"Did the poor ever receive the money you sent?"
"Most of it. I sent other men to make sure, as I had told the messengers I would—and if they kept a coin or two for their pains, I did not trouble myself about their hire."
"Surely not, since it bought their loyalty."
"It did," she sighed, "though I wondered at the worth of loyalty that could be bought, and still do."
"Surely they are loyal for better reasons now!"
"Aye—for winning." She gave him a sardonic smile. "But such loyalty lasts no longer than a few losses. Praise Heaven I have never had more than one loss at a time!"
"Heaven?" Geoffrey asked. "Or your own good judgement, in next choosing an easy target?"
"I would like to think there was some sense to my planning," she conceded. "But now that I myself am lost..." She flashed him a bitter smile. "Well. Now we shall truly learn of their loyalty, shall we not?"
Geoffrey felt his stomach sink, and wondered why he should feel guilty about doing his duty. What spell was this woman working on him? "So you conquered all the other bands in the forest."
"There was no need—one by one, they came and asked to join us. I made them swear loyalty, though I doubted their vows were worth more than the rags they wore. Still, I gave them good broadcloth clothes, and hoped their steadfastness would improve with their cloth."
"You must have prospered mightily," Geoffrey said. Quicksilver shrugged. "I was an outlaw already, and dead if captured—and I had begun to think that I was more fit to rule than Count Laeg or his son."
Geoffrey frowned. "High thoughts, for the granddaughter of a peasant."
"You must not have met Count Laeg," she returned, "or Sir Hempen. I declared my rule over the forest, and sent men to pronounce it in every village."
Geoffrey stared. "In public? That was as good as a challenge!"
"It was a challenge," Quicksilver said with a hard smile, "and young Count Laeg knew it. Oh, he sent Sir Hempen after me first, but I defeated him and his band with a right good will. I sent them home all a-foot and bereft of arms, though I did regret the two slain in the battle, and the three of my own. But Sir Hempen I had scourged with a horsewhip besides, and sent him home without even his tunic."
Geoffrey frowned. "I thought you let your enemies keep their pride."
"Not him—he had cost me too much that was dear. I told him to thank his mother for his life—that if it had not been for the thought of her grief, I would have slain him outright. Well, no," she amended thoughtfully, "perhaps not 'outright.' Perhaps slowly..."
Geoffrey couldn't suppress a small shudder, and wondered why this woman still seemed fascinating to him. "He had to punish you for that, or lose the obedience of his peasants."
"That he had already lost. They began to come to me by twos and threes, young men and old, who had fallen a-foul of Sir Hempen's tyranny—crops and cattle taken as taxes, sweethearts and daughters taken as toys..." She shook herself, trying to dispel rising anger. "Faugh! What a dog is he! If I had not seen so much good, steadfast bravery and caring among my own band, I might have despaired forever of the breed of men!"
"I am glad that you have not," Geoffrey told her. "Well, I nearly have, anyway," she told him, "for among the bands I conquered were women who were virtual slaves, forced to cook and clean, and fill the filthy outlaws' beds, and bear them brats which they then were forced to tend."
Geoffrey stared. "The sorry creatures! How had they come to such a pass?"
"Some had been kidnapped when they came to gather berries in the woods, poor innocents. Some had been captured from parties of travellers who were foolish enough to dare the wood without an armed guard. But most were those who had fled to the greenwood rather than bear the attentions of knights and their soldiers, or even of village bullies. Poor things, they exchanged bad for worse."
"But not when you found them?"
"If I had not needed the outlaws for an army," Quicksilver said bitterly, "I would have slain them then and there. As it was, I made to scourge them—but the women themselves actually begged me to desist, claiming that the men were their only source of livelihood and protection!"
Geoffrey closed his eyes in pain. "The poor bewildered creatures."
"So I thought," she said grimly. "I told them that I would provide their living henceforth, and their protection—but still they begged me not to punish their men overly much, for their captors were all they had."
"Why, they thought of themselves as wives!" Geoffrey said, astonished.
"So they did. I bade the men arise and treat their women gently and with respect henceforth, or it would go hard with them. I kept my word, too, seeing that any man who beat a woman received more blows than he had given. The females gained some measure of happiness then, tending their children and keeping house—but to my amazement, most of them continued to speak with the men who had been their captors, and even to bed with them!"
Geoffrey just stared at her for a second. Then he said, "Well, if they had come to think of themselves as wives, they must have thought of the men as their husbands."
"So it seemed—but I made sure each couple passed through a ceremony, when next a friar passed through the wood. I was most amazed that the men submitted with good grace, seeming even happy with the matter."
Geoffrey smiled. "Perhaps they were flattered to think that the women actually chose them, without being forced."
"There is that, and they did seem content with their company. I was forced to admit that I had not just an outlaw band, but also a village, a true one. Some of the women even asked their men to dig gardens, and began to grow crops. But there were others who rejoiced at their liberation, and wished to have nothing to do with any man again. These hailed me as their savior, and I was amazed when I woke one night and found two of them sitting up to watch my door, not trusting my brothers' vigil. I saw then that I must teach all women to bear weapons, and to fight with their hands, whether they would or no. I did, and there was never a wife-beating again—and my sentrygirls gave my brothers relief from their sleepless nights."
"Thus did your bodyguard grow?"
"Aye. They are a great comfort to me, for I know there is not a one of them would not rather lose her head than see an enemy come nigh me. Indeed..." Grief shadowed her face. "...three of them have died beside me, in battle. I could not ask for more worthy friends."
Geoffrey could sympathize, but he could also realize what those Amazons must be planning for himself, right at that moment. If they could find him... "And word of this spread? For surely, your men must have now and again stolen out to talk with old friends or kinfolk."
"They did indeed, though I did not realize it until village women began to come to me, one by one, then two and three together."
Geoffrey held his face carefully neutral. "Your men did not harm them, of course."
"Oh, certainly not," Quicksilver said softly, "for I had declared to all of them what I would do to the man I found hurting a woman. No, my sentries brought them in with courtesy and good cheer, and I welcomed them and bade my women shelter them. Then I taught them all the way of fighting, with and without weapons, and was amazed how many of them balked, and did not wish to learn. But I told them that they lived in a band of outlaws, and must be ready to help fight off the shire-reeves' men at any time. They took my meaning, and learned—and some among them chose to join my bodyguard."
"Did the others marry?"
Quicksilver shrugged. "There is no need—even if they do not, they shall be given food, drink, shelter, and fuel. Each must do her share of the camp's work, of course, and her own—but in my band, coupling will come from the desire of both, or not at all, and marriage will come from love, not from need. If there is anything left of my band in a week..."