So ended what would, in the Histories of the Realm, be named Valaria’s Folly. None in the army, or back in the capital guessed Doria’s betrayal. Indeed, the junior Princess was considered by many the heroine of the hour. The ranks of the militia spearwomen were broken, the skirmishers were out of ammunition and all they could think of was trying to escape the invaders, who swarmed after them, eager to seize as many amazonian beauties as they could. Just then, the Princess and her cavalry came charging over the hills, scattering the vanguard of the men and allowing hundreds of the defeated army to flee back to their camp. Chastened, the invaders sullenly drew back to their own, dragging thousands of captives, taken in the battle and pursuit, with them.
Though many urged her to go after them, Doria led her forces back to the Amazon camp. Taking command of the defeated army, she did what she could to rally the disheartened survivors. That night, under cover of darkness, the Amazons broke camp and retreated southward, not stopping until they reached the capital.
Over the next few weeks terrible stories trickled down of the battle and its aftermath from Amazons that had, against the odds, managed to escape captivity. They told of the final moments of battle when all hope had been lost and the trapped pockets of survivors were compelled to surrender. After stripping their prisoners of weapons, armor, even the very clothes off their backs, the stunned captives had been roped into long slave coffles and marched under the whips of the men back to their fortified camp on the coast. The cruel men had celebrated their stunning victory in several days of revelry, loosing their lusts upon the defeated women. The stupified prisoners were then locked up in large slave pens, along with the local women and girls who’d already fallen into the clutches of the invaders.
Hundreds more would join in the weeks to follow. With all the Amazon troops pulled south, where Doria worked, slowly, to rebuild a second army, the invaders had free rein over the northern countryside. Small raiding parties struck out from their camps, seizing any Amazons they came across and placing them in bondage.
Their confidence buoyed victory, the invaders attacked many fortified towns and villages that had, hitherto, been seen as too well defended. Their own spirits crushed by news of the defeat, many strongly defended places, which might have held out or at least taken a heavy toll upon the raiders before falling, despaired and surrendered on the promise that, though their property be forfeit, they might keep their liberty. No sooner were the gates opened though, then all promises were forgotten, the invaders falling on the hapless Amazons, seizing them and binding them in long coffles to be driven back to their camp as slaves.
The one piece of information that did not come southward was the one Princess Doria was most desperate to find out: the fate of her sister, Valaria. Fortunately for her, none of those who had escaped, whether in the battle’s aftermath or in the days that followed, had been at the Valaria’s side, so none of them saw the red banner raised or knew of Doria’s betrayal. But it also meant none could tell of the elder Princess’ fate. Some who had escaped from the slaver’s camp reported seeing members of her personal guard in the slave pens with the other prisoners, but of the Princess there was no word.
Surely, Doria thought, if the invaders had such an illustrious prisoner, they would have paraded her around, as they did with some of the other highborn Amazons brought low that day, when negotiating the surrender of towns. Doubtless, she had fallen in battle or during the retreat and her body lay somewhere on the field of battle, yet unburied. Confident she need not fear accidentally freeing her elder sister and making her betrayal all for naught, Princess Doria led her new army northward, for a second confrontation with the men.
But no such clash occurred. Hearing of this second, far larger army’s approach, or simply having gathered as many slaves as their ships could carry, the invaders made ready to go. Their unfortunate captives, with rescue only a day’s march away, were herded aboard their captor’s vessels and crammed into the dark, stinking holds for the long voyage back to their captor’s homeland and the slave markets waiting for them there.
Finding only a burnt out camp and empty pens waiting for them, Doria’s despondent army turned southward once more. Stopping at the old battlefield, she gave the order for her sister’s body to be found and the rest of the fallen given proper burial. The latter was soon accomplished, but the former was not. Scour the field though they might, none could find Princess Valaria’s body. Though this worried her, Princess Doria put thoughts of her sister from her mind. Whether she’d died in some out of the way place, or been carried overseas to a life of bondage and slavery, it hardly mattered. Her older sister was gone for good, leaving the throne open for Doria to claim in due course. Her betrayal had paid off…
***
Queen Doria paced the floor of her chamber. It was late at night, yet she could find no rest. Something was troubling her that night. Seeking fresh air, the regal Amazon stepped out onto the balcony, standing beneath the wide panoply of stars. A cool breeze blew, carrying the strong smell of the sea. She’d moved the court north, to the royal family’s sea side palace, in order to escape the stifling heat and humidity of the capital.
This was the first time she’d been able to make this trip since her accession to the throne. The palace had been looted and burnt in the Great Invasion. With so much of the region left devastated, some areas completely abandoned, their inhabitants carried off to a woman, it was only now she’d been able to give the orders to have the palace rebuilt and strongly fortified. Though her reign had not seen anything like the Great Invasion, there’d been smaller raids and incursions here and there. In fact, the move up here had been delayed by a few weeks, due to word of foreign pirates cruising the coastal waters, snatching peasants off the shores.
Somehow, the thought of the Great Invasion stuck in the Queen’s mind. She realized, with a start, that tonight was the anniversary of the fateful battle, ten years gone now, when she had betrayed her older sister into the hands of the men. She hadn’t thought of it in years. Doria raised the gold goblet in her hand and took a long draught of the strong wine it held. She didn’t like thinking of the day, what she’d done.
Mother had never gotten over the loss of her beloved eldest daughter, or the suffering of her people that followed. Had Valaria’s body been recovered, Doria thought, there might have been closure, but the thought that the Princess yet lived on as some Man’s slave in a distant land ate at her and within three years of the battle, the Queen had died, of a broken heart, some said, passing the crown to her second daughter, Doria.
Queen Doria took another gulp of the wine and, to her surprise, drained it to the last dregs. Turning to the door, she called inside for her Lady-in-Waiting, thinking another goblet of wine, perhaps fortified with something a touch stronger, might help her sleep or at least dispel the uneasiness in her heart Doria was feeling that night. But there was no reply from the other Amazon.
“Baudia? Where are you?” Doria called angrily. Perhaps the servant was helping herself to a goblet of the same wine she’d served her queen. “Lazy girl! If you’re dozing in there, I’ll have you whipped!” Taking up the long skirts of her robe, Doria went back inside in search of her Lady-in-Waiting.
To her surprise though, the chamber was empty. The Queen went to the door, intending to ask the guard standing outside if she knew where the servant had gone off to, but the dark corridor outside the Queen’s bedchambers were likewise empty. No one answered her insistent call.
Now, Doria was worried. There was no good reason why the corridor outside the Queen’s Chambers should be left unguarded, even for a moment. Clearly some betrayal was in the works. Turning back into her chamber, Doria threw aside the empty goblet, cursing herself for draining it so fast. The wine was hitting now, slowing her wits and making her unsteady. Her armor and weapons were kept in the palace’s armory, but she kept a short sword by her bed, just in case. Drawing it from its scabbard, Doria advanced back out into the corridor, sword in hand, a lit torch in the other as she went in search of someone, anyone, who could tell her what was happening in the palace tonight.
For a minute, the corridors were quiet, save her calling. Then, she heard a sound coming from around the corner, in the dark alcove beneath a set of stairs. It was a low, curiously muffled moaning sound, unintelligible, but clearly from one or more people in some sort of distress. Cautiously, sword at the ready, Queen Doria advanced towards the sound. As she got close, she raised the torch, letting its light extend out in front of her.
The slowly expanding pool of light revealed first a pair of sandaled feet, lashed together at the ankles with several loops of rope. Further up, a pair of long, shapely legs, likewise bound with rope at the knees, then a short pleated skirt of white linen followed by torso and arms, the latter lashed to the former with more rope, and finally the scared face of Doria’s Lady-in-Waiting. The servant grunted fearfully, whatever words she was trying to say garbled by the cords tied between her teeth, holding in a wad of cloth packing her mouth.
Beyond the struggling girl, Doria could see several more figures lying on the floor of the corridor. From their armor, they were clearly the Queen’s Guards, those on duty protecting her chambers that night. Like the poor Lady-in-Waiting, the guards were helplessly trussed up with rope, their mouths stuffed with wadded up rags to keep them quiet.
Looking at the frightful scene, Queen Doria suddenly realized that her servant’s grunts were not simply out of fright, but seemed to be warning her. The Amazon warrior spun around, whirling her torch in front of her. The flicking yellow flame caught the hands of the man who’d been creeping up behind to seize her. He was a rough, piratical figure, in a rough, patched tunic and boots, with dark, shaggy hair and beard. He recoiled, cursing in his low, barbaric tongue.
Doria might have followed up with her sword blade and ended the wretch, but other men came out of the shadows, surrounding her. They had ropes in their hands and it was clear they intended to take the Amazon Queen captive. She did all she could to make this difficult, whirling around with her short blade, making one man, then another, leap back to avoid being spitted on it, but no sooner had she driven one attacker off then two more surged forward.
Eventually, the Queen stumbled, giving her assailants an opening. In a flash, one of them leapt forward and seized the woman’s sword arm at the wrist. No longer needing to fear her blade, the rest piled on. Doria struggled with all the strength the Amazons were famed for, but it wasn’t enough to overcome half a dozen burly men at once. Soon, both her arms were twisted behind her back and held long enough for one of the men to lash her wrists together with tight ropes. More ropes wrapped her torso and arms. Someone jammed a wad of cloth into the Queen’s mouth, looping more cord between her teeth to keep her from spitting out the gag.
Doria thought she might be put with the other captives, but to her surprise, after tying her up and gagging her, the next thing the men did was tie a rope around the Queen’s neck as a crude lead. One of them took the free end of the rope and gave it a sharp tug. Seeing her options were to follow or be dragged along, Doria followed her captors, grunting curses through the gag.
Helpless, she was led through the dark corridors. Here and there, she saw other groups of Amazons, more guards, palace servants and members of the court, all stringently bound and gagged. More intruders were active too, trussing up the captives or getting started on looting the palace, now it seemed all its inhabitants had been subdued and restrained. Bitterly, the Queen wondered what had gone wrong tonight. What betrayal had allowed this pack of filthy men to overcome the palace guards so swiftly and easily they had not had a chance to even raise the alarm?
It soon became apparent to the Queen that she was being led to the palace’s throne room. She braced herself for whatever drama these men had planned for their royal captive, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as she came into the large and ornate chamber which, unlike the rest of the palace, was brightly lit with many candles. There, seated on the throne, where Queen Doria had held court scant hours before, was a ghost.
“Hello, sister.” Princess Valaria said, giving the captive Amazon a cold look. She was dressed like the men, in a patched tunic, tied at the waist with rope and high leather boots, supplemented by an iron slave collar locked around her throat. The years of captivity had aged her somewhat, despite the Amazon’s normal resistance to the ravages of time. Her lined, haggard face and the scars visible on her skin, told of countless agonies she’d endured since falling into the hands of men.
As the Queen gaped, more surprised at seeing her long lost sister then she had to see the palace overrun by foreign raiders, Princess Valaria spoke, her tone suggesting she had long practiced her story for this moment.
“My journey here began on the battlefield, ten years ago.” Valaria spoke, letting a decades worth of bitterness enter her voice. “I did not realize then how I had been betrayed, but it was clear the plan had gone awry. I knew a prisoner of my stature would be an irresistible prize to the invaders, so once it was obvious there was no longer hope of escape, I took steps to conceal my identity. While my household guards fought on, to buy time, I removed my armor and donned that of a common militia woman. When we surrendered, I was taken prisoner with the others, stripped naked, bound in coffle and led back to their camp. After the…nightmare that followed, we were left to languish in the awful slave pens for many days and nights. During that time, none betrayed my identity to the slavers, though to do so would have earned the betrayer her freedom.”
“For weeks, we endured the beatings and lusts of the men, praying for the relief army we knew to be on the way. Imagine our horror as, with rescue near at hand, our captors led us out of the slave pens and, with whips and curses, drove us up the gangplanks and down into the holds of the accursed slave ships. Bitterly we wept as the ships sailed away, knowing we would never see our homeland again.”
“On arriving, we were taken to the slave market. There, the hot slave brand was pressed to my skin, forever marking me as chattel.” As she said this, Valaria lifted the hem of her tunic, revealing the rough white lines of a brand scare, forming a stylized sigil, on the inside of her right thigh. “Naked but for my chains and collar, I was stood before a crowd of eager buyers with the rest of the enslaved Amazons. Before the auction began, many came to examine my body, feeling every part of it, like any other common livestock. When it was my turn to mount the auction block, the bidding was long and fierce.”
She paused, the memory clearly painful. “I was sold to a rich and cruel master. Scarcely had he taken me to his home then he threw me down and by his right as my owner, claimed use of my body. I resisted and, for that, he had me beaten after he finished. Thus it went, for the five long, miserable years I was his slave. I was beaten and whipped often in those years, still haughty and defiant. I could not accept that I was no longer a Princess of the Amazons, merely a common slave girl in a city full of such lowly chattel. Several times I attempted escape, but each time I was quickly recaptured and punished horribly for my defiance.
“Eventually, I learned humility or at least how to fake it; how to bow and scrape and beg and eventually I convinced my owner I was at last broken to his will, that I no longer had any thoughts of my own, beyond serving his commands. Slowly, his vigilance relaxed. One night, in a moment of carelessness, he forgot to close the lock on my cage after using me. I knew, given the drink I had served him during his lustful revelries, he would be dead to the world until morning.”
“I seized upon this long awaited chance, slipping out of my cage in the slave quarters. I paused only long enough to steal some food and a skin of water from the kitchen and a threadbare rug to wrap around my naked body, then I fled that house of horror. My training as a warrior had not entirely abandoned me and I was able to elude the night watchmen who patrolled the streets watching for escaped slaves such as I now was. By the time dawn rose and my flight was discovered, I was well out of the city, but I had not yet escaped. For days, I was pursued by horsemen, for my owner had put an enormous bounty for the recovery of his prize concubine. By the time I eluded them, I was exhausted and had been driven deep into a rough and inhospitable country.”
“I should have died there and left my bones to whiten that desolate wasteland, but by a stroke of fate, my aimless wandering took me past the hideout of a group of bandits, concealed in a cave in the cliffside high above. Seeing so fair a prize stumbling below, the brigands at once descended and fell upon me: rough, crude men, the lowest of the low, whose crimes had driven them to cut all ties with civilized society…or at least what passes for it among the kingdoms of men. By that point, heat, fatigue and the lack of food and water had so weakened me that I could not defend myself. Meekly, I allowed them to bind me and I was hauled up the cliff to their hideout.”
“There, lying bound and gagged upon the cave floor, I could only listen as they debated what to do with me. Fortunately, though they had heard of the reward offered for my recapture by my former owner, the bandits knew him to be cruel and deceitful, especially to their kind, who often raided his caravans and were wary of trusting to his goodwill.”
“Instead, it was decided I was to become the common property of their band. I was kept locked up in their hideout by a long chain on my collar. By day, I did the cooking and washing and other drudgeries such rough men were incapable of doing for themselves. In the evening, as they gathered around the fire to share the meager proceeds of the day’s plunder, I was forced to serve their lusts, passed around from man to man.” She laughed, a cruel, hollow chuckle. “Imagine, one who had once been a high born princess shared between a pack of brigands like a common whore.”
“Still, for their roughness and their lusts, the brigands were not so cruel as my former owner. I had well learned the art of the slave girl from him and I gave these men little reason to mistreat me. I was well fed, at least when they stole enough provisions to go around, and only occasionally beaten. By the time I had been with the bandits a full year, my strength had recovered to nearly what it had been before my enslavement.”
“With the return of my strength, so too did my self-confidence and I resolved to raise myself above my current lowly status as slave of the brigands. It took many months to convince them to let me accompany them to raid a caravan. In the battle that ensued between us and the guards, I acquitted myself well, better than some old hands, and though they insisted I was still their slave and would be required to fulfil all my old duties, it was decided I would be allowed to participate in future raids and even granted a portion of the spoils for my own use.
“The next few years were good ones, at least in comparison to the black years of abject slavery that had preceded them. From a band of wretched beggars, we became, thanks to my help and leadership, one of the largest and most feared companies of bandits in the region. Our new fame attracted dozens of new, ruthless fighters to our ranks, allowing us to launch bigger and more lucrative raids.”
“Once I had several more successful ventures under my belt, I was slowly given more responsibilities among the band. It gave me delight to revisit death and humiliation upon the kingdom which had enslaved and tormented me for so long. I dreamed I might have the chance to get my former master in my clutches and waited for the opportunity to come.” She smiled, giving her sister a cruel look. “But before that happened, I was reminded of other, earlier wrongs I needed to revenge.”
“Our last raid had sacked a caravan coming up from the coastal trade cities. Among the prizes were two Amazonian slaves. The girls had been snatched from their village on the shore by pirates only a few weeks before and were being taken inland to be sold in one of the interior cities. From questioning them, I learned much of what had happened in the homeland since my enslavement.”
She sighed. “During the long years of my captivity, rethinking that awful day again and again, I eventually guessed at your betrayal, sister. But I knew there was no way I could take my vengeance on you, and with each day a new ordeal, I soon forgot about it, until I talked to those two girls. By chance, one of them had, before her abduction, been hired as a laborer, repairing the old seaside palace and she told me you intended to summer there once the work was finished.”
Valaria smiled. “I’m sure you remember all those years ago when mother first took us to this palace. How she showed us the old escape passage, from the wine cellar. How it leads out of the palace and down a secret stair to a hidden cove where a small vessel might dock and allow one to come and go at need and in secrecy. I knew, with the advantage of surprise, a small party of men, picked for their skills at subterfuge, could infiltrate the palace and subdue all within without an alarm being raised.”
“By this time, my reputation among the brigands had risen high enough that none questioned the plan I presented to them. With my chosen band we stole down to the sea, hijacked a ship and forced the crew to sail us here. Once the coastline came into sight, I guided us to the palace, the hidden dock and the secret stairs leading to the hidden door.” She smiled, finishing her story. “The rest I’m sure you can work out for yourself.”
At that moment, there was a rap at the door, clearly a signal. Valaria sighed. “Now, much as I’d love to catch up with you further, dear sister, we really must get going if we’re to be aboard ship and at sea before dawn comes.” She signalled her henchmen who turned, dragged the struggling Queen back out of the throne room. With a last, wistful glance around, Valaria rose from the throne and followed her sister to the door.
In the hall outside, the bandits had been busy. While Valaria had told the story of her enslavement to her sister, the raiding party had gathered up the night’s spoils. Besides the gold and jewels and silks of the palace, the men had herded all of the captives they’d taken and were busy roping the struggling Amazons into slave coffles.
The useless palace guards were tied together in one coffle, in another were all the servants, from the seneschal down to the last scullery maid. The final coffle consisted of the Ladies of the Royal Court with their households. The highborn noblewomen screamed into their gags, red faced with anger and shame at having their august persons handled so casually by this pack of ruffians. As Queen Doria was led to this line, she saw to her horror her own daughters being led to the end, bound and gagged, still in the silk nightshirts they’d had on when torn from their beds by the bandits. The girls sobbed, looking to their mother with desperate terror. She turned to her sister, but Valaria’s gaze as she looked between her sister and nieces had no pity in it.
“Doubtless they are innocent of your betrayal, sister.” She told Doria coldly. “But that will not save them. I will try, though, to see that they are sold to some kind master who will not mistreat them. As for you, though, I have a different fate in mind. Now I am a leader among the bandits, someone will need to take my place seeing to their needs…”
With that, she waved a hand to her men. Cursing, the former Queen was dragged forward and tethered at the neck to her daughters. The royal family was placed at the head of the coffle with all the highborn ladies of the court, now only helpless captives and soon just slaves. With barked orders and then with slaps and blows, the raiders got the coffles moving, the one with the ex-Queen in front, followed by her guards and then the palace servants.
The prisoners were led to the wine cellar and to the secret passage which swung open. Sobbing and weeping, the women descended down the stairs, becoming more frantic and desperate as the cove and the waiting ship docked there came into view. Their fate would be like so many others: carried across the sea, never to see their homeland again, doomed to the miserable life of a slave in a cruel, foreign land…