by Derek Smith
But once walking, they were quickly free of the bloody puddles. And glad, as the sun rose higher, to be in full sunlight. There was growing warmth in it and, with their movement, it stifled their shivering. They wrung out their blankets, swung their arms, their breath steaming in the morning air. They walked on, stopping occasionally to drink from puddles. Mid morning, they ate the last of their food. With the sun bright in a clear sky, the temperature was high enough to halt. They draped their blankets over rocks to dry.
And Toby went down to get supplies.
Chapter 60
It was a hard climb down. Toby was stiff and tired from his exertions with the dragon, and his muscles creaked. At one point, halfway down the cliff, he almost gave up and thought to himself – it would be so easy simply to drop off. He’d fall and smash himself on the rock below and it would all be over. The end of his tiredness, the end of his necessity to force himself on. His life would not end in the torture chamber or on the executioner’s block. He would never again have to see Far and Orly making eyes… Rest, complete rest. It was not just body weariness, but the ache of living hand to mouth, fearing death, and humiliation.
Once on firm ground, he felt better. Tiredness and loneliness had depressed him – and death was so simple. But here in green fields, sheep were staring, then black and white cows who idly looked up then returned to their grazing. The round of life went on, the grass still grew… But he knew too that swordsmen were sweeping the land, that a Queen’s anger had to be washed in blood – but could never be soothed. A lamb chased a butterfly among the cowslips of the meadow. Amazing there still could be such unknowing beauty, with the farmer perhaps coming to cut its throat.
Should he laugh or should he cry? Neither. But keep his wits about him. Danger was constant. One mistake and he was dead. He was not a baa lamb, and must retain that knowing – for life was precious. And if he must die then he must not do it carelessly.
Nevertheless, he sat down on a bank, laid back, chewing a grass stalk. And marvelled at the blue of the sky and the uncaring beauty of the clouds. The sun warmed his face and drew him to his purpose. A ewe might care for her lamb, but only human beings can understand love and hate. If they choose to.
Toby rose. Below was a farmhouse. There would be food and water.
And there would be risk.
His blanket was tied upon on his back, with a few items wrapped in it. He had to be a traveller with legitimate purpose. And must behave that way. He went over his story as he came through the fields to the habitation.
As he neared, a dog began to bark. Its fierceness worried him and he picked up a stick from the hedgerow. A walking stick for a traveller but also a cudgel to beat back the animal if needs be.
A large brown dog rushed out to him, baring its teeth as he approached the house. He held the stick up as a warning and continued more slowly. The dog was standing fast and snarling. Should he go or retreat?
He stopped and called out, ‘Hello! Is anyone at home?’
The dog came no further forward, and neither did he. As if there was a line in the mud between them, once crossed he knew it would go for him. Toby wasn’t unduly frightened. He had his stick, he had a knife in his belt, and, with his bracelet his fingers were strong enough to strangle the animal. But beating or killing a dog was no way to get provisions from the farmer.
Toby was about to walk away when the farm door opened. A white-haired man put his head out.
‘Will you sell me provisions?’ called Toby.
The man stepped out. He was stooped, wearing a drab, brown smock; he too had a stick. As he swung it, the dog ran. It was obvious the animal had felt it often enough. Toby walked in to the cottage. The dog was to one side watching, with a quieter growl.
The man waited, leaning on his stick. He had a deeply etched face and sunken eyes that stared hard at Toby as he approached.
‘What d’you want?’ said the man sucking his lower lip.
‘Provisions,’ said Toby.
‘You said that,’ said the man. ‘Got money?’
Toby took out five shillings from his belt bag. From the man’s greedy look he knew it was too much. But it was too late now.
‘I smashed my jug,’ said Toby. ‘So I need something for water. Have you got a skin maybe? And I want food enough for a day or two.’
‘You’re not from round here,’ said the man.
Toby was ready for this. Knew he’d be questioned.
‘I’m a ferryman on the Blackwater.’ He showed his open hands; they were callused enough from his stint on the River of the Dead. And the man nodded. ‘Going to visit my parents,’ added Toby.
The man, wide-eyed, waved his hands fiercely. ‘Are you stupid? With Prince Zeke dead – only lepers and the mad are on the road.’
So it was confirmed, Zeke’s death.
‘I set off before,’ Toby said. ‘And then it was too late to head back.’ While the man pondered this, he added, ‘Do they know how he died?’
The man shrugged. ‘They haven’t told me. And I haven’t asked.’
Leave it be, thought Toby.
‘Where’d your parents live?’ said the man.
Toby gave him the name of a village near the castle.
‘Don’t go there,’ said the man. ‘Unless you’ve a permit.’
Toby didn’t reply.
‘If they find you without one,’ the man went on, ‘they’ll kill you.’
‘What should I do then?’
The man smiled, showing a few black stumps. ‘Go back to where you came from. And that’s risk enough…’ The man screwed up his eyes, and said quietly, ‘Course you could join the army. They got a post in the village. They’d take a young man like you, no questions asked.’
‘I might do that,’ said Toby. ‘But I need provisions.’ And knew as soon as he said that the man knew he wouldn’t. For why did you need provisions if you were about to join the army?
The old man said, ‘Stay there.’
He went in the house. As soon as he did the dog crept in growling, testing him. Toby gripped his stick and watched the animal. He had lost his protector. The dog was perhaps five paces away, its jaw agape, a string of saliva linking the teeth. Toby swung the stick in a fierce arc. The animal stopped. Show it who’s master, thought Toby. He ran towards it brandishing the stick and yelling ‘Get away!’ The animal backed off.
Toby shook his fist at it. ‘Stay away!’
The man came back out. He was clutching a leather water bag. He had some bread and cheese and a couple of weary apples.
‘Five shillings,’ said the man.
Toby realised he was being cheated.
‘Three,’ he said.
‘Five shillings,’ said the man with a grin, clutching the goods like a child hanging on to her only doll.
‘Too much,’ said Toby but knew he was beaten. He would willingly pay five, but didn’t want the man to know he was desperate. He didn’t want to face another farmer or a shopkeeper.
He tried four but the man had got his measure. What does it matter? thought Toby. And he agreed on five and handed over the money. The man smiled pityingly and gave him the goods. The bag smelt of sour milk, the bread was hard, and the cheese past its best. But it would have to do.
Toby wrapped them in his blanket and made his farewell. He then purposely took a direction away from the High Ridge. The man stood outside his door watching him off. Toby looked back from time to time but the man remained watching, until he turned along a stone wall – and could no longer see him.
When he’d gone about a mile, Toby circled back. And was just able to dip behind a hedge when he saw the man striding towards a collection of houses. Going where? thought Toby. To double his five shillings with reward from the army. He was certainly in haste. Maybe he always walked quickly.
Toby watched him out of sight, and then continued his journey. At a stream he washed out the water sack and filled it. He repacked his blanket. And headed back to the High Ridge.
Chapter 61
Far and Orly were in a windbreak on the High Ridge. A rock behind them, another to their side. They had watched Toby climb down and then disappear in the fields. How long would he be? The sun was warm on their faces. Far’s eyes were closed.
‘I am so tired,’ he said.
Orly next to him, took his hand.
‘I’m pretty weary too,’ she said. ‘Just drying out.’ She gave a half laugh. ‘If my mother could see the company I keep. One found guilty of killing a king and the other has just poisoned a prince.’ She added with a grin, ‘Must be my turn.’
They were silent a little while, their fingers interlocked. A lark was trilling overhead. And Far thought, I wish I could stay forever. No future, no past. Just here and now with Orly.
As if she’d been continuing the conversation in her head, she went on, ‘I am not a very brave person at all, Far. I was enjoying life with Erdy. Then Toby comes back and our little world is smashed like an egg.’
Far was looking into the sun through his lids, his vision glowing red and warm.
‘Are we are really off to kill a Queen?’ he said lazily. ‘On such a lovely day.’
‘Perhaps Toby has killed her already,’ said Orly squeezing his hand.
‘That would save us some trouble,’ said Far.
‘You know,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I wish he’d never come back. That’s mean of me – isn’t it?’ She paused, then added, ‘If he were still rowing that boat… If my brother hadn’t arrived… He could be rowing forever and ever.’
‘But Martin did arrive, and Toby did come back.’
‘And here we are all, we three, off to kill the Queen. Hey-ho…’ She was quiet a while, stroking the hair on his arm.
Far was thinking, how is this possible, all in one place, sunlight, love, and murder. He wished he could still his head. Not think so much.
‘He’s jealous of you, Far,’ she said. ‘Wants me to be a lady again. He’s worse than I was sixteen months ago.’
‘I hate the way he watches us,’ said Far.
He sat up and blinked in the bright sun. He had made himself angry. Orly leaned against him.
‘Has he got anything to be jealous about?’ said Orly.
‘What d’you think?’
He turned to her.
Orly slowly smiled. ‘I think he has.’
Far grinned back.
‘I loved it on Erdy’s mountain,’ he said. ‘I was so glad Toby wasn’t there. I knew soon as he came back things would be different. I knew he wouldn’t like me getting on with you. Erdy didn’t care – did he? But Toby, I knew, would detest it.’
Orly took Far’s face in both hands, and looked into his eyes. Far felt charged with her gaze and tried to turn away, but she held him firmly. And then he couldn’t look away. Eyes held eyes. A whirlwind blew in his head, scattering his thoughts.
‘Don’t move,’ she said gently. ‘But answer me this. Suppose we do kill the Queen. What then?’
‘I can’t think about that.’
There was just her eyes and her.
‘Think about it,’ she insisted.
‘Can’t,’ he said. And he held her hands away from his face. But eyes continued to hold eyes. Far shuddered with the force of it, as if nothing else existed. The world around had gone.
‘Answer me, please. Suppose we kill the Queen. Tell me what will happen.’
Far sighed deeply. He let go of her hands. He blinked. Had he blinked before? She leaned back, blinking too. The moment had gone. But she hadn’t gone. Waiting. The sun shone behind her hair.
‘Alright,’ he said, struggling to make words. ‘Let’s imagine.’ The first syllables came. He wanted to touch her face but somehow went on. ‘The Queen is dead. Don’t ask me how. We did it. And Toby is the King. Hallelujah. And me? Who am I then? Faithful servant once more.’
‘He said he’d make you a lord,’ said Orly with a smile.
‘Do you believe him?’
Orly sniffed. ‘Toby blows hot, blows cold.’
‘Doesn’t he just. One minute it’s brother. The next it’s kiss my feet. You know – I never liked my dad, he was a bully, but I always remember what he used to say whenever things were going well: ‘Always prepare for a kick in the teeth.’’ He stopped, caught her eye. ‘And whose boot would be on the foot? Toby’s or yours.’
‘I’ll kick you alright,’ she said in sudden anger, standing up and raising her foot over him, ‘but not in the teeth.’
Far grabbed her ankle. She struggled and hopped about.
‘Hey, I’m a lady,’ she yelled in mock fear. ‘Toby – come and save me!’
She collapsed onto Far. He wanted to kiss her but couldn’t. She was forbidden. It went too deep.
And so she kissed him.
It was a long embrace. Compounded of fear and loneliness, and the time together on the mountain. Of late conversations in the cavern and the shadows flickering on the walls. Of gathering herbs on the hillside, and reading together. Compounded of all the time they had wanted to and hadn’t.
Chapter 62
Toby returned. He was tired, and ached with the climb and his exertions of the day before. He crumpled in a heap, leaning against a rock, his legs outstretched. But in a little while, took out the water and food from his pack which they all shared. Once he was rested and eating with them, he saw the change in them. The way they looked at each other, shared bread, touched. And while they didn’t freeze him out, it was difficult not to feel unwelcome.
‘What you two been up to?’ he said warily.
‘Nothing,’ said Orly lightly.
Far smiled.
‘Nothing, I bet,’ said Toby. ‘I’ve been over two hours.’
‘We had a chat,’ said Far.
‘Some chat,’ said Toby. ‘A peasant talking to a lady. I wonder what you have to say to each other.’
Neither of them replied. Toby looked both of them over, but they would not catch his eye. They are lovers, he thought. Playing me stupid. I’m the errand boy, climbing up and down the cliff and getting them food and water. The anger surged in him. He could have tipped Far off the cliff. And might have done, if he’d said a word.
But Far knew better.
Orly too knew. Toby was fuming. Nothing could be said to him in this state. Neither of them spoke, quenched by Toby. And in a little while he stood up, as tired as he was, packed the water and the remains of the food. And headed off.
Orly and Far followed.
The way was rugged but fairly flat. There were places where grass grew and the walking was easy, but other places where they had to scramble. Toby walked ahead stridently. His stiffness was beaten down by his temper. Orly and Far were content to let him go. With him well ahead, they could talk once more. Pretend he wasn’t there.
The day was warm. The rain clouds had cleared and the sun was high. Toby was sweating in his angry march. He stopped to take some water, and looked back. The others were maybe two hundred yards behind. At least I have the water, he thought. He saw they were holding hands. And at once felt a weakness that almost caved his knees. What am I doing here with these two? How can I be their chaperon?
He took food out of his blanket. And laid food and water on a rock. Toby looked back once more. They were dawdling, holding hands, gazing at each other. This is the wrong place for me, he thought. I cannot bear it. Anywhere, anywhere else.
He turned away, tied his blanket firmly to his back. And headed for the edge. Quickly he was over and climbing down. In a minute or two they would find the food and water. And then look for him. And when they didn’t see him ahead, search him out. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the provisions. But he knew he had to. It would make them see where the true power lay. Show them that they needed him much more than they needed each other.
And he didn’t need them.
As he climbed down the face, he waited for the inevitable call. His stomach was hollow, his tongue dry. He ached to the core – but he must get away
. Be no one’s nurse. He concentrated on his handholds, his feet. There is just the rock face. Don’t look up. Get as far down as possible before they realise…
‘Toby!’ called Orly, already faint on the wind.
He did not look up.
‘Where are you going?’
Away, he thought. Miles away.
‘We are in this together!’ she cried.
Then he gazed upwards, in spite of himself. He saw two small heads, faces down at the cliff top. Two heads so close together, almost touching.
He did not look up again. And ignored the cries in his descent.
Chapter 63
Once at the bottom Toby crept into a shrubbery. He was utterly exhausted. His body was bruised as if it had been hammered. He slept a restless sleep. And when he woke up the sun was setting.
He was just as stiff, just as weary when he arose. He wondered what Far and Orly were doing. Tried to dismiss them but they kept returning. Why couldn’t he be on his own?
He found a stream and washed himself. He drank. And felt better. It was when he lay down that he felt weak. Felt alone. He must walk. Keep going.
It was dark. And darkness was at least some protection. He couldn’t be too far from the castle, and for lack of any other objective, he would go there. Before darkness fell, he had noted a village not too far away. He would go round that. But beyond that he had seen forest. It could be the forest just before the castle. It could be another. It didn’t matter; forest was safer for him. He must stay away from people.
He plodded on, treading one weary limb before the other. Moving because he had to move. And this hurtful journey meant at least he only had bodily pain to concentrate on. He ached so much, if anyone came for him he’d be able to do little but surrender.
The night was clear and he had taken his bearing by the stars. Keep the Pole Star to his left to find the forest. That was all. A barking dog speeded him up. Two riders on horses caused him to halt, and hide tight behind a hedgerow until they trotted past. An owl hooted up ahead.
