Leda

Chapter Six: Curfew

She must have fallen asleep. Leda woke as the carriage hit a pothole, its axles grinding and straining over the rutted, puddle-strewn road. Resting her forehead against the window, she took in the grey expanse of Brennac and the squat little crofts lining its shores. Perhaps the poor harvest had meant no bread for those who fished these waters, but they still had their catch to eat. There was no evidence of a hunger that might drive the fisher folk to robbery ˗ or worse. She observed with tired, dull eyes the small escort of Hannac guards riding alongside the carriage. Perhaps Hal had been overcautious.

It was only when they passed the southern tip of Brennac and entered the dull, flat, forested lands between Caraden and Colvé that real poverty revealed itself. Here, the thin strips of fields were mushy and waterlogged. Men and women sat outside their cottages with glazed eyes as if peering into a hopeless future. The occasional mangy dog shuffled past and children played in the mud. Life for these people had always been hard, Leda thought, but a harsh winter and a failed harvest had made it intolerable. In fact they were not living; they were surviving, and barely doing that. She urged Hal to stop the carriage so they might get out and offer food.

"They've not the strength to set on us, Hal!"

Hal was silent for a moment, peering out at the listless villagers who seemed unaware of the carriage as it passed through their midst. Then she nodded and as the vehicle ground to a halt, Leda jumped out to distribute what remained of their supplies ˗ some bread, cheese, meat and a skin of wine. The people took it wordlessly: some smiling, others merely nodding their thanks. But one old woman seized Leda's arm, staring up at her with rheum-ridden eyes, frayed wisps of greying hair clinging to her balding scalp.

"You're going to Colvé?"

"Yes. To the Emperor's coronation." Leda crouched before the old woman.

"A new one is it?" Her voice cracked and wheezed like an old squeeze box. "Well, new or old. Makes no difference to us. But tell him..." she pulled Leda closer. Her breath smelt sour. "Tell him ˗ whoever he is ˗ not to forget us."

"I'll tell him," Leda promised, close to tears.

"Good girl." The gnarled hand slipped from her arm and Leda stumbled back to the carriage, rubbing her fists in her eyes.

"What did she say to you?" Meracad asked.

"I'm to pass a message on to the Emperor. I'm to ask him not to forget about them."

Hal stared at her, shaking her head. "And she thinks he'll listen?"

"I don't know, do I?" Leda almost shouted, her frustration raw. "At least she still has hope."

Hal crossed her arms stiffly and the carriage rumbled on. But each village was the same, Leda realised, with its half-ruined crofts and stick-thin children clad in rags and mud. And now she'd given away all the food, she couldn't help any more of them. It was like journeying through a nightmare.

When the city walls finally loomed on the horizon, she was almost relieved. They passed through the gates of Colvé without issue and then crunched along the narrow gravelled alleyways of the outer districts before heading towards the city's heart. The streets grew wider and cleaner, huts and shanties giving way to slim, sandstone townhouses and shops. And, Leda realised, there was no sign of the desperation she had witnessed back in the villages. Life went on as it always had done: men and women racing along, chattering excitedly, spilling out of inns or houses. Where were they all going? It seemed that the whole of Colvé was now heading in a violent rush towards the main square.

As they neared Marc's house the swell of people continued, forcing their carriage to slow. And then, suddenly, Hal stuck her head out of the window and yelled out to the driver: "Jac, Stop! Didn't you hear me? I said stop!" There was a sudden, violent jerk and Leda nearly slid from her seat, clutching at the door to keep upright.