Camilla rolled over and examined the face of her attacker, as well as his dress. The yellow shirt had a small spinning wheel sewn into the front, and a tear on the other shoulder that she felt sure had not been there earlier. Camilla had seen this boy at the spinners often, and more than a few times in the village. He looked well fed, and the clothing he wore was better quality than any Camilla owned except for her new green shirt. His had been clean but now showed a thick coating of dry dust. It might have been washed by the washerwoman, but then Camilla remembered this boy lived with a mother and older sister who probably did the family laundry.
Camilla knew from afar everyone in the village. She knew them by their work and who they associated with. When they woke and when they bedded. She knew when the students at the academy arrived and departed, and that the villagers remained the same year after year. Even the peddlers and knife sharpener passing though, were always the same. She considered the villagers almost as a family because they were permanence in her life, although so seldom spoke to any.
The students at the military academy came and went, and they kept to themselves, most of the time. They rarely spoke to villagers either. In many ways, they were like her. Living in Nettleton, but passing through.
“I asked if you can stand.”
The leg hurt, but she managed to walk with the aid of her staff. The boy did nothing to help. She said nothing. When he didn’t respond either, she found herself wiping and patting the dust from her clothing, checking to make sure he hadn’t torn her new green shirt.
“You did not work for Arum the herdsman last year.”
It was a statement. Camilla turned her attention back to him, eyes falling to the rolled up bedroll carried over his shoulder with a rope, almost the same as her own. “You’re also going to see Arum?”
“This will be my third time.”
Camilla caught the pride in the answer and a trace of a smile. “Then you know more about what I’m doing than me. The washerwoman told me to go help him so I’d be away and those boys won’t beat me again.”
“The washerwoman tells you what to do?”
Camilla drew back, ready to flee or fight, then she stiffened. She couldn’t tell if he was insulting her or not. “She told me Arum might need someone to help.”
“The washerwoman.”
He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. Or like her. Camilla fought to keep her face passive and not give away true feelings. “Robin. Her name is Robin. She helped me after those boys beat me.”
“My name is Brix. How bad was the beating?”
Camilla hesitated. Brix thought of her as a boy, as did everyone else. She remembered Robin’s warning about passing as a boy, and as always she altered her name to sound more masculine. “Call me Cam. Each time they beat me, it’s worse.”
Brix nodded as if deciding something. He took a small step in her direction and held out his hand to shake. “We have the same enemy, and we’re going to work for the same man. We should travel together, Cam.”
“Arum has not offered me a job. I only have the word of Robin and a possible offer of the work.”
“Still, we can, at least, travel together for protection, if nothing else. If we meet those boys on the King’s Road will you join me in fighting them?”
“Will I have a choice?”
Brix took her response as a joke and laughed.
Camilla nodded to her foot. “One of them stomped on my foot. It’s much better today, but I have a rib that hurts when I take a deep breath. I think it’s healing, too. But in a fight, I’m worth little.”
“Then pretend, Cam. Puff yourself up and act like you can fight. Like you want to. With two of us standing together, who knows? They might back off,” Brix pointed to the road. “Up there beside the road is a place I know. Just off the side, in the trees, near a stream that feeds the river. A clearing you can’t see from the road. A safe place to spend the night.”
Warnings rang in her mind. She had, at least, two secrets to withhold from him. Traveling near the boy meant he might stumble on either. An accidental sighting of her back or seeing her pee would have him ask too many questions and know too much. When he returned to the village she called home, a careless word might have consequences. “I haven’t agreed to travel with you.”
“I’m sorry about tripping you and pulling your hair if that’s a problem.”
“It’s more than that,” Camilla said, limping ahead with her staff supporting the weight.
“I said I’m sorry.”
Over her shoulder she called, “You had no idea it was me following you. And no idea of why. You’re so stupid about survival you scare me. Have a safe journey.”
He followed, moving slower as if to maintain their distance. “I knew it was you all the time. I’ve seen you wearing your blue shirt too many times, but never bright green. Once I watched you steal three potatoes from a wagonload. I wondered why you didn’t take twenty. Then I realized that if you only take a little at a time, nobody misses it so you can continue stealing.”
“You watch me?”
“Stealing? At least four times. Once you snuck into our mill and escaped with an apple and bread that we didn’t eat at our noon meal. I watched from a window on the upstairs floor.”
“You didn’t tell?”
“Everyone knows of you. They also know you only take what you need. It’s a small village. You even have admirers who talk about you making your own way and never asking for aid or help. I suspect some intentionally leave food where you’ll find it. Especially when there’s snow on the ground.”
Camilla continued limping ahead, watching the edge of the road when she could see it, and the underbrush the rest of the time. There had been more food for her to steal at times, especially in winter. If they left it out for her, was it stealing? Camilla’s emotions were high as she realized they might compete for the same job. Brix had experience. He would win it. Her emotions sank, and she used the time to think.
Assuming they survived the night without being attacked by the boys, did she need Brix? Their enemies were probably far behind. They didn’t get very far from the academy. Did she need to share the food in her bedroll with Brix? What else didn’t she know? Mistrust is a lesson learned many times when living alone.
“Over there,” Brix pointed.
Camilla’s eyes followed a small path that wound down through a stand of willows and cottonwood. She walked a few steps down the path and saw that it opened into a sparkling stream and a clearing large enough for eight or ten to make camp for a night. A ring of fire-blackened rocks stood near one end. Beside the fire pit was a stack of firewood under a small lean-to built by a traveler sometime in the past. A perfect place to spend the night, but not for her.
Brix went directly to the fire pit and tossed in some wood from the lean-to. “Set yourself down and rest. I’ll take care of things tonight, and we’ll see how things go tomorrow.”
Camilla shook her head and turned away. She wanted nothing more than to lower herself to the soft ground and rest her sore leg. “I’m going on ahead.”
“I have extra food.” He pulled a coil of thin line and a hook from inside a purse fastened to his belt. “Besides, that little stream is full of trout. Small ones, but before dark, I’ll have enough to feed us.”
At the mention of the stream, Camilla realized how thirsty she’d become. Any hesitation might be thought of as her weakening, so she kept walking and ignored her thirst. Perhaps another stream would cross the road ahead. She kept her ears open to hear if he followed. If he did, she would get angry and shout him back.
He didn’t call out, or race after her. She almost felt cheated. If he had, she might have stayed, but knew it was better to travel alone, as she lived her life. Still, he had been friendly enough. As she reviewed the conversation in her head, she realized the conversations with him were the longest in memory. If she didn’t have her secrets he might have been her second real friend. The first tears were wiped away, but those later flowed freely and trickled down her cheeks unheeded.