Heartha woke at her regular time, just before dawn. She yawned, stretched her strong arms up above her to ease a slight crick in her shoulder, stretched her long legs one at a time. She smiled.
Rising from the low wooden bed in her cell, she paced back and forth a few times. She circled her arms and flexed her hands. All felt in good working order.
She had slept in better places, but she had definitely slept in worse. The cell was the best one available. Picking up the bread roll she had set aside from the night before, she indulged in a rather dry breakfast and considered her situation. Now she thought of it again, she did have one regret. She would have loved it if someone had come across Criba wandering in Bancross and left him overnight in the same place as her. Or the cell next to it she mused. Her reach was quite long, and his face would be improved no end by a night of being bounced against the bars.
No matter. One day he would be back, or she would find him wandering somewhere in the Mark. She would see he was ‘rewarded’ for what he had done, and for what he had tried to do.
But to more immediate matters; she would remain, for a while.
In the end the decision had been hers. No amount of threat would have convinced her she had no right to her freedom to leave. She would have died rather than obey an order she considered illegitimate. ‘What is life without freedom’, had long been a part of her creed. Generally she had been tolerated by those she worked with, even appreciated, for she worked very hard.
Although Thilwend was unable to give her as much information as she wished, it was her cousin’s words that had finally reached her. With Denholm departed to his writing desk again, the smith was left in the company of her cousin, the huge man, Eadrinn, and the boy, Brinin. Eadrinn’s comments after Denholm had left made her smile. Gruff and ill humoured though he appeared, he had certain traits she could identify with.
“I like your style, mountain man,” she had said.
He laughed briefly, but it seemed he and Thilwend were in on a secret.
“Brinin, you are not here.” Thilwend stated to the beardless boy. "You will hear nothing I say."
“Aye sergeant. I am not here,” he replied.
Heartha knew her beloved Bancross was under threat. It seemed Thane Averel had declared a state of war? Not that any outside the garrison seemed aware of anything more than an increased number of guards. Why, hadn’t she stepped up that very evening prepared to do a patrol? But war? Whatever could have brought forth that declaration must be dire indeed.
For that matter, where was Averel? She hadn’t seen him, nor heard much said of him save Denholms mention, and his proclamation in the market square some weeks ago. Of course a Reeve or Thane had the right to declare war, even to conscript men if the need warranted, she understood that. But the reason needed to be well founded. It would, after all, be referred in course to Theoden King.
For now her cousin’s word was good enough. This was necessary, she was necessary. Denholm had his orders. Thilwend was no liar. Neither for that matter did she believe Denholm was a liar. But she did now know him to be a stubborn bully, who was used to threatening his men to get his own way. He had lost any respect she had had for him. He was just as bad as the previous captain. She spat on the stone floor. ‘Do not allow him to lose us the village in his folly, cousin,” she muttered under her breath.
So here she was, locked up on a charge of desertion from something she had made no oath to remain at. Oaths were important, they were sacred. They were not things she undertook lightly.
Aye, she had made an oath, and signed a paper, that said she would maintain the garrison's weaponry, carts, horses, and nigh anything the villagers or visitors needed. (Though she had her own discretion with visitors.) To that oath she would hold ...,had held. She would be leaving Bancross Forge in Hearrd's capable hands when she moved on to Helm’s Deep. Ethel was in training, and she had already had words with a promising smith in Stoke about assisting Hearrd for a year or two. It was all in hand.
But Denholm has said no! No reason, no explanation ...just no! He would not allow it. He was in charge, and Bancross was his. If she refused he would have her arrested for desertion. Hah, and that’s what he did. Not that she cared. She would not help him in any way, and detainment with bad food and company only made her laugh.
Thilwend hadn’t heard the demand. She would understand both views of course, being actually under oath to the captain, whoever that may be. But she would also understand that Heartha could never back down from a bully. Never again.
Disturbed from her reverie by the sound of several guards entering the barracks above, she knew it would soon be time for her to speak with the culprit.
Oh, she would stay. For Bancross, for Thilwend, for Hearrd. She would stay because she now wanted to know more of the threat.
But Denholm she had no time for.
Then there were footsteps descending to the jail. The smith turned to face whoever it was coming to see her,
For the briefest of instants she saw in her mind a small girl, her hair a tumbled mass of red curls and her face almost as red from where she had been struck.
“But I want to be a Shieldmaiden, like Thilwend,” she had gasped through bloodied lips.
“No. I forbid it,” was the reply. “Girls do not fight.They stay at home and do as they are told.”
Heartha raised her chin. “No they don't,” she said.
