by Chris Ward
Gymble returned at that moment with the large leather bag, empty now of its contents. Rema took the bag and placed it over the soldier’s head. It fitted snuggly and Rema used its drawstring to bring the open end tight shut around the unconscious man’s throat. He tied it securely, and being leather, he knew it would require a knife to set the man free. He felt carefully to confirm that there was enough room for the man to breath, and satisfied that he would not suffocate, he ordered Gymble to assist him in carrying the man ashore. In a trice, he was unceremoniously dumped on the river bank, well above the water. Gymble could not help himself and gave the unconscious figure another quick tap on the back of his head with a club of a fist, and then they untied the barge and pushed it out into the current.
Within moments, they were away and moving out into the river, away from the bank and any other dangers which might lie in wait.
Only then, did Rema pause and turn his attention to Gymble and the boy.
*
Captain Sadis had eyes like a hawk. It was what made him such a good soldier in the field. He saw things which other men thought inconsequential; and he was never too lazy to ask the question, why? And then he would spend considerable energy in finding an answer. Not like some of the men in his small troupe. Trakker was good, but preferred life in camp. Nimrev was not only unpopular with everyone, he was always had an excuse for shirking his duty. Sadis was convinced he was the worst soldier in the long history of the unit; and punishment made no difference. Bone lazy was just that. Bolt was solid, a fighter, not afraid of battle, but he lacked initiative, and besides, he smelt bad. Sadis hated body odour. Vemin was the best, a silent dark man with unequalled ability in the saddle or with the blade. He even made Sadis nervous; but Vemin was not with them now, he’d left in pursuit of the boy at first light so Sadis was stuck with the other four.
He’d seen the man briefly, high on the hill as they left the burnt out village. A lone man on a hill was not suspicious, but he’d fallen to the ground so quickly to avoid being seen that Sadis felt compelled to find out why.
With a cry to his men to follow, Sadis spurred his mount along the rutted road and then off into the fields, climbing the steep hill at a full gallop, knowing that his troupe would struggle to keep up. He did not suspect a ambush so he continued on till he reached the spot where he’d last seen his quarry. His horse stood snorting, tossing its head and gasping for air from the effort of an uphill charge. Sadis sat immobile, eyes narrowed and surveyed the ground. The damp grass told its story. One man lying prone, crawling backwards, blood on the ground, was he injured? Further on, footsteps clearly leading back towards the forest.
Sadis swung around as the other men arrived. Nimrev was half out of his saddle. Couldn’t ride to save himself thought Sadis. Trakker had stopped further down the hill, and had dismounted. Sadis felt immediate annoyance.
‘Get yerself up here soldier,’ he yelled angrily. Trakker looked up at him briefly, but his only motion was to bend down and pick up something from the grass. Even at that distance Sadis’ keen eyes could see it was an arrow, glinting in the early morning sunlight. Trakker had done well, and he knew it. He rode up with a little too much arrogance, which tested Sadis’ patience. With a supreme effort he let it pass and instead focused on the arrow. It was of normal length but unusual in that it has no feathers. Sadis at first thought they had fallen off, a common enough problem with all arrows. But a closer examination revealed that it had never held any feathers, and fresh blood indicated a recent kill. There were also three unusual grooves entwining the full length of the shaft. Sadis thought them to be decoration.
‘That’s not an arrow. It’s a toy!’ Nimrev leaned over and contributed little. ‘Couldn’t do any damage with that! Are we chasing a boy who’s playing soldiers, Captain?’ He smirked at the other men.
Sadis rounded on him.
‘There’s fresh blood on the shaft soldier. Something’s dead. Unfortunately it’s not you. Fool!’
He was interrupted by Trakker, who, with surprising initiative had located a pool of blood in the grass several paces on towards the forest.
‘Over here captain. Looks like our man is hunting. Killed a rabbit or a hare.’ He was sniffing the ground with his large nose. Animal blood Captain. Whoever stood here was not injured, not least that I can tell.
‘Well done Trakker.’ Sadis replied civilly, ‘I’m glad someone is taking this seriously.’
The captain walked his horse in a circle, searching the grass for any further clues. He saw none.
‘Alright men, we are after one man, a hunter, uninjured and wanting to keep out of sight. After last night’s events in the village I want no one out there I don’t know about.’ Sadis had taken on the familiar air of commander.
The men knew then that they were in for a chase. All of them, even Trakker, who had so far impressed his captain, felt it was not worth the energy. The devil’s work had been done. People would talk. Who knew what this lone man had or had not seen. Did it really matter anyway?
‘Lead the way Trakker.’ Sadis would not be swayed, and no one dared to try.
Trakker led his horse, and bent to the ground, although it was easy to follow the footprints of the man in the wet grass.
‘Dropping blood captain,’ Trakker spoke disinterestedly,’ Probably his kill.’
‘Good,’ said Sadis, ‘that will make it easier to follow in the forest.’ He waited for a moment before adding, ‘No guard duty tonight, for the man who brings him down.’ After that, the pace picked up noticeably.
In the forest under the trees, it was harder to follow the blood trail, but with the determined Captain Sadis driving them on, they moved ever closer to the river.
‘I hear a horse.’ Soldier Bolt spoke for the first time since leaving the destroyed village.
A moment later, they came upon it.
‘That’s Venim’s horse,’said Trakker, who had walked all the way following the faint signs of blood, a trail which lessened the further it went as the blood had congealed.
‘Dismount men, spread out. He could be wounded anywhere close by.’ Sadis spoke clearly, ‘and shut your mouth Nimrev, we need to hear in case he’s calling us.
The silence wasn’t required, for Venim had come around and was angrily trying to rid himself of the leather bag which covered his head. His efforts and cursing made a comical sight which made even Sadis grin, and watch bemused, as his best man, soldier Venim stumbled about bumping into trees and falling down.
‘Wait on, he’s been wounded.’ Bolt spoke again and then they all saw his bloodied hand and realised that much of the anger of their companion hid a bitter pain.
Sadis tethered his horse and was quickly by Venim’s side. The wounded man backed away fearfully, falling once more before realising that he had been found by his Captain. He then sat still waiting to be released from his tiny prison. His pride quietened him, and once the bag was removed he blinked furiously to regain his vision in the bright sunlight. Suddenly a passion came upon him, and he was on his feet, and despite the calls of the other soldiers raced along the riverbank looking out into the blue mist, which still hung heavy upon the waters, and swirled amongst the trees and the reeds by the water’s edge. Venim called out to an unseen craft and its occupants.
‘I’ll find you, do you hear me? I’ll destroy you. You will not escape Venim, you hear me. Until I die I will not rest until I have my revenge.’
But there was no answer, and finally exhausted with pain and humiliation, he stopped his mad aggression and let his Captain treat his wound. The other soldiers murmured sympathetically for they knew that Venim would never again wield a sword as he had in the past, and that in his disfigured hand, he would always bear the reminder of his loss.
Just before they all mounted and made off under the orders of their Captain, Sadis presented Venim with the arrow which had so recently come into his possession.
‘Find the owner of this arrow Soldier Venim and you will have your ma
n,’ said Sadis gravely, ‘but take care, for I fear that his skills with the bow are more than equal to your hand on the blade.’
Venim looked long and hard at the strange arrow before swearing a private oath, fearful and strong, that he would find its owner and take his revenge. He then placed it in his saddlebag and followed his Captain back to duty, but there was an evil darkness in his heart, which from that time on, kept him distant from all others, until his life became lonely and bitter and he was feared by all who served with him.
And the deadly arrow became his closest companion.
*
As soon as they had returned to the barge, Gymble cast off and gave orders with a quick conviction which spoke of the deadly danger they we all in. They had attacked one of the king’s men, and no matter how just the cause, they faced the direst retribution. Gymble knew that other soldiers would likely be close by, and knew that the river promised safety only if they could disappear without a trace.
With great sculling strokes on the oar, he forced his unwieldy barge out into the current and in moments, the bank was lost in the mist. The boy sat shivering on the deck, forgotten in the haste to put as great a distance as possible between themselves and any pursuit.
‘Ready the sail Rema,’ Gymble spoke in a horse whisper, knowing how easily sound would travel across still waters. ‘We need to get far out into the river. It is wider here, and there will be other bargers about, we are not far from the city. Our only hope is to join them.’
And so with the sail set they maneuvered the vessel across the current until by the time the mid morning sun had burnt the mist away, they were far distant from the bank and well downstream in the company of several other similar vessels. For now, they were safe.
Rema had by this time thrown a blanket around the boy, reassured him that he was safe, and would be protected; but he realised that the lad was in deep shock and would need special care. Care which he had no time to give. The three travelers did not speak about the events which had taken place until just after midday when Gymble suddenly lifted the massive sculling oar from the water and went and lowered the sail. At the mercy of the current the barge travelled slowly downstream but in no danger; for the Luminos River was almost two leagues wide at this point, and they were in the middle, far from the banks. Whilst other barges could be seen heading for the city of Ramos, they were all some distance away, and since they all travelled with the current there was no danger of anything happening quickly.
‘Time to talk,’ said Gymble gently. ‘Much to say, answers to find.’
Rema nodded and the boy looked from the old barger to the archer with an expression which almost broke Rema’s heart.
Gymble brought some food and drink and they ate, not caring for it, but grateful that their hands were occupied, for their emotions were not easily hidden.
‘What’s your name boy, and where is your home?’ Gymble spoke ever so gently, sitting next to him in his old chair. He was packing his pipe, and soon was sucking happily and blowing clouds of sweet smelling smoke over the side where the wind whisked it away up river.
The boy hesitated as if considering the question, as though by giving his name he would be revealing too much of who he was, but he replied in a small and distant voice.
‘My name is Nemul.’ Rema was startled, and glanced quickly at the old skipper, but Gymble seemed not to notice.
‘I have no home,’ he continued, and Rema knew that Nemul’s village was the one he had seen that morning, a smoking ruin. The two older men nodded and allowed the boy time to go on. Nemul struggled with his words, and blinking back tears unsuccessfully, he told his story.
‘They burnt my village last night. The people were driven off into the night. They hung my father. I was made to watch.’ He sobbed uncontrollably then, and Gymble, with an ease which belied his age and profession, reached out and held Nemul’s hand.
‘Why your father?’ Rema could not help ask the dreadful question.
‘He won the prize. They promised everything and then they betrayed him.’ Nemul’s voice hardened in anger. ‘Like others he entered the king’s competition, but he won. It was a trap. I can see that now.’
‘What competition, what trap?’ Rema could not help himself.
The distraught boy looked at him. ‘The king is afraid of anyone who is skilled with the bow. He declared a competition, promising riches for those who win. My father was the best archer in these parts south of the Luminos, but we are poor and he thought he could make us rich. He went to Raine and beat all the others from all around. He came home happy and with the promise that the riches would follow. The King, Lord Petros Luminos had promised.’ Nemul broke off as the pain of his tale became too much for him.
‘And so the soldiers came and destroyed your village and hung your father as a warning to anyone who might take up arms.’ Gymble finished the boy’s story. Nemul nodded and sobbed quietly, rocking gently as if to comfort himself. ‘I have heard of this several times,’ Gymble continued. The king is mad.’ The old man sucked on his pipe for a time, his eyes moist with emotion.
‘They would have killed me too, so I ran away, but a soldier chased me. I saw him cut many people last night, for he used his sword continually.’ Nemul spoke once more.
‘He was the one who wanted to take you from me this morning?’ Gymble spoke quietly.
Nemul nodded.
‘Well we have Rema here to thank for preventing that. A good shot Rema. I’m sure the king would like to hear of you.’ Nemul then looked at Rema and nodded.
‘You will be hunted down sira, it would have been better to kill that man. They will not offer you the same mercy, for they know not how to give it.’
Rema considered this for a time. ‘You may be right young Nemul, but I was not seen, and I hold more fears for Gymble here, and you, for you both will be spoken of.’
‘Fear not for me Rema,’ said Gymble fiercely, ‘for the river makes it hard to catch a man, and the barges all look alike. I have learnt a few tricks which will keep me safe. But the boy?’ Gymble looked hard at Nemul. ‘Do you have relatives, anyone who you can go to?’ Nemul just shook his head.
‘I have no one.’ And that was all he would say.
‘How old are you lad?’ Gymble asked softly.
‘I turned sixteen, two days ago,’ Nemul replied, ‘but now I am on my own.’
Rema saw a sudden discernment in Gymble’s eyes and they shared a look, which told a deeper story. Rema knew in that moment, that Gymble had realised that this boy who had so suddenly chanced upon him, was the exact same age that his own lost son would have been, and by some fate his very name was a reflective, his son’s name in reverse, and all Revelyn understood this to be a powerful omen. And here he was an orphan, and Gymble a father whose lost loves still cried out for some assuaging.
All this acknowledged in the briefest of looks., and they shared a simple, knowing smile.
‘No lad, you are welcome here aboard my boat. You are not alone,’ said Gymble, master Barger of the mighty Luminos River, and once more the big old man took Nemul’s hand and held it, and the lad did not refuse his grip, and sat there, taking comfort from such a gentle giant.
Rema realised then that the Revel-Hare was still tied to his belt, forgotten in the madness which had overtaken them.
‘Tonight I will cook for us all Gymble. A special dish of my own.’
Gymble smiled happily, and his soft reply came from far away. ‘I look forward to your offering Rema Bowman, but I think there will be nothing that can match my tater pie.’
Chapter 8.
Rema stood in the shadows and listened. With eyes shut, he simultaneously heard and felt the muffled conversations which came to him for some distance around. With the deep sense which had grown in him from childhood, he sifted the sounds and the mood. He heard nothing clearly, faint arguments, a woman sobbing, a husband demanding, children playing, vendors selling. It was a loosely woven carpet of sombre, undulating sound which
told him one thing only.
Ramos was a city of fear.
Only the very youngest children seemed able to rise above it.
Innocent, and yet so vulnerable, thought Rema, and then opened his eyes.
He stood in a narrow alleyway not far from the rear of Serenna’s large home. From where he stood he could see the window high up, just below the tiled roof, which he had used to escape, only a few days past. Not far from where he watched, further down the alley, was the place he had been wounded in the leg by a soldier who had lain in wait. The trap had almost succeeded. It had been a close thing. The memory of that moment caused Rema to shiver involuntarily, but he continued to watch, standing as motionless as a statue, his every sense alert and waiting.
He had farewelled Gymble and the boy Nemul in the early morning. The barge had arrived at the Port of Ramos just after sunrise in the company of many others, and Rema had marvelled at the skill of the bargers as they half sculled, half sailed their unwieldy vessels, fighting currents and fickle winds, cursing each other and their craft until, almost against all reason, they were securely tied up to one of the many wooden wharves which reached out untidily into the river. Gymble had been anxious to unload his cargo and leave, worried that a report of recent events might have reached the city. Rema understood his fear and offered to help with the unloading, but Gymble would have none of it.
‘Last time you were in the hold Rema Bowman…what a mess! the pigs fouled everywhere. You go. The boy and I will do it well enough.’ His gruff voice hid a deeper emotion, and Rema noticed the way he gently laid a big hand on Nemul’s shoulder. The two had become close so quickly.
Rema grasped the older man’s hand firmly. ‘I could not have fallen in with a braver or kinder man. I wish you well Gymble Barger. I will not forget you, nor your story, for it has moved me deeply. The boy is in good hands. May your future redeem your past.’ They stood for a moment acknowledging their deep bond before the older man softened and spoke.
