by Chris Ward
‘Gives me something to do when the wind dies and I have to tie up somewhere. Meat I get when I can; a pig will die or a chicken,’ at this he smiled to himself, and Rema realised that the temptation of his cargo probably was too much to ignore at times. One less chicken or pig now and then could be covered up easily enough. ‘So I eat well, and I enjoy the cooking. Got a recipe book from my mother, now she could cook. Taught me all I know.’
He smiled and went back to steering for a bit, happy with his thoughts.
Rema was struck by his quiet composure, and the mental picture of this large and brawny old man, gently weeding his waterborne vegetable garden, and cooking up a meal for one, each night by candle light, whilst following his mother’s old recipes, almost made him chuckle; something he realised that he had not done in long while.
They spoke of little things, and let the long silences sit comfortably. Neither felt the need to talk, but were happy to speak in answer to a question or to remark on some sight as the world on the river’s edge travelled slowly by. Before turning in the night before Rema had told Gymble of his desire to travel to Ramos, to which he had received a warm invitation from the barger to accompany him, for the vessel was headed there, and should arrive in the next day or so, depending on the current and the wind. And so it was agreed.
‘And I won’t make you go down to the pigs again,’ Gymble had chuckled loudly, ‘I need a few left alive for market!’ Rema had forced a rueful smile. It was not easy for him to admit failure in anything, but with the pigs, he knew he was beaten.
As the day went by Rema found himself increasingly entranced by the lazy pace of life on the river. They saw two other barges heading in their direction, and three went by travelling ponderously upriver, but so wide was the waterway that there was no contact save for a distant wave and the ringing of a gong, which it seemed all the barges had handy for night work, or when a fog came up and made visibility a problem. The conversation continued every now and then, and after a time, lulled by the river and warm sun, Rema shared his hopes for a life with his love, Sylvion Greyfeld. Gymble seemed to enjoy the talk of marriage and family, so it was not without reason that Rema finally asked the rough old barger whether he too was married, or had a family. The old barger’s response caught him by surprise, for Gymble Barger started to cry. It was a soundless grief, but genuine and deep, without shame, and it moved Rema most powerfully.
‘I am sorry to have asked what is none of my business Gymble’ he said, sincerely sorry for his new friend. ‘I intended no harm.’
‘And no harm have you done lad,’ replied Gymble, wiping his eyes on the old sleeve of his tunic, ‘but there is a story there which I cannot tell without grief, for I have been sorely tested these past years on this matter.’ Rema sat quietly, looking out towards the nearest bank, allowing Gymble to speak, or not, as he wished. After a time the older man spoke, his every word wrapped in sorrow. His voice was gentle and distant, and he seemed to speak to no one in particular, but Rema heard every word.
‘I was married late in life you see. I never thought I was the type and never thought another person, let alone a pretty woman would think to take a second look at me. But my Gracelin; ah she was so pretty, and could charm me with a word so easily. We met in the spring and married before summer. She had an old mother who needed care and so I was on the river without her, which was best, as it is a hard life, rough, and not so clean as a woman would like. Ah she was lovely, was my Gracelin; a soul mate.’
He was silent for quite some time and Rema had no wish to intrude, as the man was clearly lost in his thoughts. After a time he went on.
‘We had a boy. I cannot tell you Rema Bowman what it is to have a child. I never imagined it. Never thought anything could be so fine. We named him Lumen, after the river, for he was the light of our lives. The joy that boy gave me and my Gracelin could not be measured.’ Rema glanced across and saw that Gymble’s face was wet with tears, and he wondered what misfortune could have fallen upon this gentle man that he should be so distraught.
‘Ten years of joy beyond belief we had. Gracelin and the boy, and me the rough old father away for days on the river, always to return home to a wife and young boy who welcomed me like I was the most important person in all of Revelyn.’ Gymble wiped his eyes and sniffed a little. He spoke no more for such a time that Rema finally dared to gently prompt him.
‘What happened Gymble? What sad story do you have to tell, for I can see you are deeply troubled by what came to pass.’
Gymble looked at Rema then, as though suddenly remembering that there was another close by. He smiled weakly, and gathered himself for the final painful telling.
‘Ten years of joy, then my Gracelin caught the disease. Leprosy it was. Everyone shunned her. The fear of it drove them away. My boy caught it from his mother and the officers reported it to the City officials and one day when I returned from the river they were gone.’ His voice hardened in anger and he spat over the side. ‘Lord Petros Luminos, that evil king; that poison filled maggot of a man declared that all those with Leprosy were to be put to death or transported. It took me days to find out where they had been taken, all the while thinking that they were likely dead.’ He stopped suddenly, and after a time Rema inquired once more.
‘They are alive?’
Gymble took a deep breath, ignored the question and finished his sorry tale.
‘They were transported with others to Soris on the western coast, and shipped out to Blight on Leper Island. The whole island is one huge colony for lepers, or anyone with a skin disease which so terrifies our noble king.’ He spat once more into the river. ‘I found they were there after many days, but was not allowed to visit. Two years it took before any word came, and another year before I was given permission to travel to the Island. You cannot believe the vileness of that place. Death and corruption is everywhere. I used all my money in bribes to find my Gracelin and my poor boy.’ Gymble sobbed loudly for a time, and Rema looked away.
‘I could not recognise my Gracelin for the disease had eaten her away. She made me promise never to return. My boy, my dear Lumen was overjoyed to see me, and begged that I take him with me. He was desperate to get away, and he was not too badly affected by the sickness. If I could have done it, I would have taken him. I promised him I would return with more money and work out a plan. I asked him to be strong, and wait, but it had been three years, and he knew that I would not return.’ Gymble’s face was so contorted in pain and grief that he could not speak further for a time, but Rema knew he had to finish his story.
‘I heard that shortly after I left, he took his life. He jumped off a high cliff into the sea. He was only thirteen years old. I do not know what has become of my Gracelin.’ He paused, and with a final effort spoke his last words on the matter.
‘And if I ever have the chance to meet with our mighty King, he will die at my hand. And that, my friend Rema Bowman, is all I can say about my married state and family life, such as it was, except perhaps that yesterday would have been my boy Lumen’s sixteenth birthday. He always loved my tater pie. I always cook a tater pie on his birthday.’
He turned once more to the river and for a long time the two men shared company, but no words could be found to break the silence, until after what seemed an age, the gentle giant spoke one last time, in a hoarse whisper, which underlined the depth of feeling which allowed it.
‘I thank you for listening, my friend, for I have never spoken of this before, and I doubt I ever will again.’ All Rema could do was to nod his head in acknowledgement for he knew he could not trust his voice.
*
They moored that first night on the southern bank under clear skies and surrounded by an abundance of wildlife, so different from the deathly stillness of the night before. As it was warm, they both lay on deck, and fell asleep watching the brilliance of the stars above, and listening to the chirp of crickets and frogs, and the occasional hooting of an owl. The stars seemed so close that Rema felt h
e might reach out and pluck one out of the sky. He felt a desperation about Sylvia creep once more into his heart, but he fought against it, knowing that she was beyond his help and he needed all his energy to survive the next few days, for his return to Petros was both foolhardy and dangerous.
Despite the hard deck, they both slept soundly and woke to the first rays of sun filtering eerily through a blue mist which sat deeply on the river, and the happy quaking of the wild ducks as they too began their day.
Rema left Gymble on board making the vessel ready for another day’s travel, and took his bow and arrows and went looking for game for their evening meal. They had finished the tater pie the night before, and Rema had a yearning for some meat, a hare, or small deer, and the thin woods above the steep bank seemed a promising place. Once ashore he felt immediately at home in the open forest. The thick dew glistened and dripped from every leaf and blade of grass, and everywhere drops sparkled like diamonds in the early morning sun. The wet ground made tracking animals an easy task for Rema who had grown up hunting in the high mountains, learning to follow a spore over even the rockiest ground. Here in the damp forest, tracks of all kinds were easily visible. He noticed the solid impressions of a lynzcat, a sizeable predator but not worth the eating. Rabbits were everywhere, but the hunter in Rema refused to take such an easy target; besides he had a taste for the larger and swift running Revel-Hare, and as he moved silently deeper into the woods he picked up the unmistakable tracks of a pair. At one point, he stopped and felt their droppings, which were still warm and steaming in the early sun.
‘Not far I’ll wager,’ he whispered contentedly, confident that he would eat well that night. Sure enough, just as he was about to step out into a clearing, he caught sight of them, about fifty paces distant, sitting upright and sniffing the air, ears erect and twitching. They were nervous creatures, and they had need to be, for they had no burrows and slept in the open, often in pairs, and relied on their amazingly swift bounding motion to elude a host of predators. Rema notched and arrow and took a pace back into the shadow of a tree so that he was better hidden. The barest of breezes was wafting from him towards the hares, but he knew he would be smelt out at any moment. He was aware that the land dropped away behind his quarry, which meant they formed an easy target, silhouetted against a distant hillside.
The nearest hare suddenly jumped, thumping its back legs twice on the ground, instinctively giving its mate a warning, just as Rema loosed his arrow from a full draw. It crossed the distance to its target in an almost invisible blur, although Rema’s trained eye followed it all the way. For the briefest moment, he thought he had aimed too low, but just as the hare crouched, preparing to bound away it was dead, pierced right through the chest, with the arrow continuing on some distance, and disappearing into the valley beyond. The other hare was gone in a flash, and Rema felt a twinge of remorse that it had lost its companion. Revel-Hares were gracious creatures, and they mated for life.
He picked up the still warm and twitching body of his kill, securing it quickly to his belt in the familiar manner he had repeated over and over so many times in the past. He stood for a moment, and sighted to the far hillside locating a large tree with which he had marked his arrow’s flight, and set off towards it. Suddenly he dropped to the ground and gasped. There below him in the valley, hidden until that moment by the slope of the land, was a village; or what remained of it. The ruins were still smoking, but the fires were old. House after house of stone walls without roofs surrounded a central square in which stood a gallows. Hanging from that stark structure was a body. Rema was too far away to see much more as he fell instantly to the ground, except that he noticed a small troop of soldiers and their mounts leaving the wasted village, by a road which travelled roughly towards him.
Lying still in the damp grass he brought his rapid breathing under control and started to crawl backwards up the slope to a point where he felt he was hidden once more.
Did they see me? Who are they? What possible reason could they have to destroy a place like that?
A thousand frantic questions raced through his mind.
Judging the point at which he felt he was safe from sight, Rema crouched into a run, and disappeared back into the woods, moving carefully so as to leave the least trace of his passing. He worked his way back towards the river, stopping every now and then to listen for sounds of pursuit. He was unaware that the hare secured to his belt was dripping bright red spots of blood, laying behind him a trail, which spoke of death, and invited pursuit.
Despite the fear of what might be following, Rema forced himself to move even more cautiously as he came closer to where Gymble’s barge was tied up, and within moments was glad that he had, for suddenly he heard the sounds of someone running through the trees, and immediately he recognised them as the sounds of a desperate flight. Then he heard the pursuer, clearly mounted, for the unmistakable thump of hooves traveled easily to him. He waited, frozen behind a giant oak until both pursued and pursuer were past, and then followed, for he realised with alarm, that by chance, they were both headed directly for the riverbank above the barge.
As it turned out Rema reached the river in time to see a young boy stumbling and falling down the bank toward the barge; watched by a rather bemused Gymble, who for the second time in days had been chanced upon by a fugitive from the forest. What Gymble did not immediately see was the soldier in pursuit bring his mount to a halt, and dismount in one easy action, before standing for a moment and watching the boy leap aboard the barge to join him.
Rema saw the boy speak frantically with Gymble, before pointing urgently up the bank to where they both could now see the soldier standing watching them. The soldier, unconcerned, gave a smug smile of victory, unsheathed his sword, and started to descend towards the barge. Rema had no doubt that his intent was the capture or death of the boy, and desperately looked up and down the river to see if any others were following. Satisfying himself that the soldier was alone, Rema moved quietly into a position on the bank where he could see and hear all that was about to develop below him on Gymble’s barge. He found that his heart was calm, and his hand steady, and he knew that whatever the outcome, he would not allow his new friend Gymble Barger, or the young boy, to be harmed. And so he notched an arrow, and stood quietly, and unseen, waiting to see what might happen.
The soldier stood on the bank and called to the boy.
‘Give yourself up lad, I do not want to come aboard and get you. There is no escape.’
‘This barge is mine and you have no permission to come aboard.’ Gymble spoke in anger. ‘Whatever this lad has done, you will not harm him on this vessel.’
The soldier frowned.
‘Old man, you have by chance, become involved in something you have no need to suffer for. If however, I do come aboard, you will both suffer the same fate, for I am not particular.’ He motioned to the boy. ‘Come on lad, you don’t want the old man harmed. It is all over now.’
Gymble grabbed the boy and thrust him behind his back. ‘You will take this lad over my dead body!’ Rema was suddenly taken by the anger in the old barger’s voice, but remembering their sad conversation the previous day, realised that Gymble was not about to give up another child, even if he was no relation, and especially if the enemy was a soldier of the king.
Suddenly the soldier leapt up the gangplank and with his sword drawn, had it at Gymble’s throat before anyone, even Rema realised.
‘That, old man can be arranged with little trouble.’ The soldier spoke with a deadly urgency.
Rema could no longer see the soldier’s face, but in one easy action drew his bow, and waited. He did not want to shoot the man in the back despite the threat he posed to Gymble and the boy, and so he waited for a moment, knowing that the effort to hold his bow fully drawn would exhaust him within a very short time. He weighed his options, and then, just as the soldier raised his sword to strike the defenseless man and boy, Rema instantly changed his angle and released.
The arrow at such close quarters carried an energy which would cut through steel, and so it did.
With a cry of pain the soldier’s right thumb on the hilt of his raised weapon was severed and the sword beneath his grip shattered. The remains of sword, flesh and arrow disappeared over the side in an instant, an instant in which the large and powerful fist of a very angry Gymble Barger, struck the wounded soldier once in the middle of his face. He fell unconscious and bleeding to the deck.
Rema cursed quietly, ‘A second arrow lost.’
Nevertheless, he regretted nothing, for Gymble and the boy were safe. He jumped nimbly down the bank, leapt aboard, and was bending over the prone soldier before either of the others had moved further. He took charge, for he knew that time was short and they needed to be away before other soldiers chanced upon them, or the unconscious man came round.
‘Quick Gymble get me that leather bag you have hanging in your kitchen, the one which holds your pipes and tobacco.’ Gymble looked puzzled.
‘Just do it now, I will explain, we have little time, hurry man!’
Gymble disappeared below leaving the young boy standing transfixed, as though trying to work out what had just happened.
‘You’re safe lad,’ Rema spoke without looking up, ‘quick now, get me a strip of cloth, or hemp, tear up something if you have to.’ The boy looked around wildly, and then spied the very thing holding up one of Gymble’s bean spouts against a simple frame. With nimble fingers, he untied the hemp and gave it to Rema without a word. Rema meanwhile, had compressed the bleeding stump of the soldier’s thumb to stem the flow of blood. With the hemp, he bound the stump and cut off the flow. The soldier stirred and without a thought, Rema reached out, grabbed a garden stake from its pot and hit him hard once more. The soldier fell still, but breathing healthily enough.
