Son of Heaven

by David Wingrove

  ‘No…’ Hewitt stroked his beard thoughtfully. This was unwelcome news.

  ‘I saw another lot,’ Jake said. ‘Up on the Wareham road, two days back. A ragged bunch of miscreants. Five adults and three kids. They looked hungry.’

  Hewitt nodded, chewing over this new information. Then, as if confiding to them, he leaned closer, lowering his voice.

  ‘A word of warning, gentlemen. You’re going to market, I can see. Well, bear in mind that things ’ave changed since you were here last. It’ll cost more. A lot more.’

  There were murmurs of discontent among the men at that.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jake asked. ‘How much more?’

  ‘Prices ’ave gone up, that’s all I’m sayin’. You’ll see for yerself and, I hope, ask more for your own produce. No one’s gonna do you no favours, I warn you. Bad times are comin’, me boys. Bad times.’

  Bad times, eh? Jake thought, once the patrol had gone and they were on the move again. But why?

  Hewitt’s warning concerned him. He had been counting on having enough to pay for Tom’s hospital treatment. It would have been a bit of a scrape even as it was, but if prices had gone up it might prove difficult.

  As a one-time futures broker, he knew instinctively what such things meant.

  Trouble. We’re heading full speed into trouble. And the first thing that happens is that things get more expensive. It’s the first sign.

  Yes. But what kind of trouble?

  The answer, most likely, was up ahead, in the taverns of Dorchester. Someone there would know. Someone would have word of what was going on.

  The old county capital was directly ahead of them now on the road, some three miles distant to the north-west, its wooden, pallisaded walls coming slowly into view across the meadows. The ancient Bronze Age mound of Maiden Castle was visible, too, a mile away to the south-west, the stone walls of Branagh’s ‘palace’ sat atop its lush green slopes.

  This had been the centre of government for three, maybe four thousand years; a fortress town, bounded by the River Frome to the north. When the Romans came in 43 ad, they had conquered the surrounding lands and built a wooden fort here – turning the area into what was basically a frontier town. Durnovaria, they had called it, back then. In the next two centuries they’d expanded their little hilltop fort into a proper town with buildings made of stone – a forum, a marketplace, public baths, and the great houses of the rich. They had built an amphitheatre, too, and a great aqueduct to the west of the town. By the fourth century the wooden pallisade had been replaced by walls of stone. But the Romans had come and gone, their towns, including Durnovaria, burned down and plundered by the invading Saxons. In time Arthur had built his Wessex here. Arthur, King of the Britons. It had a ring to it that ‘Branagh, King of Wessex’ had never quite acquired, perhaps because Branagh – in his sixties now – had been a salesman before the Collapse.

  The thought of it made Jake smile.

  ‘Penny for ’em,’ Tom said, leaning up a little on his pallet.

  Jake looked to him. ‘It’s nothing. I was just thinking about the history of this place. How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Not bad. It aches, but…’ He made to touch his shoulder, but Jake reached across and tapped his hand, like he would a child.

  ‘Leave it be.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘An hour short. Broadmayne’s coming up.’

  He said nothing about meeting the patrol. Nothing about what they’d learned last night in Wool, or of what Hewitt had said. He didn’t want Tom to worry. Didn’t want anything to get in the way of him getting better. As for what it’d cost to get him seen to at the hospital, he’d have to do what he could.

  ‘You know what I was thinking, Jake?’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘I was thinking I might get something… for Mary and the girls. Some little trinkets. There was a stall last time…’

  Jake smiled. ‘I was going to look there myself. The woman with the funny eye. Becky, I think her name is…’

  ‘With the funny eye…’ Tom laughed; the first time he’d laughed in days, only laughing hurt him.

  ‘Oh damn… Now it’s weepin’ again…’

  ‘We’ll soon be there, don’t worry.’

  Jake smiled reassuringly as he said it. Only he did worry. He couldn’t help it. If Tom got ill – badly ill – how would he explain it to Mary?

  ‘You’re going to be fine. I’m going to make sure of it, okay?’

  Tom looked back at him with gratitude. ‘Okay,’ he said softly, then closed his eyes. ‘Just wake me when we’re there.’

  They had dropped off their goods at McKenzie’s storage warehouse, parked the wagons and stabled the ponies. Now, while Frank Goodman saw to the dogs, Ted and Eddie went off to see what they could get for their produce.

  Hewitt had been right. Everything was much more expensive. The gate fee – levied on each wagon, cart and sled – had doubled. Similarly their stabling fee had risen, if not by quite so much. And from what they had glimpsed of prices in the market itself, they were going to have to skimp on one or two items.

  But not on Tom, Jake decided, as he helped his friend down the long side alley that led to the hospital. He was going to make sure Tom got the best treatment he could while they were there, even if it meant skimping on luxuries like tea and coffee.

  ‘You mustn’t fuss so much,’ Tom protested. ‘I’m fine. It’ll heal of itself.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Jake answered. ‘But I’m not taking any chances. Besides, it would be a false economy. What would Mary say if you were ill for a long time? How would she cope? No, Tom. They need you.’

  Tom looked down at that. His silence seemed significant, but Jake didn’t know why.

  ‘Look… we’ll get you checked out. Make sure you’re okay, right? Then we’ll go to that stall we were talking about. Buy your girls something nice.’

  Tom looked up again and smiled. ‘You think we can afford it?’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe we’ll use some of that money Jack Hamilton gave us to get him a bride.’

  Tom looked askance at him. ‘But Jake…’

  Jake grinned. ‘I’m only joking. I wouldn’t think of it. But if there’s some over… Well, we could repay him later. Jack wouldn’t mind.’

  Tom considered that, then shrugged. ‘I guess…’

  They emerged out into a busy square. Just across from them was the front entrance of the old building where the hospital was housed. The real hospital had been burned down in an earlier campaign, and they had utilized this old factory instead. It was far from perfect, but it was better than nothing.

  Being a market day, they had to wait some while, but then they were ushered through into a cubicle. A moment later a young doctor appeared, dressed in a long white coat and holding a clipboard.

  ‘Right, gentlemen, I…’ Only, seeing Tom he fell quiet. ‘Ah… I thought…’

  ‘I’ve been wounded,’ Tom said, speaking over the young doctor, as if to prevent the man from saying anything more. ‘The bullet went clean through my shoulder. Missed the bone. It’s been cleaned and bandaged, but we need to make sure it’s not infected.’

  Jake looked from one to the other. It wasn’t even as if the man had introduced himself. But he knew, for a certainty, that Tom knew the young doctor and the doctor knew Tom. Only how?

  He watched as the doctor removed the bandage and studied the wound. It looked less bruised now, less swollen, and after cleaning and bandaging it again, the young man looked to Tom and smiled.

  ‘It looks fine, Mister Hubbard. Whoever cleaned it up did a good job.’

  ‘That’s Doc Padgett of Wool,’ Jake said, his curiosity burning now. He wanted to ask what was going on, but Tom seemed keen to get away, now that he’d done what Jake had asked.

  ‘Do you need any painkillers?’

  ‘No,’ Jake answered. ‘I think we’re fine.’

  ‘Okay…’ It was as if the doctor had a query on his lips, onl
y he wasn’t going to ask it. Not while Jake was there, anyway.

  Tom stood. ‘So what do I owe you?’

  The young man drew in a long breath. ‘We’ll call it five crowns, yes?’

  Five crowns! Jake narrowed his eyes. What was going on? He’d expected to pay ten at the very least, maybe as much as twenty.

  Tom counted five large coins out into the young doctor’s hand, then gave him a nod.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Outside, in the street, Jake made Tom round to face him.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘That doctor. He knew you. He’d met you before.’

  ‘Yeah, well…’

  ‘Go on… I’m dying to know.’

  Tom looked away, unable, it seemed, to meet Jake’s eyes. ‘Last time we were here. I… I came to see him. I had a problem, see.’

  ‘A problem?’ And then it dawned on him what Tom was saying. ‘You mean…?’

  Tom nodded. ‘It must have been the time before that. I saw a girl, here. You know…’

  ‘At Flynn’s?’

  Again he nodded; only there was a look of shame in his face now. ‘I… I got a rash.’

  ‘Christ, Tom… Those places…’

  ‘I know…’ Tom glanced at him, then looked away again. ‘Worst part was telling Mary.’

  ‘You told her?’ Somehow that shocked him.

  Tom nodded. ‘Had to. Wouldn’t have been fair not to. Didn’t want to give her what I had, did I?’

  ‘And now? Are you all right now?’

  ‘Yeah. He gave me something for it. Some cream and some tablets. I…’

  Jake raised a hand. ‘Enough… I don’t want to know.’

  Only he did. He wanted to ask Tom why. He’d thought Tom was happy with Mary. He’d thought…

  Fuck. What had he thought? That Tom was some kind of saint?

  ‘Christ,’ he said softly, imagining it now. ‘That must have been hard. Telling Mary...’

  Tom’s eyes were desolate, recalling it. ‘Worst thing I’ve ever had to do. Broke her heart…’

  ‘But she forgave you?’

  Tom’s smile was wintry. ‘Yeah. But things ain’t the same, Jake. They just ain’t the same…’

  Jake looked away, his thoughts in turmoil. So that was why. He’d thought it odd. But he would never have guessed. Not in a million years.

  ‘Let’s find that stall,’ he said, gently taking his old friend’s arm, seeing how frail he looked after his confession. ‘And no word of this when we get back, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Tom echoed; but there was something in his face now that spoke of a deeper, more grievous wound than the one he’d sustained in the ambush – something that Jake completely failed to see, being so tied up in his own thoughts as he was. Something which ate away at the older man. Something unshared.

  A secret.

  For the moment, however, things were all right. Back on an even keel.

  For the moment.

  The undercover market was a big space just off the Maumsbury Road, a sprawling, noisy place of several hundred stalls which, on market days, was one great bustle of activity. One could buy almost anything beneath its awnings. Anything that was still being made or grown, that was. And even some of the old stuff, from before the Collapse, was still available, at a price. There were specialty stalls, like those that sold CDs and records, and others that specialized in books and magazines from the old times. There were stalls that sold leather goods – belts and jackets, harnesses and saddlebags. There were others that sold household chemicals – rat poison and detergent, as well as soap and shampoo. Two or three stalls sold home-made sweets, while a good half dozen were stacked high with vegetables of every description. Fruit and clothes, candles, tyres and spectacles, blankets, wallpaper, clocks and watches, seeds, toys and sewing materials – all were sold beneath the market’s brightly striped awnings, along with knives and swords, writing paper and pens. There were even two stalls piled high with broken machinery, for those seeking spare parts. In shops nearby guns and ammunition were available, along with liquor and wine and cider. One could buy a strong pair of boots or some delicate, elegant shoes. Tapes, cassettes and videos could be found too, on a stall which flew a banner reading ‘Overtaken Technologies Inc.’. Paint and jewellery, hats and football memorabilia, all were on sale, while at two adjacent stalls at the very centre of it all, a small crowd queued for haircuts and basic dentistry.

  Right now, however, Jake and Tom were looking at the wares on the trinket stall, run by a young woman with a lazy eye, Becky. She was busy, helping them choose their purchases.

  ‘Now that’s a lovely one,’ she said, her rich Dorset accent rounding off every word. ‘A real bargain, especially in these times. Look at the engravin’ on it! An’ it’s real silver. Look, there’s the mark.’

  Tom studied the leaf-shaped brooch a moment, then looked to Jake. ‘What d’you think, Jake? D’you think she’d like it?’

  ‘I think she’d love it. Only can you afford it?’

  Tom took a long breath. He’d already selected necklaces for his three girls. This last purchase was for Mary, and in light of his recent confession, Jake could see why he took so long to choose. He wanted to get this right.

  ‘No discount for bulk purchases, then, Becky?’ Jake asked, winking at her.

  Becky was a buxom lass with a fine figure, and but for her ‘funny eye’ she’d have been snapped up by some local male long ago. As it was, however, she would probably never marry.

  ‘I wish I could,’ she said, blushing now. ‘But the price of silver has soared, I tell you gennelmen. ’Ard times are comin’.’

  ‘Not by just a couple of crowns, my sweetheart?’

  He could see his flattery was slowly winning her over.

  ‘I tell you what,’ she said, reaching under the stall and bringing out an old black leather briefcase. ‘You were sayin’ you was lookin’ for a ring… for your boy… Well, I’ve a few nice ’uns here.’ She snapped the case open and laid it out before Jake. ‘You give me my price for the brooch and the rest of it, and I’ll take a coupla crowns off the price of the ring. And you gennelmen can sort it out between you.’

  Jake was about to say something, but at that very moment he saw it.

  ‘That one,’ he said, pointing to a simple gold band at the top left of the black velvet-backed display. ‘That’s the one.’

  Becky plucked the ring from the display and handed it across.

  Jake studied it a moment, then looked to Tom. ‘What d’you think?’

  ‘It’s nice. But a bit small for Pete-ie, wouldn’t you say?’

  Jake looked to his friend and laughed. ‘It isn’t for Peter. Least ways, it’s not him’ll be wearing it.’

  Tom looked blankly back at him, and then he clicked. ‘Oh… you mean for Meg?’

  Jake nodded slowly.

  Tom’s eyes widened, understanding flooding them. ‘You think…?’

  ‘I know. Least, with your permission.’

  Tom laughed, but he was looking very serious now. He turned, facing Jake fully. ‘I think it’s a very good ring, Jake, my dearest friend, and I’d like it very much if your son were to be my daughter’s partner in life. I think…’

  A tear rolled down Tom’s cheek. ‘Fuck it, Jake. You know what? I can’t think of anyone I’d rather she were with.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s too young, then?’

  ‘Too young?’ Tom shook his head, then wiped away another tear. ‘No, Jake. Not at all. You know, you see. It don’t matter how young or old you are. You just know.’

  Jake grinned. ‘Then let’s settle up and go and find the others. Maybe have a wee drink or two to celebrate, eh?’

  Jake turned back, looking to Becky, who seemed dewy-eyed at the prospect of one of her rings being the occasion for such happiness.

  ‘Becks, love, you’ve got your price! It’s a deal!’

  And, reaching across, he drew her c
loser and gave her a kiss on the cheek that made her blush furiously.

  ‘It’s my pleasure,’ she said, looking at Jake wistfully as Tom handed over payment. ‘Any time, gennelmen… any time…’

  Peter was chopping wood out back, when Meg came running up. Seeing her, Boy jumped up and bounded over to her.

  ‘Hey, Boy,’ she said, kneeling down to stroke him vigorously, the way he liked it. She looked to Peter and smiled.

  ‘You’ll never guess what…’

  Peter stood a log on its end then looked to her. ‘What?’

  ‘I overheard some’at Ma was sayin’.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  He swung the axe, cleaving the log in two. Boy barked, as if applauding.

  ‘Yeah… seems as Jack Hamilton is lookin’ fer a wife.’

  ‘A wife?’ He stood up another log, but he was grinning now. ‘Go on…’

  ‘Yeah… Seems he gave your dad a purse to go purchase ’im a bride in Dorchester.’

  Peter had been about to swing the axe, but he stopped, staring now at Meg.

  ‘Buy a wife?’

  ‘Yeah… one who can cook and clean rooms and serve ale at the bar.’

  ‘A skivvy, you mean?’ And he brought the axe down hard, making the two halves of the wood fly up into the air. Boy barked again.

  ‘Well, I think it’s romantic. Even if ’e is in ’is sixties and ’e’s ’avin’ to pay. ’E’s been far too long on ’is own.’

  Peter glanced at her, trying to see if she was somehow alluding to his father, but her words didn’t seem to have any hidden meaning. He set up another log.

  ‘Mind,’ she said, coming over and placing a hand on his bare arm, ‘it does make you wonder…’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Well… say you had to buy me… what kind of price would you pay? How deep would you dig in your pocket to have me?’

  He stared at her, stunned by the words. She laughed, then squeezed his arm. ‘I’m only kiddin’.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah…’ Meg walked over to the wall and stood there, looking out across the fields. ‘I mean… money’s important, but…’ She shrugged, then turned and grinned at him. ‘You know what? If I were someone else… you know, a young girl, without no prospects and livin’ in some awful town like Dor -chester… well… I think I might just jump at the chance, even tho’ ’e’s old.’