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A chapter in which Polly must prove her worth without making a fool of herself, yet again.
The Story So Far: Polly, a princess, an Enchanter, and his apprentice discover they are all are being threatened by a malevolent magical being known as a jadess. Can Polly get along with the arrogant enchanter long enough to figure out how to survive with a jadess after them? Can she avoid embarrassment at court long enough to prevent the jadess from seducing the Rajah? And … what does the jadess want with Polly? Chapter 1 is here.

Chapter 18B: At Benishada

 It seemed all the court had finally arrived, and we started to arrange ourselves into companies. Maria was up front, in a group with the Rajah, so I stayed behind with Janeira and Earl Seanit and Earl Parfin. Then, as if by some unspoken signal, everyone mounted and began moving off.

I took a deep breath and heaved myself up. Fortunately Shenaira did not budge. It took me at least ten minutes to arrange my skirts, and then my hat so I could see, and by that time most of the group was ahead of me.

Thankfully I had ridden before, and side-saddle too, but the reins on my horse were slightly different than what I was used to and it took a little while to sort them out. Gently I urged Shenaira to catch up with the rest, and let out a breath when I remained seated as she walked. I could do this. I would ride her gracefully, with my peacock blue skirts spread out over her back, the feathers on my hat bobbing as we walked, and looking as lady-like as possible. I had been doing precious little of that lately.

I wanted Maria to see her lessons for me had paid off. Though I had still taken my rapier, strapped to my girdle under my skirts.

We rode through Araba, which was mostly awake at this time, its people gaping at the courtly group riding through. I could see the Rajah up ahead, nodding graciously to them and acting exactly like a ruler should. He looked so regal astride his noble black stallion.

Then we turned east, the opposite way of the Falls of Araba, and up a riding path that wound through the mountains. It was quite a pleasant path, with emerald green trees over-shadowing it and birds-of-paradise calling in the trees. It was not yet hot, as it was still morning, but the buttery sunshine still filtered down through the leaves and lit on me pleasantly. The horses’ coats glowed in it. Their walk was a soft, easy walk they seemed able to keep up for hours, and alternately their necks would stretch and arc, and shake out their manes from under the reins that held them In check. It wasn’t at all uncomfortable for their rider, even if they were riding side-saddle, but pleasantly rocking and soothing.

Okay, so it was probably entirely due to the horses that Chaldean women could ride them in these get-ups. I was keeping my seat, amazingly enough.

“Have you been to Benishada before?” I asked Janeira as we rode.

She shook her head. “My family – is not the most prominent. We have never been invited. But now, when I have been introduced at court…”

“Well, I can see why the court likes to go,” I said. “The ride there itself is nice enough. Does the Lord Benishada often go to court?”

“No, never,” Janeira replied. “The court comes to him. He is an uncle to the Rajah, the former Rajah’s younger brother, and thus was installed as Lord of Benishada. The Rajah himself has a summer-home there, which he sometimes stays at. But not this year.”

The Chaldeans were mainly good horsemen, except Janeira, who seemed ill at ease on a horse, and whose horse seemed ill at ease with her. I urged my horse gently past her, and glanced ahead. Maria was riding up front with the Rajah.

A smile crossed my face. Good.

The Rajah and I were on slightly better terms now. The fact that I had apologised, and he had apologised, for injuring each other’s pride, helped a lot. At court we sometimes would talk, though now I did not feel like urging my horse into the gallop necessary to pass everyone else and reach the Rajah. But I could see the Rajah up there, and Maria there. It was obvious Maria had known him for a very long time, because it looked like she was being nearly as impertinent to him as I had been. They must have been very good childhood friends.

Finally, after riding through many vales between the mountains, the gates of Benishada came in sight.

It was up on a plateau, with a path switching back and forth to wind up the slope to its gates, which stood imposing above us. Villains used to be more plentiful on Chaldean roads, and Benishada’s gates had been built to prevent any entry by them.

The horses went up the slope easily, though I was sweating a little as I reached the top. The sun was climbing high in the sky, and it was almost noon.

Maria rode back to me when we reached the gates. She still looked wonderfully glamorous and cool in her white dress.

“So, what do you think of it so far?” she said.

“I have barely seen it yet,” I replied. “But it is – imposing, I suppose.”

“Technically the estate is owned by the Rajah,” she said, “And if he did not have so much business at the Palace, this would be his home. As it is, he lets his uncle, Lord Benishada, take care of it. This has been the traditional home of his dynasty for centuries.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You will see why so many women dream of what it would be like to be mistress of Benishada!”

I soon agreed with her. The grounds of it were breath-takingly beautiful –natural, yet clearly well-cared-for. Along the avenue massive oaks lifted their trunks, seeming to stretch hundreds of feet up, their trunks nearly black and far above topped with a cloud of pale green. But as we drew closer to the manor the natural beauty gave way to velvet smooth lawn.

The manor was a warm ochre colour, flat-roofed, with many windows. It had one great dome and two smaller ones, and at the corners stood short, squat and square towers. Thick wooden doors of brown-black were flung open to welcome us.

There were peacock strolling around, like at the Palace, and monkeys, and pure-blooded dogs, but it had an air of grace and tranquillity the Palace did not have. It had stood much longer than the Palace, and against much more.

At the entrance stood a group of people, like Benishada’s own mini-court, to welcome us. A few of them were groomsmen, and occupied themselves with taking our horses when we dismounted, but the others were nobles, and the fierce, strong and dark, aristocratic man standing at their head had to be the lord. He was older, but he bore a striking resemblance to the Rajah.

“Well, sire,” he said, and bowed lowly and nobly, somehow losing none of his fierceness as he did so, “Welcome to your ancient home.” He had a jutting beard streaked with gray, and a hawk-like nose.

“Greetings, uncle,” the Rajah replied, raising him up from his bow, “I am glad to be at Benishada again.”

Our horses were led away in a long line to the stables at the back, and the court went on forward up to the entrance of the manor. Janeira began hurriedly whispering to me who the others with the Lord of Benishada were. She had never been here before, but she must have heard of them all her life, unlike me.

“That must be the lord’s wife, Lady Perdita,” she said, pointing to the tall woman with hair almost completely gray pinned up in a bun at the nape of her neck. She stood haughtily beside the lord. “And those must be their daughters. Yes, there’s all five of them. And there’s the son, Ben-al-Tur, perhaps you’ve heard of him. He’s quite a famed swordsman. And that woman there, she must be Shuriam, Benishada’s keeper of the keys.”

The daughters were all dark, like their father and like their cousin, and they called greetings to some of us, whom they seemed to know well. They were all rather handsome, with raven-dark hair. Their brother, Ben-al-Tur, stood across from them, dressed in crimson with a rapier sheathed at his waist. I noticed the circlet of emeralds embedded on it. A sword-master.

The lord and his lady stood at the entrance, welcoming each of the court members. I did a deep curtsy. The Lord of Benishada smiled a little when he saw me.

“Fair hair,” he said. “You must be the cousin of the Enchanter. Why else would an Angarian be here?”

“Yes, indeed, my lord,” I replied. I hoped he had not heard too much about my escapades.

On the terrace an elaborate luncheon had been prepared for us. At the front there was set up a high table, for, as Janeira explained, those ‘of the blood’ (those with royal blood). It was as fancy as any lunch at the Palace. We had a soup of shellfish imported from the sea to start off with, followed by a tomato ice, the assorted salads and greens and sliced roots, then a cooling, almost minty sort of ice. After that there was mutton and venison, and slices of pork with apples, round wafers with butter, and towering heaps of biscuits. By our plates were tall goblets of frosty nectar. I was glad I had finally figured out all the court rules for mannerly eating, and need not make a fool of myself at Benishada too.

“That was nice,” I said to Janeira when we were done. Most of the court was relaxing at this time, before the long ride home again, but we were strolling through the gardens. The mountain plateau made a wonderful place for growing vegetations, and we went around and admired it.

When we got back to the manor the rest of the court was strolling around too, conversing in little groups. Ben-al-Tur stood on the steps of the manor, and when he saw us he came over.

“Lady Penelope,” he said, and I suppressed a wince. I really was sick of that name. He stopped in front of us and we paused in our strol, I watching him and wondering what he could want.

“My cousin, the Rajah,” he said, “Told me that after duelling with rapiers for barely more than a month, you have managed to beat him already. I do not believe it. I told him he is partial to you because you are a blond Angarian, and that I could beat you with one hand tied. Would you allow me to give a demonstration?”

I eyed him coldly. He stood arrogantly, fingering his rapier at his side, his black hair styled into a large pompadour over his forehead. I decided I wanted to fight him, if only to mess that pompadour up.

“I will,” I said, “I but do not bother tying your hands. I want it to be fair fight, and besides, of how much use is it to have two hands in duelling?”

He smirked. “Of much use. But – as you wish. I will give you as much time to get ready as you need.”

I hurried towards the manor, muttering to myself and wishing I’d brought my rapier clothes. But at least I could take my hair down, and make sure my rapier was sharp.

Maria caught up to me. “So,” she said. “You are the fight the Swordsman. Do you have your rapier clothes? Because if you don’t Tyresa Benishada said she would lend you some. She would like her brother taken down a notch, and so would I, he is altogether too contemptuous of women’s duelling. Just because he’s a real Swordsman! I tell you, I have duelled him many times, and have come as close as you possibly can to beating him, yet he still looks down on my skill.”

I stared at her. “But if you can’t beat him, how can I?”

“I have faith in you, Tigress,” she said. “If you hit your flow you’re ten times better than me, though you have less experience.”

I borrowed Tyresa’s rapier clothes and put them on. Looking in the mirror I put my hands on my hips and studied myself. I did not look fierce at all, just a pale, long-nosed Angarian, more like a woman out to snag herself a husband than a swords-maiden, whatever the fact I was wearing pants.

Ben-al-Tur seemed to think so too, and looked at me contemptuously. Beside me Maria clapped my shoulder for luck. She was muttering to herself.

“So you didn’t want him to tie his hands, did you?” she said. “Watch out, his hands are dangerous. But I would not want him to tie his hands either, so if I did beat him he would not have an excuse.”

We faced each other. My palms were slick with sweat and slippery on the handle of my rapier. I gripped it tightly and stared at him.

“So, Tigress,” he sneered. “We will duel.”

His jab-thrust after our bow was even quicker than the Rajah’s had been. It was only by turning quickly that I managed to make him nick my shoulder and not the white patch on my chest. He laughed.

“A little – too fast – for you?” he said amusedly, jabbing left and right as he spoke. I immediately went on the defensive. But he was good, and I was using so much of my concentration on my blocks that I had not the time to study him for openings so I could go on the offensive. I was biting my lip and whipping my rapier in a silver whirl, tasting blood in my mouth. He was coolly staring me down and laughing softly.

And yes, he was good. The earls that had taught me were nothing to this. Maria was nothing to this. It was only by some inner instinct I was able to block his relentless attack, I had to rely on every quick reflex I had. And I could only defend. It was a good thing I did not tire easily, for all I could do was hang on and hope for an opening.

“Ah, lucky one,” Ben-al-Tur said, as my rapier whipped his out of the way. I took a breath and hoped he would pause, but he did not, and only pressed me harder.

“I think perhaps what they call your skill should really be ascribed to luck,” he said. I growled in my throat and fought off another attack. He continued speaking. “Though you are one of the fiercest fighters I’ve ever met – Tigress.”

He nicked my shoulder, and I just had a chance to see a dribble of blood run down it before he attacked again. Tyresa’s rapier clothes were being cut to shreds. Everywhere he was piercing through my defences, but I grimly kept up in spite of the now-ragged edges of my clothes, because my white patch had not yet been touched. But I was quite sure that was only because the Swordsman was playing with me, intent on utterly humiliating my skill.

A tide of anger rose in me at the thought.

“Women should not become sword-maidens,” he told me.

I did not answer.

“They do not have grit enough,” he continued. “The only skills they need are basic protection, and they need not fancy themselves anything more than that. Lady Penelope.”

He called me that deliberately, indicating I did not deserve such a title as Tigress, I was such a poor sword-maiden. But I hated the name Penelope, and instead of shaming me it only made me infuriated.

Then, as my tide of anger rose higher, something clicked in my brain again. Ben-al-Tur might still have been speaking, but everything beyond our two swords was a blank. I could see, almost as if I was detached from it, the Swordsman’s many attacks, and my poor defences. Anger heated my face. Of course he would scorn me.

My sword whipped in my hands, almost without my commanding it, to deflect his blade away. And finally I was on the offensive. He staggered back, obviously surprised. His defensive was nearly as good as his offensive, but I could detect weaknesses in it. Of course, he seldom needed to use it.

“There’s the Tigress,” someone said, or may have said. I was no longer sure. My footwork practice was finally playing off, and I stepped into a stance as I attacked, our blades two blurring bars biting at each other. They were whistling, though it sounded dull to my ears in the void I was in. I looked at the dark man facing me, so like the Rajah, and centred in on the white patch on his chest.

Suddenly it split in half, though I knew not how I’d made my blade get there. I staggered back, blinking, the numbness of the void leaving me.

“What use is basic protection alone to a woman,” I hissed, “if such as you ever decided to take advantage of them?”

Then I turned away.

The crowd that had gathered around us as we fought pressed against me now, but I pushed through them and reached the manor doors. Then, once inside the room that had been set aside for the ladies to freshen up, I sank down onto the bench.

His arrogance had reminded me so much of the Rajah. But even the Rajah’s insults were preferable to this. At least I had given the Rajah reason to think me uncouth.

And I still didn’t understand what had happened. I hadn’t beaten him, had I? Those last moments of the fight… I had felt different than I had ever felt before…

There had to be something wrong, I shouldn’t have beaten him.

 “La, I am so proud of you!” Maria exclaimed as she came in. “Finally, someone beat him. But I have never seen you fight so hard before.”

“I do not usually feel everything click so strongly,” I replied. I turned to her. “But he was infuriating me.”

“And that is why I so often lose!” Maria told me. “He makes me angry and I get distracted.”

“Well, then it is good it works exactly opposite on me,” I answered. Thoughtfully I washed myself down all over and changed back into my peacock blue dress.

Go to Chapter 18C