The Nine

by Terry Cloutier

  ​ “Where’d he go?” Calen finally asked.

  ​ I watched them through the branches and prayed again to The Mother and The Father that none of them knew how to track well. Not even the smallest boy in our village would have fallen for what I’d done. Hopefully these men would.

  ​ “He must have run out the back,” Crooked Nose said.

  ​ “Maybe not,” Hape said as he dropped to one knee to peer intently at the obvious tracks I’d left. He followed my trail with his eyes and then snickered and stood up. “It looks like he went into the water right about there,” he said, pointing to where I’d entered the bog.

  ​ “Now why would he do that?” Crooked Nose asked suspiciously.

  ​ “Because he’s a peasant,” Hape said, “and they’re stupid.” He drew his sword and reached into the murky water, hooking my tunic with it and holding the dripping cloth up for the others to see. “Silly bastard didn’t know about the quicksand,” Hape said with a grin. “Some of the bogs around here are like this. I once saw a horse step into one and it was gone faster than a whore after you’ve paid her.”

  ​ Crooked Nose shrugged his rounded shoulders and motioned behind him with a thumb. “Let’s get back, then. I’m not looking forward to telling Quant about the Reeve.”

  ​ “That bastard will probably blame us somehow,” I heard Hape grumble faintly as the men turned and left.

  ​ I watched them go, hardly able to believe that it had worked and I pressed the Pair Stone to my lips in thanks. My body was shaking uncontrollably by now, both from fear and relief. I wrapped my arms around myself and concentrated on stopping my teeth from chattering, afraid the men might hear the clacking. Hape had been right about the bogs around here, but he’d been wrong about me. I might be a peasant, but I wasn’t stupid. I’d known there might be quicksand, but I’d taken the chance rather than risk getting caught. I heard the men-at-arms mount up and ride away, their voices too far away to make out clearly now. I realized I’d been holding my breath the whole time and finally I let it out in a whoosh as I stood up. I saw my tunic lying wetly on the ground where Hape had tossed it aside and I ran around the bog to fetch it. The sun was breaking through the tops of the trees by now and a small section of the bog was bathed in sunlight, so I wrung the tunic out the best that I could and draped it over a rock, waiting for it to dry.

  ​ I sat down on another rock and felt the sun warm my flesh, enjoying the thought that for the moment I was safe where I was. I had a sudden image of Patter sneaking up behind me and I glanced quickly over my shoulder, relieved to see that there was nothing there. I grinned self-consciously at myself and pulled the knife from my trousers. If Patter came for me I’d deal with him just like I would deal with the nine. I stared at the small knife in my hand, thinking that I now had two names, Hape and Calen. No, wait! Three names! I couldn’t forget, Quant. Three names plus Crooked Nose and Heavy Beard out of nine. It was a start. Once the soldiers had left the village I’d find my father and tell him what had happened. I’d give him the names I knew and my father and I would go to Corwick Castle and tell Lord Corwick what his men had done. I pictured the wrath on the lord’s face when he learned of the crime they had committed. He would judge them harshly, I knew, as well he should. There would be no trial, for there would be no need. Everyone would know of their guilt. I saw the nine dancing from the gallows in the castle courtyard, their feet kicking helplessly as the ropes around their necks slowly strangled them. In my mind the entire village was there that day, cheering as the men swung slowly back and forth. They would pay for Jeanna! They would all pay!

  ​ I sat there, smiling as I envisioned different, horrible ways for the nine to die while enjoying the warm sunlight on my bare skin. My smile slowly faded after a while as a deep feeling of guilt slowly returned, pushing the warmth of the sun away. I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered as I realized I still had to tell my father about Jeanna. Father! I shot to my feet as I remembered the last I’d seen of him he’d been on the ground being kicked by the men-at-arms. How could I have forgotten? I cursed myself for being a terrible son and I snatched my tunic off the rock. It was still damp, but dry enough to wear and I pulled the cloth over my head even as I hurried into the trees. I reached the edge and stopped along the treeline, knowing no one could see me in the dark shadows here. Above me several chickadees chirped at me playfully. From where I stood high on the hill I had a good view of our farm. The yard was empty save for several of our chickens pecking at the ground. One of them lay still near the house, clearly dead. Probably trampled by the horses when the men-at-arms came chasing after me, I thought. Thankfully I could not see Jeanna or the Reeve from this angle and I looked past the stone wall to the west, pausing to glance up at the sun. It had to be well past noon by now and I wondered where the time had gone.

  ​ In the distance I could see people sitting on the dusty ground in Hestan’s front yard. It looked like some women were there as well. Probably Hestan’s wife and two daughters, I figured. The villagers were huddled together in a tight circle but, even with my sharp young eyes, I was having trouble making out their faces clearly from this far away. I looked for my father and thought I saw him off to one side, but I wasn’t certain. I saw two men-at-arms sitting astride their horses and conversing a little distance away from the villagers. I instantly recognized the rounded shoulders of the man talking and waving his arms. Crooked Nose! I was pretty sure the other one was Quant just by the arrogant way that he sat his horse. I saw a flash of white surcoats reflecting the sun near where the shearing shed stood and I realized that there were two more men-at-arms there. They were both on foot and leading their horses by the reins to where I knew a water trough lay. Both horses ducked their heads and drank for a long time. One of the men-at-arms was very short and I guessed that it had to be the youth, Calen. The other one was probably Hape. That’s four, I thought. Where were the others? I scanned the area, then widened my search into the fields. There! Another rider was waiting in the middle of Hestan’s field, almost invisible from here if not for the white surcoat. What was he doing there? His back was to me and he was facing the narrow western path that led from Hestan’s farm to that of Jayner of Corwick’s farm. The land at that point dipped dramatically, so I couldn’t see what he was looking at.

  ​ I pictured Jayner’s farm in my mind and knew that further west from there sat the tiny village of Corwick, though calling it a village might be a bit of a stretch. There were only five or six houses in the village, as well as an ancient smithy and, of course, the Holy House, where we all congregated to pray twice a week. The man on horseback suddenly waved his arm in the air, then turned toward Hestan’s farm and cupped his hands over his mouth. I heard a faint, “Ho!” echo across the field from him. Down in the yard, Quant said something to Crooked Nose, who nodded and waved back to the man in the field. I watched as Hape and Calen mounted their horses and joined the other two. What was going on? Quant, Crooked Nose and Hape kicked their horses into a gallop, leaving Calen behind. The three men-at-arms rode along the western path and the soldier in the field fell in behind them. When they reached the hilltop they spread out on each side of the path, two per side, and stopped. It wasn’t long before I saw movement as a pair of mounted soldiers crested the hill, their white surcoats matching those of the waiting men. Two more of them, I thought grimly. That made seven. One of the new riders said something to Quant, who motioned toward Hestan’s farm with this hand. The man nodded and headed that way, while behind him a large knot of people marched along on foot. As the walkers drew closer I recognized several of the ones in the lead. There was the Widow Meade, unmistakable bent over almost double like that. She’d broken her back years ago and it was a miracle that she could walk at all. Beside her, clearly helping her, walked the great bulk of Gerber the Smith, who was almost as big as my father. A tall woman carrying a small child walked just behind the Widow Meade and the smith. Meanda and her daughter, Little Jinny, I knew. I identified m
ore people as they drew ever closer to the farm and I chewed on my lower lip with worry as I realized that except for Son Fadrian and Daughter Elias, the entire village was on the march. Another of the men-at-arms, the eighth one, appeared at the rear of the marchers, urging them on as if he were herding sheep. I wondered idly what had become of the last soldier. The procession moved forward raggedly, with Quant, Crooked Nose, Hape and the other man following along at the sides. I heard Calen shout something and I shifted my gaze to Hestan’s farm, where I watched as the people sitting there rose stiffly to their feet. With a sigh of relief escaping my lips, I saw that my father was standing among them, towering over them all. It looked as though he had a bandage wrapped around his head, but other than that he seemed fine. The marchers had reached the farm by this time and they joined my father and the others. Many of the villagers began crying and hugging each other and everyone seemed to be talking at once, a gabble of noise that slowly drifted up to me on the hill. Quant kicked his heels angrily against his horse’s flanks and the animal sprinted forward before coming to a halt in a cloud of dust in the yard as Quant yanked up viciously on the reins.

  ​ “Be quiet!” I heard him shout. The words echoed across the fields and silence fell as all eyes turned to him. Even the birds above me stopped chirping at the sound of Quant’s wrath. The leader of the men-at-arms pointed his finger at the villagers and said something, but his words were lost to me. Little Jinny immediately started to cry, which seemed to anger Quant even more and he began shouting and swinging one arm wildly through the air. The only words I could make out clearly, however, were, “cut,” and, “tongue.” When Quant was finally done ranting, a large figure stepped away from the villagers and I watched my father slowly drag himself forward before he stopped only paces from Quant’s fidgeting horse. My father looked up at the man and started speaking, his arms spread out to each side as he talked. I strained my ears, but I couldn’t make out more than a few garbled words and I cursed softly in frustration. Maybe I should sneak down there, I thought. I glanced at the rock wall and plowed field below me, then over to the corncockles covering the small hill above Hestan’s farm. All the men-at-arms were watching my father and I thought if I hurried maybe I could make it to the flowers and hide there so I could hear. And then what? I asked myself. Then what will you do? I realized I didn’t know and that I’d just have to wait where I was and see what happened, much as it galled me.

  ​ Below me, Quant leaned down toward my father, his face just inches above his horse’s twitching ears. “You want to know, peasant!” I heard him shout. The word “peasant” echoed over and over and I clutched my Pair Stone fearfully as my father straightened his shoulders. He stared up at Quant and nodded to him firmly and I felt a jolt of pride flow through me at his bravery. Quant pointed past me to the east and said something to my father, then kicked his horse into motion, heading up the hill to our farm. Behind him the other men-at-arms herded the villagers into a tight formation before urging them onward. I saw my father say something to the Widow Meade and then fall into step beside her, the two making an odd pair as they both forced their broken bodies up the short hill and along the path. Once the procession finally reached our farm, the villagers all bunched together in the middle of the yard like a flock of sheep surrounded by hungry wolves. Everything was silent save for the odd squeak and grunt from the pigs in the sty and the occasional cluck of a chicken. “Peasant,” Quant finally said, addressing my father. I could hear much clearer now that they were closer and for that I was thankful, though the pounding of my heart threatened to drown out whatever words might be spoken. “You wished to know what became of your children,” Quant said. He pointed with a mailed hand to the sty. “The answer to your question lies behind there.”

  ​ “Mother Above!” I whispered in horror, knowing what he was about to see and helpless to prevent it. My father simply nodded at Quant’s words, his face set in a white mask. What must he be thinking, I thought, knowing that whatever it was it couldn’t be worse than what he was about to see. The Widow Meade grabbed my father’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips. I think she said something to him as well, but it was so low that I couldn’t hear the words. My father nodded to her and patted her hand gently before he slowly turned away and shuffled toward the sty. I watched his broad back disappear behind the building and I closed my eyes, feeling the tears start to roll down my cheeks when I heard his horrified screams. I didn’t realize it, but I was stabbing the tree beside me over and over again with the Reeve’s knife as the sounds of my grieving father echoed over the farmland. After a time, the cries ended with nothing left but the sounds of soft sobbing. At some point I’d fallen to my knees, but I don’t remember doing it. Above me the Reeve’s knife was stuck in the trunk of the tree, gleaming down at me as though mocking my helplessness.

  ​ “Enough!” Quant barked gruffly. He motioned to Crooked Nose and Hape. “Bring him back here.”

  ​ The two men-at-arms nodded in unison and dismounted, then strode purposefully around the sty. Within moments they were back, dragging my weeping father between them. They dropped him roughly in the yard and then stepped back as Hestan and his son, Jinian, moved to go help him. Crooked Nose drew his sword and lifted it toward the two villagers in warning and they reluctantly fell back.

  ​ “So, peasant,” Quant said. “Are you satisfied now?”

  ​ “My son,” my father finally gasped out as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “What have you bastards done to my son?”

  ​ Quant smirked. “We have done nothing to your son.” He nodded to Patter’s Bog. “That, however, cannot be said for that bog over there.”

  ​ I saw my father’s puzzlement as he glanced toward where I knelt hidden under the trees. For just a moment it seemed as though he was staring right at me, but then he slowly looked away and turned back to Quant. “I don’t understand,” he said weakly.

  ​ “The quicksand took him,” Hape said as he leaned down to look at my father with a lopsided grin on his face. “Ate him up it did and burped back nothing but his rags.”

  ​ “No!” my father shouted. “No!” His great shoulders bunched and his face twisted in pain as he fought to push himself to his knees. “No, you bastards!” my father cried again as he used his good leg to support his bad leg and trembling, rose shakily to his feet. Rage and grief had twisted his features into an ugly mask and as he rose to his full height he tore the bandage from his head and glared up at Quant with a murderous look. I stared across the plowed field at my enraged father, terrified for him and feeling small and helpless as I clutched the Pair Stone in my hands. I closed my eyes and prayed to The First Pair for a miracle, because I knew that without one my father was about to die.

  ​ “Ho!” a shout rose, echoing across the fields from the west. I opened my eyes and turned, shocked to see that horsemen were coming over the hill from Hestan’s farm. There were perhaps twenty of them riding two by two in tight formation and they were wearing the white surcoat and dragon emblem of the Lord of Corwick. The two lead riders held long spears in their right hands at the end of which fluttered the lord’s gold and white standard with the dragon emblem. I caught my breath as I saw the rider directly behind the standard bearers. He was lean and fit looking, dressed in gold-plated armour and a golden helm which gleamed in the sunlight. A red cape lined with fox fur was thrown over his shoulders and was clasped by a shiny black pendant that shimmered as he moved. His face under the helm was hard to make out from my vantage point, but having seen him once before I knew that he was young, with short blond hair and a beard that was closely trimmed on the sides and left long in the front and then braided so that it hung below his chin. “The Lord of Corwick!” I whispered as I felt my body sag with relief. A sudden curt command from Lord Corwick halted the column some distance from our farm house and the standard bearers in the lead guided their horses aside as Lord Corwick and another rider continued on. The man with Lord Corwick looked familiar and, as the
y drew closer and entered the yard, I realized that it was Heavy Beard, the man who’d chased me this morning and fallen off his horse. It seemed like that had happened so long ago that it might have actually been a dream. “The ninth one,” I muttered as Heavy Beard nodded to Quant before guiding his horse near where Hestan stood with his two sons. Heavy Beard glowered down at the three men and I could clearly see the fear on their faces as they quickly looked to the ground.

  ​ “My lord,” Quant said, bowing his head slightly as Lord Corwick halted in front of him. Quant picked at his teeth and then turned away and spit on the ground. “A messy business, this.”

  ​ “Show me,” Lord Corwick said in a clipped tone. I could clearly see the rage smouldering across the lord’s young face and I chortled to myself. Just you wait! I thought. Just you wait until he sees what you did!

  ​ “My Lord Corwick!” my father implored as the two men rode past him. “I need-”

  ​ Lord Corwick cut him off with a raised hand, barely giving him a glance as he and Quant rode around the sty and disappeared from view.

  I can still see that day clearly in mind, though it happened over sixty years ago now. Nothing moved while they were gone, not even the lazy swish of a horse’s tail. I remember the fetid stench of the decaying bog back through the trees behind me and the smell of my own sweat mixed with the mud on my skin as though it were yesterday. I close my eyes and I see again the silent men-at-arms on horseback surrounding the terrified villagers huddled together and holding each other for comfort. I can see the motionless column of men sitting and waiting for their lord halfway between Hestan’s farm and ours, their faces mere white blurs in the distance. I picture my father standing between Crooked Nose and Hape, his body hunched over with pain and his face etched with grief. He’d always seemed like a giant to me before, but now it seemed as though he’d shrunk, as though what life he’d had left in him had been sucked away, leaving nothing left but a husk. I spoke before of regrets, and this is one that I carry with me always. I should have run to him at that moment. If I could do it all over again, that’s what I would do. It would be foolish, I know, but at least if I had he would have known I was alive and even if that knowledge had given him just a moment of freedom from his grief, it would have been worth it. I was so young and so unprepared for what was about to happen, and as I write this I weep for that boy, and for them all.