Chapter 1

The following characters appear in the first chapter of the story:

Robert

King’s Marshal, 6’-8” tall, 275 pounds, 29 years old, flaming red hair and beard, green eyes, freckles mostly not visible

Rebeca

Slave girl, 5’-7” tall, 120 pounds, 34C-21-32, 17 years old, orange/red hair, green eyes, freckles, very cute

Albert

Farmer, 6’-0” tall, 190 pounds, 38 years old, brown hair and eyes broad shoulders

Wesley

Journeyman Physician, 5’-10” tall, 150 pounds, 26 years old, blond hair, blue eyes

Helga

Mid-wife, 5’-4” tall, 145 pounds, 45 years old, graying hair, blue eyes, motherly

Doctor Webber

Master Physician, 5’-8” tall, 160 pounds, 47 years old, gray hair and eyes

Mayor

Mayor, 5’-6” tall, 175 pounds, 45 years old, brown hair and eyes, balding

I was walking down the main street of Westown. I had arrived earlier in the day, and been in conference with the Mayor and the Commander of the Town Guard for several hours. Before having dinner, I was on my way to check on the horses at the stable.

Ahead of me a small crowd had gathered. They seemed to be watching something going on in the street. As I approached, I saw a large man raise a leather plow line and strike downward with it. This was followed by a cry of anguish. Stepping through the crowd, I saw that he was beating a girl.

The man was about 6’-0” tall, maybe 190 pounds, large of shoulder, brown hair, sunburned and obviously a farmer from his clothes. The girl was small and was lying on the ground. As he drew back for another blow, I reached out with my left hand and grabbed his right wrist with the plow line in it. His hand stopped in mid air. To say he was surprised, would be an understatement ... He turned and tried to strike at me with his left hand. While he was doing that, I pivoted to my right and brought both our arms down with a good yank. He wound up on his face in the dirt.

He turned, looked up at me, and froze in that position. What he saw, that froze him in position was a King’s Marshal. We dress in black with red collar and piping on our uniforms, which are the same as a Judge’s except for the collar and piping. However, I stand out even among marshals. I am 6’-8” tall, about 275 to 280 pounds and am currently 29 years old. My hair and beard are a flaming red, and my eyes a dark green. Most of my freckles don’t show. I started out as a cattleman. I’ve also wrestled bulls. You get real strong wrestling 1200 pound bulls and learn a lot about leverage.

“My Lord, I... !” he started.

“I am not your Lord, fellow. I am the King’s Marshal. Do you make a practice of going around assaulting the King’s Marshals?” I inquired.

“No Marshal, I... !” he tried again.

“Apparently you do make a practice of assaulting girls in the street though,” I added.

“The girl deserved it. She spilled a whole pail of milk on the ground. There will be none for the children now,” he claimed belligerently.

“And a two copper pail of milk is worth a beating like this?” I asked.

At this point, the mayor rushed up and inquired,

“What is going on here?” He was followed by a contingent of the town guard.

“This man was beating the girl lying on the street,” I informed him.

“Albert,” the mayor inquired, “why were you beating Rebeca again?”

“She spilled the milk,” Albert replied. At this point, we were interrupted by a girl of about 14 years old. She seemed frightened.

“Please my Lord Mayer, Rebeca was tripped by one of the young boys running into her. It wasn’t her fault,” the girl told us.

“Are you sure of this?” the mayor inquired.

“Yes, I was right there,” she said. “Albert didn’t see it. He only saw Rebeca on the ground and the milk spilled.”

“So, Albert, what have you to say to that?” asked the mayor.

“She spilled the milk. It’s her fault,” he insisted.

“Not if someone ran into her,” I stated.

“The milk is gone. Who will pay for it? It’s her fault,” Albert insisted again. I reached into my purse and pulled out two copper pieces and threw them on the ground.

“This for your milk,” I said, and then threw down two silver pieces as well, “and this for the girl. Never let me lay eyes on you again,” I added. Albert grabbed the money and took off.

I went over to the girl. She was still lying in the street sobbing and moaning. I knelt down so I could examine her. Her red hair was obvious, not the flaming red of mine, but lighter, nearer an orange red. When I turned her over on her side, the shock nearly sent me reeling. How could this be? How could this girl lying in the street be nearly a twin for my poor dead sister?

The hair color was close, yes, but the same green eyes, the same cute nose, chin and freckles. She was thin, maybe 115 pounds and about 5’-7” or 8” tall. She appeared to be about seventeen. The same age my sister would have been if she hadn’t died of pneumonia three years ago. The Mayor saw me blanch, and asked,

“What’s the matter, Marshal?”

“This girl... !” I started, and then stopped to get a grip on my emotions, before I continued, “This girl is almost a twin for my sister who died three years ago. I was startled by the resemblance. Do you have a physician here?”

“Yes, we do,” the mayor said, and sent a guardsman for him. The physician arrived shortly. He was a journeyman, named Wesley. He quickly examined the girl.

“She needed to be moved to the clinic,” he said, and would have sent for a stretcher, but I simply gathered the girl in my arms and carried her.

We arrived at the clinic quickly. The clinic was in a medium size stone building of about 20’ x 50’. There was a reception / waiting area across the front. It was the width of the building by 10 feet deep. There were benches to sit on and a desk. A hallway ran down the right side of the building leading to the other rooms.

The first room was for treating patients. There were several cabinets with medical supplies in them. A table for the patient to sit/lay on, and a couple of chairs. It was 16’ x 12’ in size. Next was what appeared to be an office with 2 desks and chairs. Some books in bookcases, and a cabinet for records completed this room, which was the width of the treatment room but only 8’ long.

Last was an area for patients to recover in. It had four beds, some cabinets, and a chest for linen and other supplies. Every thing in the building was painted white.

The girl was placed on the table on her stomach in the treatment room. Wesley began treating her back with a warm water wash. She screamed in pain as the water entered the cuts on her back. Wesley spoke quietly to her, telling her that the worst was over, and then began applying a yellowish salve. She was still crying and moaning.

It was shortly after he finished that Rebeca tried to curl up into a ball. She was sweating and her moans had increased in volume. Wesley went to check on her. After examining her some more, he sent the apprentice, who had been cleaning up, for a mid-wife and the town’s Master Physician.

“I don’t understand this,” he said. “The girl appears to be pregnant. Slave girls are not supposed to get pregnant. That’s why they are fed the black bean.”

Within a few minutes, the mid-wife arrived. She examined the girl also. She was an older woman about 45 or so, heavy set with graying hair, and motherly looking. She confirmed that Rebeca appeared to be pregnant and in a bad way.

Just as she was finishing her diagnosis, an older man in the dress of a Master Physician arrived. He appeared to be in his late forties, of average height, 5’-8” or so, about 160 pounds, with gray hair and eyes. He inquired as to the problem. Wesley explained, then introduced Doctor Webber.

Doctor Webber also examined Rebeca.

“Yes, she is definitely pregnant and in trouble,” he confirmed. “The falls she has taken have adversely affected the baby she is carrying.” He reached into his bag and withdrew a packet, and sent the apprentice for water.