Chapter 2: Staking A Claim

A road on Chaos would likely be charitably considered an improved trail on Earth or Cassandra – maybe. The one traveled by Monty was seldom more than a pair of ruts and barely wide enough for a wagon plus, perhaps, a rider. The ruts were typically wide, as there had been no Roman Legions to standardize axle or wheel sizes. Trees, or at least scrub, usually closed in on the road except where it bordered or ran through a meadow – or where it bordered farm fields near towns.

Now, Monty rode the forest trail from a town to the farm that served as the home and principal headquarters of Hero Pēteris. It was only midmorning, but he was weary of traveling, as were his recently acquired horses, Pinocchio and Geppetto. Traveling alone on Chaos was not for the weak or timid, and he was looking forward to reaching his destination.

Especially, he was looking forward to a trim – maybe even a shave. The first long days in the saddle had been a trial. Sore legs, unaccustomed to long periods of riding. No decent soap or toothbrush or feminine products, itchy and irritated crotch, itchy legs – he wasn’t about to shave himself with a primitive straight razor.

He understood better why Autumn and Honor were trimmed but not shaven. One needed the steady hand of a trusted friend – not always readily available – if one wanted to be clean below. More riding? A scissor trim was probably best. He was going to need help and hoped he would find it ... All these were subjects absent or underplayed in Cassandra’s Damsel stories. Morose, he passed the time cataloging other untouched upon negatives.

Along the way, he had stopped in every village, town, and cluster of huts inquiring after the healer, Robinblue. Finally, in the common room of an inn situated on the edge of an unnamed town, he had an answer. The serving wench responded, “Yes, sirrah, the healer, Robinblue lives on a farm near here. She usually comes to this very room at least twice a week, sometimes more often, to treat the injured. If the sick live nearby, she visits them in their homes. That’s changed a little since her baby came. She doesn’t like to bring him around the sick. Can’t blame her...”

“I have news of her friends Katja and Annie,” Monty told her, “and I’d like to relay their stories in a less public setting.”

“Pardon, sir,” the wench responded, “I meant no serious insult by my first address, but you look so young ... Robinblue and her family do not look favorably on unannounced strangers appearing at their door. They’ve had some unpleasant encounters, you see.”

“I know of some of them,” responded Monty. “I suppose that you are Beatrice and your uncle is ‘Young’ Bart?”

Relieved, Beatrice told her, “I am indeed Beatrice, and my uncle is Bart. He’s not so happy that the ‘young’ still follows him.” She paused before she continued, “We have an empty room. That and the evening meal would be two pinches, three with ale instead of watered wine. It is too late in the day to ride to the farm, but if Blue and Tris don’t come in the morning, I will point you to the right path.” By using the familiar for the pair, she indicated that Monty had gained her trust, and in doing so, won Monty’s trust in return.

“That would be more than satisfactory. Your discretion and trust is much appreciated, may I rely on the same for me?” Monty asked. Receiving a nod, he continued, “If it isn’t too late, may I have a bath in my room and your assistance?”

“Of course, my lady,” Beatrice told her, indication that her disguise had been penetrated. “I’ll bring watered wine while we wait for the water to heat, and I’ll ask my uncle to help me bring the tub to your room. I could ask our laundress to see to your clothes while you bathe, and I could loan you something until they are dry.”

Almost overwhelmed by the kindness, Monica, slipped from her male persona and gratefully accepted the offer.

Half an hour later, Beatrice led Monica to her room and helped her undress. It had been many days since the bindings on her breasts were removed, and the relief was almost painful. Though she had washed in streams along the way, the cloth was sweat-stained and smelly. While Monica unbraided her hair, Beatrice gathered the recently removed clothes, together with those from Monica’s saddlebags, and briefly departed.

Monica sank into the steamy water and sighed as she leaned back until it reached her chin. Beatrice was quickly back and barred the door. “Sit up!” she demanded. When Monica obeyed, she poured half a pitcher of warm water over her head, and began to wash the long flowing locks. “You’re a Damsel,” Beatrice confidently continued on, “I wonder at your ability to conceal it.”

“Keeping to myself, mostly, and brash behavior diverts some attention from looks,” Monica told her, relieved to have someone she could openly talk to.

Hair clean and rinsed, Monica found herself being washed by a very attentive young woman, who had herself stripped to avoid being soaked. The hands soaping Monica’s breasts felt wonderful, and when those hands shifted south, her release was sudden and hard. When she reached up to pull Beatrice to her, her new friend danced away.

“I’m not of that bent, my lady,” Beatrice told her, “but I’m glad I could be of service.” She held out a towel, and when Monica stepped out of her bath, she wrapped her in it. With another towel, Beatrice began to dry her hair. The pair remained silent until Beatrice left to fetch pants, shirt, leather vest, and bindings for Monica’s breasts.

Monica had come to despise binding her breasts, but needing assistance, asked for Beatrice’s help. Donning the fresh clothing to wear for the evening meal, Monica reverted to her Monty persona and entered the common room.

Having preceded him, Beatrice showed him to a table near the fire, but still in shadows. The meal of mutton stew, served in a large bread trencher, was the best he’d had since arriving on Chaos. The watered wine was very good as well. Perhaps a bath and relative safety had affected his taste buds.

That night, yet again, Monty slept alone.

Life on the farm was a revelation. Monty knew from his studies that marriage on Chaos was frequently for convenience, or as on medieval Earth, arranged for financial or political purposes. Plural marriages were not so common. As he observed the flow of relationships of the large plural marriage, it was obvious that respect and affection prevailed but that some bonds were stronger. The variations didn’t seem to matter, the overall strength of the family and marriage was clear, even to a new observer.

When he enquired, he was told that the relationships had sometimes started as trust and respect, sometimes as lust, mixed with a lot of necessity, and definitely friendship. As the group became a family, trust and affection became the overarching cement, even in the short time they’d come together. Then there was Robinblue’s baby.

Four days after Monty’s arrival at the farm, a dirty, hungry, and very anxious Autumn appeared on an exhausted mule. Falling into an astonished Monty’s arms, she gasped, “She’s been taken. Honor is gone! We have to save her.” Her eyes rolled and she fainted.

Assisted by Robinblue, Monty carried Autumn to her bedroom and stripped her. Blue examined the young teen and pronounced her uninjured – just exhausted and dirty. “Probably very hungry and thirsty, as well,” she added. She called down to Cherry, already busy in the kitchen, “Food first while the water heats, then definitely a bath. I think Sarah is the closest in size. We’ll need a dress and ‘things.’” She paused, then called again, “You men go find something to do in the barn or somewhere. No peeking at the naked nubile who doesn’t know you.”

The story came around bites and gulps as the famished youngster ate. “Two men came into the inn, looking for Honor. They said Saban owed their master money and had ‘promised the girl, instead.’ Jesse tried to stop them, but they clubbed him down, threw Honor over a horse, and rode off. I watched until I was sure which direction they went. Then I went to the bank, and took some money from our account to buy the mule.”

Autumn paused for breath and another bite and gulp. She barely chewed before swallowing. “Their master’s name is Hastert,” she told them. “Jesse recognized them. He told me when I went back to the inn to let him know I was going to fetch you,” she said looking at Monty. “You said that we are yours, and now we have to get her back!”

“Jesse’s okay,” she continued, mixing subjects in her haste. “He’s battered, but he said it was right for me to go. I grabbed my eating knife, some food, and I rode – hard.”

“You did well, little one,” Monty told her. “Eat, bathe, sleep. In the morning, we’ll ride.”

“We need to upgrade your weapons and equipment,” Maggie told Monty, and taking Sarah’s arm led them both into the building containing their armory. They traded Monty a nicely balanced, well-tempered sword that most closely resembled a cross between a medieval Irish Galloglass and a Templar’s sword. Monty was instantly in love, and promptly named her ‘Hellbringer.’

Hellbringer’s hilt was wrapped with crisscrossed leather thongs to facilitate his grip, and the crosspiece or guard was brass to catch an opponent’s blade. This version was shorter and lighter than might be expected, but for Monty’s height and strength, Hellbringer fit him perfectly. The Chaos version of swordplay was slash-and-hack, so in the hands of a skilled wielder, this sword was a very deadly tool.

Outfitting complete, Maggie looked Monica in the eye and told her frankly, “Charles and I will help you. Your mission is worthy, and the girl needs help.” Then she stated, “Your disguise is good, but knowing what you really are, we also know of the reward you are seeking. BUT! Understand this; on Chaos, Pēteris belongs to Miriam, Robyn, Sarah, and me! I have his word that my ‘cute little butt’ is welcome in his bed at any time. So does Sarah.”

Maggie hugged Sarah and continued, “Pēteris hasn’t sexed either of us yet, but next trip he is going to do more than wash our titties and snuggle. For you, he’s just a penis to give you a baby. We love him, and jealousy will not be tolerated. Deal with it!”

Monica Mechanic knew that she had finally met her equal.

Maggie wasn’t through. “We don’t want you distracted, so we’re going to make this easier on you. Sarah and I will loan you one of our husbands. In return, you will teach him – and us – everything you know about seducing and pleasing a bed partner. We’ve got Robyn’s potion, so there will be no pain for either of you – no pregnancy, either.”

“If she wishes, he can take care of Autumn, too. Assuming she is able, we’ll follow your plan to start out tomorrow. Once we leave here, I’m the trail boss. You seem to be pretty capable, but we were trained by and fought alongside the very best. We are experienced, and our skills are honed. Agreed?”

Monica nodded ‘yes.’

Maggie continued on, “We all train every day. We will cycle through sword, knife, staff, archery, hand-to-hand, and exercise – at least two types every day – even if it seems to slow us down. We will be sharp – on Chaos dull equals dead.”

Monica had no issues with that proclamation. She agreed wholeheartedly.

Maggie handed her a vial and told her, “This is your potion. Charles has started his, and in two weeks, you can satisfy your needs. Until then, you are to teach Sarah and me.”

That evening, Monica cemented her bond with the family by holding and rocking Blue’s baby until both drifted off to sleep. Roused by Robin, she reluctantly surrendered the little one and went upstairs to snuggle with Autumn.

Only a few days, and parting with that beautiful bundle was a true hardship. She must have a baby of her own!

Had the nimrod chosen a curved spot in the trail instead of a straightaway, he and his buddy might have succeeded. Charles passed the wide spot where they were hiding, each high in a tree, and the first ambusher Tarzaned down and knocked Monty from his horse. His wind whooshed from him, and Tarzan was on him in a flash, drawing his sword. The sword took a fraction longer to draw than a dagger, and Maggie’s arrow took him in the shoulder before he could thrust.