by Susan Murrie Macdonald
in Issue 135, April 2023
The Bronze Bull heard a noise he had not heard in years: combat.
The sound of metal against metal, flash striking flesh, groans of pain. Furniture being turned over. A woman’s scream. His eyes flew open as he realized it was his daughter’s voice.
Instantly fully awake and alert, he climbed out of his tangled sleeping furs. Although he had lived in a suite in the king’s palace for decades, he still preferred sleeping furs on the floor, just as he had done in his childhood hut.
The Bronze Bull grabbed sword and buckler from the weapons rack on the wall. The Bronze Bull was a big man, stark naked, with sun-bronzed skin and long golden hair gathered into two plaits. He was a fathom tall. His chest was as big as a bull. His mighty-thewed arms and legs were like oak branches. His blade was nearly as long as he was tall.
“Bull!” His senior wife called his name from the next room.
“Yes, Lady?” After thirty years of marriage, he still called her ‘Lady’ because she never let him forget she was an aristocrat and he was a barbarian warrior who had saved the king’s life in battle. That, and her name was difficult to pronounce.
“I heard noises. Something is wrong.”
“I heard, too. I is gone to check it out.”
“I is gone,” she repeated. “When are you going to learn proper grammar?”
The Bronze Bull swore. That, he could pronounce. “After I check on our daughter!”
Three dead bodies lay on the floor of his daughter’s chamber. Her maid and the two palace eunuchs who had guarded her. There was blood on their swords.
“You died like men, at least.” He knelt down and touched their foreheads: still warm. He closed their eyelids. “May the King of Hell regrow what you had taken from you. And give you pretty she-devils to use them with.”
The Bronze Bull looked around the room. The marble-topped makeup table had been thrown to the floor so violently that the white marble was cracked in two. The jars of paint and perfume that had been on the table were shattered on the painted tile floor. The three corpses had released the contents of their bladders and bowels, as dead bodies were wont to do, but to the Bronze Bull’s barbarian nose, the spilled perfume stank worse. The willow wicker chair lay on its side, its silk pillow two feet away. A blood trail led to the side door.
The Bronze Bull left his daughter’s room and went back to his own chamber. He donned a leather kilt, boots, a white silk shirt, and an iron cuirass, then a red velvet cloak decorated with gold embroidery. The golden sigils showed he was of the king’s household. Civilized folk were easily offended by nudity.
He rang for the servants. He ordered the servant to fetch a squad of guards and a kennelman.
His wife had already summoned the palace guard, so it took less than a minute for them to report to the Bronze Bull.
“The lady Rose has been abducted and her guards killed. Fetch Truthfinders to examine her chamber. I left everything as I found it,” The Bronze Bull knew Truthfinders hated it when anyone tried to” tidy up” a crime scene. And the King’s Truthfinders wore the same sigils of royal service he did; they didn’t care about rank. “I’m going after her. The cobblestone streets won’t provide much in the way of footprints. Fetch a kennelman and a hound.”
Minutes later, the Bronze Bull, five soldiers of the King’s Own Legion, a kennelman, and a brown hound were following the trail.
The blood trail ended at a stone fountain.
“They must have stopped here to bandage the wound,” Bull realized. The dog howled and tried to continue on. The search party followed it to a tavern. The hound plopped down outside the tavern door and howled.
“He’s thirsty. He wants a beer,” one of the soldiers joked.
“Find my daughter and I’ll buy you enough beer to bathe in. Inside,” the Bronze Bull ordered.
“We seek some men who dragged a girl in here. A blonde girl, about so tall,” he indicated with his hand. “The girl would have been resisting, probably struggling with them, screaming and yelling.”
“That’s most females around here,” the barman acknowledged calmly.
The Bronze Bull threw back his head and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Rose!”
“Father!” They heard a woman’s voice scream back.
“Upstairs,” he ordered. He rushed up the stairs, the soldiers close behind him. “Break down every door if you have to.”
The first door wasn’t locked. The barbarian threw it open and peeked inside. “Rose,” he called out. There was a woman inside, but she wasn’t Rose. The Bronze Bull ignored her protests and looked at the row of doors down the hallway.
The third door down the hallway opened. A blonde girl stuck her head out. “Father! I’m over here, Father.”
He hurried to her and scooped her up in his arms. “Where are the men who hurt you?”
She jerked her head over her shoulder. “In here.”
The Bronze Bull opened the door wider and looked inside. Three dead men were scattered about the room, one on the bed, two on the floor.
“Did they quarrel among themselves?” the barbarian asked.
“No.” Rose’s cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. As she had not a stitch of clothing on, the soldiers could see the blush went all the way down to her toes. They politely averted their eyes.
“Are you hurt?” the Bronze Bull asked.
“Bruises only, except for my feet. I’ve been hurt worse tussling with my brothers and sisters.”
He saw no blood on her nether regions, but there was a question that had to be asked. “Did they rape you?”
Rose shook her head. “They thought I was the princess. They feared if they despoiled me the ransom would be less. One did express interest in whether bedding a princess was different from bedding ordinary women, but a raised knee cooled his ardor.”
The Bronze Bull smiled with pride.
“When he pulled me close, it gave me a chance not only to defend myself but to steal his belt-knife. I gutted him. Then I got the other two.”
“My rosebud has thorns,” the Bronze Bull said proudly. “So why did you not complete your own rescue after dispatching these wretches and come home to comfort your worried parents?”
“I was tired and needed to rest. Besides, did you expect me to march through the streets stark naked to the palace?”
The Bronze Bull glanced at her, up and down. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” The lady Rose was a barbarian’s daughter, but not a barbarian herself, he realized.
“Bad enough to be dragged through the streets naked before sunrise. But now that the sun is up and the world is awake….”
The Bronze Bull took off his red velvet cloak and draped it around her shoulders.
They hustled me out of the palace so quickly. They wouldn’t let me dress or even put on sandals. I hurt my feet on the way here. Could you fetch a carriage or a litter?” she asked. “I don’t think I could walk back.”
“See if the innkeeper will lend or rent a wagon.” He pulled a gold signet ring with the king’s sigil carved on it off his hand and gave it to the soldier. “Order it in my name.”
“Yes, Captain.” The soldier snuck one last look at the lady Rose, then hurried downstairs. He returned five minutes later. ”It’s not fancy, Captain, but it will get the lady safely back to the palace.”
Naked beneath her father’s red velvet cloak, the lady Rose was horribly overdressed to ride in a mule-drawn vegetable cart.
“Lock the room upstairs, the third door on the left. Let no one in until the King’s Truthfinders come.” The Bronze Bull laid a hand on his sword hilt. “Do not speak of this to any save the Truthfinders. Since the king cannot hang these men, he may hang whoever’s closest.”
“Yes, M’Lord.” The barman bobbed his head up and down.
The Bronze Bull helped Rose to a seat on a bag of turnips. He and the hound sat on the floor of the cart beside her. He held her hand. The soldiers and the kennelman marched beside the cart.
When they reached the palace, the Bronze Bull barked out orders to the sentry. The sentry fetched a leather bag full of silver coins. “Let the scribes record this man’s name as one whom the king wishes to honor.” The Bronze Bull shrugged. “He may wish to rescind your taxes. I say ‘may.’” He turned to one of the soldiers who had accompanied him to rescue his daughter. “Take the carter ‘round to the kitchen. Perhaps the cook needs to buy vegetables.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” the carter replied.
“Go to your mother,” the Bronze Bull ordered his daughter. “She will wish to fuss over you. Let her.”
“Brave girl,” one of the soldiers said as Rose slipped back into the palace.
“She’s my daughter,” the Bronze Bull stated.
©April 2023, Susan Murrie Macdonald
Susan Murrie Macdonald is a speculative fiction author, primarily Sword & Sorcery. She is a double stroke survivor and writes S&S as a form of cognitive therapy. This is her first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.