Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: LUKE 12:2
"Fareeha, take the slave away."
At the Tarkaan's voice, Edmund lifted his head from Lady Cemil's lap and swiftly wiped his eyes. He pushed himself away from her but dared not rise from his knees. Again, he felt the lady's gentle hand smoothing his hair.
"He has done no harm, O My Son," she said. "He is but a child."
"I would speak to you alone, O Most Noble Lady. Fareeha?"
Edmund felt the old nurse's callused hand on his shoulder.
"Come along, boy," she said, her voice low. "Come along. There is work to be done."
Edmund stood, wishing he could say something more, wishing he had been able to truly thank the lady for her kindness in arranging his brief meeting with Peter, but already he was being led away from her.
"The barbarian is not Asil, O My Mother," the Tarkaan said, and Edmund could hear a touch of weary bitterness in his voice.
"I am quite aware, O My Son."
"And I do not think," Hakan added, this time almost wistfully, "you would have grieved so long and so deeply for me."
Already Fareeha was guiding Edmund through the doorway, but before they stepped into the garden, he again heard the lady's gentle voice.
"O My Son, you do not know the price I paid for you."
Then the door shut, and Edmund heard nothing more.
"Come, young one." Fareeha drew him down the path. "Now would be an opportune time to water our lady's jasmine. You have neglected it today."
He stretched out his hand, a little disoriented. "Will you lead me to the well, Fareeha? We left so abruptly, I was unable to count my steps."
"You must pardon me that, Edrret." The nurse patted Edmund's arm and did as he asked. "The Tarkaan was angry, and I did not wish him to turn that anger upon you."
He smiled in her direction. "Thank you."
For a moment he was silent, thinking as he drew a bucket of water from the well.
"Fareeha?"
She clicked her tongue. "I know that tone, boy. What is it you wish to ask that you truly have no business knowing?"
He made his expression as guileless as possible. "Would I ask such things?"
"I am old, child, not stupid."
He ducked his head, trying to hide a grin, certain he had failed, and then he sobered. "What did she mean? The lady said the Tarkaan did not know what price she had paid for him. What did she mean?"
He stood holding the heavy bucket, trying not to let the water slosh out onto his boots, waiting.
"Fareeha?"
"Go and water the jasmine, boy."
He did as he was told, counting his steps to the place where the flowers bloomed, distributing the water as evenly as he was able and then returning to the well for more.
"Fareeha?" he asked again when he realized she hadn't moved from where she was.
"Sit down," she said at last.
He set the empty bucket on the grass and sat next to her on the edge of the well. He didn't say anything. He merely waited there until she finally sighed.
"You are able to keep a confidence, boy?"
Edmund nodded.
"It is our custom here," Fareeha said, "for the girls of the great houses to marry quite young. The Lady Cemil was not even so old as you when she was given as wife to the noble Saif Tarkaan. She wished above all things that she might please her lord and husband and soon was brought to bed with her first child. But that child was female, and the Tarkaan wanted a son. He prayed to the great Tash and was soon told what to do. If the Tarkaan wished to have a son to carry his blood, he must make a sacrifice."
Edmund's breath caught. "His own daughter? He– He–"
He knew about the sacrifices that were made on the altar of the foul Calormene god. O My Son, you do not know the price I paid for you.
"The offering was made, and the next year the Lady Cemil was brought to bed with another child," Fareeha continued when he was unable to say more. "A strong son, the noble Hakan, and her husband was indeed pleased. But after that the lady found only sorrow. She bore more children, male and female, but few of them were born alive. Those that were lived only a matter of hours. And, as time passed, there were no more children."
Edmund's heart broke for the lady. He knew nothing of a mother's longing, but he was already acquainted with Lady Cemil's tender heart. Still, he could not be the child she so obviously longed for.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"It was not until Hakan was a young man, fully twenty, that the lady was again with child," Fareeha continued. "Again she was brought to bed with a son, this one strong and healthy."
"Asil?"
"Yes, Asil. And, truly, he was the delight of her eyes. Of all our eyes." Her voice was suddenly softer and more wistful than he had ever heard it. "But even he was too soon taken away."
"What happened to him?"
"He had always loved climbing things. Even when he was very young. The lady often called him her little monkey."
Edmund had already suspected as much, and he smiled slightly at the fondness in the old woman's tone, but then her tone became flat and empty.
"In the summer of his fifteenth year, he climbed to the top of one of the orange trees, meaning to get the last of the fruit, and somehow lost his hold. He fell, hitting branches all the way down and then landing, broken, on the hard ground below. He was brought back to his mother, and she and I tended him, but he never again woke. On the third day, just at the setting of the sun, he did no more than sigh and then was gone."
For a moment, the old nurse was silent. Then she sighed, too, and Edmund felt her fingers feathering through the hair that fell over his forehead. "You must forgive her if she is reminded of him when she looks on you, child. Your skin is pale, but in many ways you are like him. So like him."
"Fareeha, I can't be–"
"I do not tell you this to satisfy your curiosity or because I am an old talebearer, but so that you might understand some part of the lady's grief and, perhaps, what you have come to mean to her." Fareeha took his chin in her hand, turning his face up, no doubt looking deeply into his eyes. "Do not repay her kindness by grieving her more, do you hear, boy?"
He nodded, not knowing what else to say. He pitied the lady. He would never intentionally hurt her. But he was not her son, only her slave.
And if he could help it, he would not forever be that.
OOOOO
The Robin fluttered his travel-tattered wings and settled on the council table. "News, Your Majesties. News of our Kings."
Lucy glanced at her sister and stood, hardly able to keep her voice steady. "Tell us. Have you found them?"
"Alas, no, dear Queen Lucy. But it may be we have found where they were taken."
"Speak, good Ruddock," Oreius prompted when the Bird paused to catch his breath.
"As you have been told, Your Majesty, the Terebinthian slave trade has grown since Lord Arren took his father's dukedom. It has taken my flock some while, but we finally heard of one of the most notorious of the traders, a Calormene called Serkan, buying a slave there, on the Terebinthian coast, near the time our Kings disappeared. The slave was a tall young man, blue eyed and golden haired, and there was another with him, younger and dark."
"Peter and Edmund," Susan breathed, her full lips trembling, and Lucy clasped her hand.
"Do you know where they were taken, Ruddock?" The younger Queen forced her voice to remain calm and even. "Do you know if they were well?"
"Alas, My Queen, we cannot say for certain if those were our Kings at all. But some of my flock has gone into Calormen, the destination of the ship the two were put aboard. The High King's fair hair makes him easier to trace than King Edmund, especially in such a place. Already there are reports of such a one being sold in the slave market at Tashbaan."
"Was Edmund still with him?" Susan asked. "Are they well?"
The Robin ducked his head, suddenly preening the feathers on his right wing.
"Ruddock?" Oreius demanded.
"Forgive me, General. Your Majesties. After all, we do not know yet, not for certain, that these two are our Kings."
Lucy gripped her sister's hand more tightly. "Please. Whatever you've found out, please tell us."
Again the Robin ducked his head. "The younger of them, the one with dark hair. They said– Forgive me, My Queens, they said he was blind."
The two Queens looked at each other, eyes filled with tears, and then they looked to the General.
"If they are there, Oreius," Lucy said, "how might we get them back?"
"We will have to tread carefully, My Queen," the Centaur said. "We must be certain they are the Kings before we risk war with such an enemy. And, more than that, before we risk their lives by letting the Tisroc know they are in his power."
Susan nodded, calm now. "And we have to know exactly what he and the Terebinthians have planned for Narnia. Arren and Darreth would not have sold our brothers just for the handful of crescents they would have brought."
Lucy drew a deep breath, steadying herself, too. "No. We have to wait until we know more. Ruddock, you still have your flock searching Tashbaan for our Kings?"
"Indeed, My Queen. We will find them or find this golden-haired one that we have heard of so we can be certain he is not King Peter."
"Good." Lucy nodded briefly, fighting tears once again. "And the one they say is blind, find him, too."
Author's Note: Thanks as always to OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews for looking this over before I posted. You're always a help!
– WD