by Keith Walsh
“Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you tried to interfere in our business?” said Mark, casting a malevolent look at Grott. The landlord instantly calmed as the memory of how he received his limp came back to him. “No,” he replied finally. “I’ll see to your drinks but I’m telling you this – don’t hurt Beth,” he added, making his way towards the taps, a feeling of shame coming over him. “That is up to Beth,” replied Mark coldly, his eyes following the tavern keeper.
As he began to pour the four tankards of ale Grott worried about Beth. She was headstrong and her soft spot for the stranger wouldn’t help matters. Please let the Gods protect her, he thought, casting a nervous look at Mark, who stood impassively at the bar watching him.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” shouted Matt at the stranger, pushing past Beth. She looked to the bar in search of Grott but Jack and Paul blocked her view and when she tried to strain around them they matched her movements, looking right at her and grinning.
“This isn’t a game you know,” she scolded them. “Someone could get seriously hurt here,” she continued, trying to push past them. “That depends on the someone’s actions,” came the reply from Jack as he continued to block Beth’s path, backed by Paul. Both of them where grinning and made no effort to hide the fact they were enjoying the intimidation. “Perhaps you would like to save yourself some trouble and give some… actually all of that coin over to us,” Beth heard Matt say and she turned to see him standing beside the stranger, his body language menacing.
Instantly she moved to him and tried to pull him away. “Just leave him alone Matt,” she said, tugging at his tunic. Matt’s eyes blazed and he smacked her hands away from him violently. “Stay out of this Beth!” he ordered, his voice harsh. In that moment the stranger made to rise but failed and fell back to his seat, bracing himself against the table. Matt instantly swung on him. “Oh I see, trying to get the better of me while my attention is on the lady huh?” he yelled, grabbing a hold of the stranger’s shirt and twisting it.
Lacking any real stability the man’s head rolled forward as his shirt was grabbed and with some effort he raised it back up to look at Matt, at the same time waving his left hand through the air in surrender, his right arm half under the table. Matt let him go and the stranger started to pat at his pockets. Beth had seen him do this before and knew what he searched for. Then the stranger’s hand slid down to his side and Matt instantly drew a dagger from his belt and pointed it at him. “Easy now, do nothing foolish,” he said with a wary look but the stranger just ignored him and continued to rummage at his side before finally tossing a leather pouch on the table.
It landed with a rattle and it was obvious to all that it contained a lot of coin. Matt sheathed his dagger and beamed, glancing back at his brothers. They beamed back, their eyes wide, then looked to one another and laughed, Jack slapping his right leg. “Well, that was easy,” claimed Paul. Beth glared at them, her disgust evident but they ignored her. “No, I’m not having this,” she said, her hand snaking out and grabbing the pouch a fraction of a second before Matt’s.
“Give it here Beth,” said Matt, throwing her an icy stare and flicking his hand open and closed once. “No. This is not yours to take,” she retorted, shielding the pouch from Matt’s grasp. “You are nothing but a bunch of thieving bullies,” she added, making sure to look at each of them in turn. Jack and Paul just laughed at her. Mark paid no attention at all, busy keeping an eye on Grott, but Matt made towards her, his temper visibly raised. She tried to avoid him by turning and making for the bar but Jack caught a hold of her and dragged her around. Matt grabbed her hair and pulled her head back viciously causing her to scream with pain.
This proved too much for the stranger and he forced himself to his feet but immediately fell awkwardly over the edge of the table and tumbled to the floor. Jack and Paul laughed out loud but Matt turned and swiftly kicked the downed man in the head as he tried to get up, pulling Beth with him as he moved. Grott, seeing Beth being hurt, put aside his fear of reprimand and moved purposefully towards Matt but Mark instantly blocked him, keeping him trapped behind the bar.
Grott threw a clumsy punch in an effort to get past the younger man but Mark dodged it easily and lashed his boot into the knee of the leg that sported the limp, dropping Grott instantly to the floor. There he writhed and screamed in pain. Others in the tavern looked on, shocked by the turn of events, but none of them dared step out of line, fully aware of what the Manson brothers did to people who interfered.
Matt swung Beth into the table the stranger had fallen over and pinned her there by the hair. His other hand wrestled with hers, trying to pry the pouch from her grasp. “Give it here Beth!” he demanded, almost frothing at the mouth but she remained defiant and spat in his face. “You bitch,” said Matt recoiling and letting go of her hair but before she could do anything he recovered to thunder a left cross into her cheek.
His knuckles cut easily into her soft skin and she felt her head swim, her vision blur and she dropped the pouch. Matt grabbed a hold of her, pulling her away from the table, then he slapped her with his right hand causing her to fall and smack her head on the corner of the table. Her body slumped to the floor and lay still. “Gods Matt,” said Jack. “You’ve only gone and bloody killed her.” Matt looked to his brother then down at Beth. “It’s her own damn fault,” he said, bending to pick up the pouch, making no effort to check on Beth.
His temper not yet sated, he turned to the unconscious stranger and landed several more heavy boots to the man’s midriff before finally stamping once on his head. “Come on,” he said, beckoning his brothers, his breathing heavy. “We’re leaving.” He watched as his brothers glanced at Beth as they headed for the door and the street beyond. Once they were out of the tavern he made after them, pausing just long enough to warn the remaining people of the tavern to keep their mouths shut.
No sooner had the door slammed behind him the drinkers rushed to the aid of both Grott and Beth. Grott had already managed to pull himself to his feet but was unable to put any weight on his bad leg. He gratefully accepted the help of Durok, the town’s blacksmith, who offered to prop him up. “Please help me over to Beth,” Grott said, wrapping one of his arms around the powerful frame of Durok. Despite the man’s considerable size he had not intervened during the altercation, which gave evidence to the power the Manson brothers had over the town.
“Of course,” replied Durok, gripping Grott’s arm with one hand while his other arm wrapped around the tavern keeper’s waist. The two ambled from the bar to the group of people surrounding Beth. “Is she dead?” Grott asked as some of the group made way for him and Durok to come through. “I’m not sure,” replied Lucy, Durok’s wife, as she looked up at her husband and Grott. “I can’t find a pulse but then I’m no doctor and not skilled in such things. Perhaps I am feeling in the wrong place,” she admitted, her fingers pressing against Beth’s wrist.
Beth’s cheek looked swollen and bruised, and blood flowed from a deep gash on her head. Grott swallowed hard seeing the thick pool of red on the floor next to Beth’s head but he fought back the tears that threatened to come. “Gently put one or two of your fingers just behind her earlobe,” said Grott to Lucy, unable to bend and check for himself. “Like this?” replied Lucy, being careful not to move Beth’s head as she placed two fingers on what she hoped was the spot Grott had suggested.
“It looks right, but from here I can’t tell for sure. Follow the jaw line right back to where it joins the head if you are having trouble. You should feel a pulse there – if she has one,” continued Grott, his mouth dry and his body tense. Come on, damn it, he thought but he chose to remain calm so as not to fluster Lucy.
“No… I can’t feel anything,” she said after a few agonising moments. With that announcement gasps came from the group and Durok looked sorrowfully at Grott, but he did not meet the blacksmith’s gaze. Instead he stared at Beth. Lucy’s fingers still rested on Beth’s neck, searching for a pulse.
“Try a little higher,” said Grott, refusing to accept the news. “And barely touch the skin, if you press too hard you’ll not feel anything,” he added, nodding encouragement at her. “Grott…” Durok said in a soft voice but Grott ignored him, his focus entirely on Lucy. “Do it,” Grott shouted, fire showing in his eyes. Lucy looked to her husband and he nodded back at her. She tried again to find a pulse. “Remember, barely touch the skin and let your fingers rest there for a few moments,” Grott repeated, swallowing hard.
The tavern was silent and after what seemed like an age, Lucy looked up to make her second announcement. The look on her face suggested that her conclusion was the same but just as she was about to speak she paused. Her eyes widened and elation lit up her face, clear for all to see. “I can feel it,” she yelled excitedly. “She’s alive!” A round of cheers came from the small group and Grott felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. “Thank the Gods,” he said, casting his eyes to the ceiling and patting his hand against Durok’s chest. “She is still badly hurt though,” said Lucy. “Quickly, fetch me some water and a cloth,” she ordered.
Durok guided Grott to a chair and rushed to the bar to collect the things his wife had asked for. He returned moments later, a bucket of water in one hand and a handful of cloths in the other. “Here you go my love,” he said, kneeling beside his wife. “Is there anything more I can do?” Lucy looked at him and smiled. “Just pray,” she replied, before turning her attention back to Beth.
She soaked one of the cloths and placed it over the deep cut on Beth’s forehead. Then she took another, this time only dipping it in the water, and began to dab it on Beth’s injured cheek. A lot of blood had flowed from the wound on her head but the fact the cloth now resting there did not turn red immediately suggested it was clotting. “That’s a good sign,” Lucy said. Durok looked to where his wife pointed, nodded in agreement and smiled warmly.
All of a sudden Beth moaned and her eyes struggled to open. Lucy soothed her. “There, there Beth,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You took a nasty knock and gave us all a fright.” She replaced the cloth on Beth’s forehead with a fresh one and then returned to dabbing at her cheek. Beth tried to open her eyes again and this time succeeded. She attempted to rise but Lucy forced her back down. “Don’t try to get up Beth. You have a very bad cut on your head and you need to rest. I’ll have someone fetch you some blankets in a moment to make you more comfortable. Just relax for now.”
Beth didn’t argue, her head pounded and her cheek throbbed. Instead she forced a thin smile, lay still and allowed herself to drift off again. “What about him?” Durok asked Grott, pointing to the unconscious stranger. Grott’s expression changed from happiness to disgust. “What about him?” he replied, spitting the words. “He caused this, throwing his coin around like a bloody King,” he continued, gesturing to the bloodied and sleeping Beth.
“Grott,” said Lucy with a raised voice. Grott looked at her with defiance in his eyes, knowing full well she was about to berate him for being so cold but he meant what he said. “That’s not like you,” Lucy said, frowning. “Beth has feelings for this man and everyone knows you have feelings for Beth, so at least look after the stranger for her sake,” she continued, holding his gaze.
Grott stood his ground for a moment longer before looking away from her and at the downed stranger. After a few moments and a couple of mumbled words he turned to Durok and nodded at him. “I’ll see to him,” the blacksmith said, recognising the gesture. “Thank you,” said Grott as the man moved away from him.
Kneeling by the stranger’s body Durok could instantly see that the man was breathing. His right cheek had some dirt on it that resembled a boot mark. Animal, Durok thought, remembering how Matt had stamped on the unconscious stranger’s head before leaving. “Lucy,” said Durok in a commanding tone, and she looked over to him. “Throw me a wet cloth will you love?” Lucy held his gaze for a moment. “…please,” he added, smiling sheepishly.
“Those bastards get away with murder,” said a patron in the group, looking to Beth and the stranger. Grott looked him up and down. “You would be wise to take care with what you say,” he said, eyeing the man. “The walls of this town have ears and the shadows eyes.” The patron pursed his lips and flicked his eyebrows in response then looked away.
Recognising the man but not knowing his name the tavern keeper decided to introduce himself. “My name is Grott,” he said, extending his hand and smiling. “Magnus,” replied the patron, shaking Grott’s hand and returning the smile. “A strong name,” observed Grott, noticing the firm grip of his new acquaintance, already liking the man. “I’m afraid I do not do it justice,” replied Magnus, feeling shame at his lack of action during the events of earlier.
“You were not the only one who failed to act,” replied Grott as if reading Magnus’ thoughts, “…and there will be consequences for what happened tonight.”
“Thank you,” said Magnus, an understanding passing between the two men. He was surprised but impressed by the tavern keeper’s perception. “Why do you think there will be further consequences?” asked Magnus, his large frame resting against a table in front of Grott.
The tavern keeper considered his response for a moment before finally answering. “A crime has been committed and the Town Watch will investigate the matter,” he said. “Seeing how the Manson brothers were involved, their siblings Jake and Samuel – who are part of the Town Watch – will demand the case and I have little doubt they will get it,” he continued, respecting the fact he had the full attention of Magnus.
“Yes, and we all know where their loyalties lie,” said Magnus, his tone cold, his demeanour dark. “Indeed,” said Grott. “And they will look to place blame on anyone or anything other than their brothers.” Magnus locked eyes with Grott. “I am ashamed at my lack of action here tonight Grott,” he said. “If they come here looking for trouble you will have my sword arm, whatever that is worth.” Durok stood up. “And mine,” he added proudly. “He will not,” yelled Lucy, throwing her husband a stern look. Durok met and held it. “They have gone too far tonight my love. It is time to take a stand,” he said.
Lucy was about to speak but Durok’s eyes grew stern and she bit her tongue. Her husband allowed her many victories in their disagreements over the years but every now and then he would put his foot down and she would have no choice but to concede her point. This was one of those times and her stern look melted to one of concern. “Mine too,” came a slurred and barely audible voice from the floor. Upon hearing it Durok reached down and heaved the drunk stranger to his feet. “Aren’t we lucky,” said Durok, helping the stranger to stand. “My, his breath stinks,” he added, turning his head away.
For the first time Grott noticed that the stranger’s right hand was missing, the man having always been so careful to keep the disfigurement concealed. Others followed Grott’s line of sight and one of them laughed mockingly. “A blacksmith, a man I do not know, a tavern keeper and a hammered cripple are going to take on the Town Watch?” said the man who had laughed. “For that is what you must do if you are to go against the Manson brothers,” continued the man, shaking his head. Grott recognised him as the town’s baker, Dennis. Humph always knew your body contained as much spine as your bread, thought Grott, eyeing him coldly. Even the drunk cripple offers to help… “I take it we can forget about any help from you then Dennis?” Grott asked. “I always knew you were a perceptive man Grott,” replied Dennis before sniggering and making his way to the exit.
Before leaving he turned to the group and spoke. “Anyone else whose mind has not yet escaped them feel free to follow me lest you also suffer the backlash of the Manson brothers,” he said, his eyes roaming over each of them. Slowly at first but with building momentum people started to leave the tavern, one or two of them casting apologetic looks at Grott as they passed by. Grott watched and his heart sank a little with each person that walked away. He had felt confident and stubborn when surround
by people with talk about standing up to the Mason brothers but with only a handful of them left his resolve started to falter, the reality of the situation becoming clear.
“If you are half as smart as you think you are, you will come to your senses Grott,” said Dennis as the last of the group disappeared through the door he held open. “That goes for the rest of you too,” he added, turning on his heel and slamming the door shut behind him. “He’s right you know,” Lucy said, taking a break from her care of Beth and casting a nervous look over the remaining group. Only her husband Durok, the man who called himself Magnus, Grott, Beth and the drunken cripple remained. “It is folly,” she added, recognising the chance to try to persuade her husband to see sense.
“Grott did not ask us to stand by him,” offered Magnus, rising from his chair and walking to stand with the remaining people. “He simply voiced his concern at the repercussions for his involvement in trying to protect Beth.” Each of them listened to what he had to say, even Lucy. “I offered my arm in his defence, should it come to that,” continued Magnus. “And this man here,” he said, gesturing to Durok. “Your name Sir?” he asked, holding out his hand. “Durok,” replied the blacksmith, taking Magnus’ hand and shaking it.
His attention momentarily distracted from the drunk stranger he supported, the man slumped to the floor again where he sat looking from side to side as if wondering what had just happened. Durok looked down at him and with a shake of his head, his eyes cast to the ceiling, he decided to leave him there. “And this man…” Magnus trailed off. He had been about to include the stranger in his speech but seeing the man slump to the floor he reconsidered it.
“Oh yes,” said Lucy, rising purposefully, “the drunken cripple you were about to refer to,” she continued, glaring at Magnus. “What a fine addition he will make to your merry band of would-be warriors,” she said, casting her arm out in the direction of the stranger as if revealing a prize. “He certainly has the merry aspect of it covered,” she continued, now looking to her husband with a mixture of defiance and hope. Silently she prayed her words would get through to him and she could take him home. But the regretful expression on her husband’s face stole that hope away and her eyes welled up with tears. She dropped back down to Beth’s side, lifted the damp cloth she had been using earlier and started to dab at Beth’s cheek again, hiding her tears.
