for the rest of the way to the main market square … or even immediately after Meinyt stationed the troopers into a tight perimeter around the wagon.
Given the momentary quiet, Quaeryt rode to the wagon to see what he could discover from the wounded captive, who, he noted, wore a tight-fitting jacket similar to that of one of the dead men.
“Who ordered the attack?” asked Quaeryt.
“Frig you,” muttered the captive.
The ranker holding the man’s left arm twisted it. The captive winced, but didn’t speak.
“He won’t say anything,” said Meinyt, who had just reined up. “If he does, the others will kill him, and it won’t be pleasant.”
Quaeryt smiled coldly. “Then I think we should carry him outside the perimeter, cut him free, and thank him very publicly.”
The wounded man swallowed.
“Of course, if he has something to say, we could take him back to the post, lock him up for a time, and then let him go some night.”
“… tell you … not here.”
“We’ll have to take him back, then,” Quaeryt said.
“FRIG YOU!” screamed the captive, winking as he did.
Quaeryt didn’t like it, but he understood. He also hadn’t said where he’d release the captive. He nodded to the ranker holding the captive, then turned the mare and rode out near the perimeter, where, now that a few older women had gathered, he made the same statement he had at the southern market square.
After a slow beginning, the process of handing out bread and potatoes in the main market square went almost in the same fashion as it had at the south square, with the exception that not nearly so many men stood around looking on. Of the few handfuls who did, Quaeryt wondered how many, if any, had been in disguise in the group that had been part of the diversion in the attempted attack on the wagon. Were they looking for another opportunity … or waiting to see what happened to the captive?