The footfalls slowed, then halted as the men drew near. Beezy lay motionless and prayed that what remained of last year's tan would camouflage her under the newly budding branches. When she finally dared look up, she saw a dozen or so broad-shouldered men staring at her wide-eyed through the large hole she had plowed through the brush. Wooden clubs dangled from their belts, but the men's hands were busy fidgeting with their doffed caps.
Beezy rose to a crouch, arms across her chest. “Hey there,” she said.
One of the older men took a reluctant half-step toward her. “Are you alright? We heard screaming.”
“Oh yes, I'm fine.”
“Where are you clothes?” the man asked with clear unease.
Beezy looked about and spotted the faded orange of her dress a few yards away. “Over there,” she nodded. “Would you mind...?”
The men all turned around while Beezy slinked away and scrambled into her dress. She could hear them grumbling amongst themselves, and through their low tones, Beezy picked out the word, 'vagrant.' She considered running, but instead strode regally back to the edge of the trail. The men had retrieved her bag from the ground and were inspecting it with suspicion.
A red-haired youth, tallest but spindliest of the pack, handed the bag to her. Beezy accepted it with a curtsy, holding up her broken shoulder strap with her other hand. “What happened here?” the boy asked.
“I was attacked!” shouted a suddenly vehement Beezy. She screwed up her mouth and tried to cry, but couldn't. “I'm fine now, but I was attacked.”
“Who was it?” demanded a stout, balding man.
“I – I don't know, a group of men.”
“How many were there?” the red-haired boy asked.
“Five,” Beezy ventured, but the number seemed too round. “No – six.”
“Where did they go?” another man demanded.
“They ran up the path – up the canyon toward town. If you go now, you can probably catch them!”
The men all looked at the older man who'd first addressed Beezy. He nodded, and the balding man and six or seven others took off at a sprint.
The four remaining men helped Beezy up onto the trail. The older man, clearly their leader, explained, “We've been having problems with vagrants lately – a lot of thefts in the area.”
“Well, I'm sure it was the same men,” Beezy reasoned.
The man coughed. “Yes,” he said. “May I ask what you were doing this far into the forest unescorted?”
“I like to take long walks. I go every Sunday – after church, you understand,” Beezy stammered. “I guess it isn't such a good idea.”
“No,” the man agreed. “It's not. And may I ask what's in your pack?”
“One should never ask a lady the contents of her handbag,” Beezy rebuffed.
“I apologize. It's just that I've never seen you around here before, and we've heard complaints of a nude woman wandering around these parts.”
“Well, I have never!” Beezy fumed. “I'll have you know I am a lady!” Her words were met by a quartet of disapproving frowns. “I may not look like much now, but I am a baroness in exile. I was promised to the Baron Blueberry as a little girl, and now I have come to live with him.”
The men took several moments to register the news before bursting into riotous laughter. “What?” Beezy demanded of them. “Why are you laughing?”
When the cadre regained control of themselves, the red-haired boy asked, “Blueberry is your baron?” He paused to wipe tears from his eyes. “He doesn't have a penny to his name.”
“Shows what you know,” Beezy huffed. “I'll take you to him right now, and then we'll see who's laughing.”
That moment the men who'd chased after the bandits returned at a trot. “No sign of anyone,” the balding man announced.
“We'll leave that for now,” said the leader. “Something much more interesting has come up.” The balding man shot him a quizzical look, but the elder simply barked, “Let's go!” He took Beezy by the arm and led the march back toward town.
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