Navarin, Thunder and Shade
Page 4
The peasant scoffed. “Like where?”
“Well...” Broad gestured vaguely beyond the trees. “There’s a whole world out there.”
“You owe us a rabbit,” said the peasant, poking the air in front of Broad’s broad chest with the pitchfork.
“I said I’m sorry. I’ll catch you another. Two rabbits.”
The peasant shook his head. “Oh, no, boy. You’re worth more to us than any number of rabbits. Now, march!”
He jabbed at the youth, forcing him to walk ahead.
“You know,” Broad said over his shoulder. “I could draw my sword, swing around and behead you where you stand.”
“Ah, but you won’t,” the peasant grinned. “You’re not the sort.”
Broad sighed. Shade was always telling him the same thing. They were both right. He was not the sort.
He kept marching.
***
Gonda and the boy crouched behind the battlements. Below, in the courtyard, the men were gathering. They found the dead man and filled the air with swearwords.
“Come out, goose girl!” Gonda heard one cry. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Yeah, that and other fairy stories, thought Gonda. She pulled the boy closer to her, wondering whether she should cover his tiny ears to shield him from the coarse language. The boy was rigid - it was like holding a statue. His eyes were unblinking and his cheeks were pale.
The man in the courtyard continued to implore her to give herself up. Gonda remained where she was, wishing she too was a statue. His voice was the only one - what were the others up to and where were they?
Too late, Gonda realised she should have moved. They were trying not to make a sound but they were coming up the spiral staircase. It can’t be easy, she reflected, to carry farming implements up such a narrow stairwell. What am I thinking?
“O-ho!” said a man with a scythe. “What have we here?”
He stepped out onto the parapet, followed by two more with an axe and a hoe. Gonda half-scurried, half-scampered in the opposite direction only to be confronted by a trio of tooled-up villagers, bearing a cleaver, a rake and an adze.
Trapped!
“We got her, Barl!” the scythe wielder called out. “The boy, too!”
“Good work!” said Barl from below. “Try not to hurt them too much.” He laughed but not for long. His laughter was swallowed by the rumbling of thunder. Barl’s friends’ and neighbours’ farming implements rained down on him, like a fall of arrows, running him through. He was dead before those friends and neighbours themselves followed suit, flailing and screaming through the air, to land face first on the flagstones, breaking necks, backs, and skulls.
When all was quiet and they had the parapet to themselves again, Gonda allowed herself to stand and peer over the edge. She gasped to see the crumpled figures below, their broken bodies linked by a spreading lake of blood.
Behind her, the boy let out a gurgle, the first sound she had ever heard him utter. Gonda wasn’t sure but to her it sounded like a laugh.
***
“I was cursed with daughters,” the peasant with a pitchfork said, as he steered the youth he had found in the forest toward a humble farmhouse in the middle of a ploughed field. Seven women, presumably the daughters he mentioned, straightened their bent backs to wave. “They work hard enough but they lack the brawn of a fine fellow like you. Had I seven sons instead, we could plant twice as much, work twice as much land.”
I don’t know, thought Broad as the nearest of the women drew nearer. They seem pretty brawny to me. Although ‘pretty’ isn’t probably the best word.
“What have you got there, Daddo?” said one, wiping her flat forehead with the back of her hand.
“Funny looking rabbit,” observed another. Both girls were square-jawed, freckled and ruddy from their life outdoors. Their arms, Broad noticed, were as thick as their necks.
“This boy owes us our dinner,” said the father proudly. “We shall put him to work to pay for it.”
They were joined by the other girls, each one a younger version of the last. They stood admiring their father’s prize, twirling the tresses that escaped their headscarves and curling their lips in lecherous speculation.
“Handsome bugger,” was one’s appraisal. The others grunted in agreement.
Broad was uncomfortable under so much female scrutiny. He turned to the father, his hands still raised.
“Am I to be put to the plough?” he asked. The girls snickered.
“You could say that,” said the farmer.
***
Lughor ate as he rode. He had helped himself to what was in the farmer’s kitchen - well, they wouldn’t be needing it, would they? He cast chicken bones over his shoulder and cleaned his teeth with an apple. The sun was climbing higher - it looked like it was going to be a lovely afternoon.
For me, at least.
The road wound down a hillside into a valley, where a hamlet straddled a stream. It didn’t look like they had much, the occupants of this hamlet. Put together, what they owned hardly seemed worth his while, but he needed the practice, had to keep his eye in.
He counted the homesteads, trying to gauge how many souls lived there. Say a couple to a house, with perhaps three or four kiddies and possibly an elderly relative: the mother-in-law... Say, ten per hovel, give or take a couple.
So, eighty, then.
Eighty people who were unaware their last hour was upon them.
He unstrapped his bow from the saddle and nocked the first arrow. He would pick off those who were outdoors, those who might see him coming and alert the others, with silent, deadly bolts out of the blue.
Down went the first man. The one at his side gaped in confusion and surprise. Then he too went down, tumbling from the bridge into the stream.
Lughor smiled to himself. Oh, yes; I’ve still got my eye all right.
Five
“Where have you brought us?” said Shade, stretching and looking around. He was a stringy silhouette against the darkening sky, a blot on the bright streaks of crimson and gold.
“Farm,” said Broad, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“And what are you, the guard dog?”
Broad frowned. Then he remembered the collar and chain around his neck. “Oh, this,” he shrugged. “This is nothing.”
“So let’s go.”
“I can’t, can I?”
“You can’t break that chain?”
“Haven’t tried. I owe these people a rabbit.”
“And for that you let them chain you up in the yard? I knew you were soft in the head but you have outdone yourself this time.”
“They need me to help them plough.”
“So why don’t they let you in the house? This is most undignified.”
“There are young women in there,” said Broad. “It would not be seemly.”
“Humans,” Shade shook his head. “I could swoop in there, feed on a couple, see if I can find the key.”
“No!” Broad cried. “Keep out of there. I’m sure, once I’ve paid off my debt, they’ll let me go.”
“Yes, I’m convinced,” Shade was sarcastic. He pulled at the chain. Broad fell over.
“Ow! Stop it!”
“Just yanking your chain!” Shade laughed.
“Well, don’t!”
Shade pulled a face. The back door opened. He melted into the shadows. The eldest of the peasant’s daughters came out.
“Hello, Broad,” she whispered.
“Hello,” said Broad.
“You asleep?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She crouched on the ground beside him. She reached out to tickle his throat and stroke his hair. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you? Str
ong.”
“Am I?” said Broad. “Never really thought about it.”
“You come from good stock,” the girl appraised him. “Many more at home like you?”
“No!” Broad snapped. He turned away. The peasant girl patted him on the back.
“There, there,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Listen, when the time comes, promise me, I’ll be first.”
“First what?” said Broad.
“Hah!” said Shade from the shadows. Broad sent him a quizzical look. The girl frowned: what was he looking at?
“Oho!” said another voice. One of her sisters had arrived. “I should have known you’d be out here, breaking the rules.”
The first girl stood up to face her accuser. “What? Out here in the dirt? That might be your style but it isn’t mine.”
The second girl gasped and launched herself at her sister. With hair-pulling and nails-scratching, they rolled around. It was all Broad could do to keep out of their way. He backed against a wall.
“Nice girls,” muttered Shade.
“Droosa! Philemony!” The peasant roared from the doorway. His pitchfork was very much in evidence. “What the stars are you doing?”
The girls ceased their rolling around and composed themselves.
“Nothing, Daddo,” said the elder.
“Droosa started it,” averred the other. “Coming out here to get a head start.”
“I never!” Droosa cried. “Daddo, believe me; I was just seeing our guest was still here. The chain is rusty and his arms are strong. So very strong...”
“I’m disgusted with the pair of you,” the peasant snarled. “Get you back to bed. Yon fellow needs cleaning first, and then we’ll see what’s what and who’s going first.”
“Oh, but, Daddo!” Philemony protested. The peasant showed her the back of his hand as threat of hitting her with it. The girls took last, lingering looks at Broad, before trudging past their father and back into the house.
The peasant grabbed Broad’s chain and pulled him out into the open. The prongs of his pitchfork were around the youth’s neck.
“You shouldn’t have released that rabbit, son,” the peasant sneered humourlessly. “But I’m kind of glad you did.”
Chuckling, he patted Broad’s face and went back to his bed.
“Peculiar family,” was Shade’s assessment, when they were alone again. “What is all this business about cleaning you up and taking turns? I would have thought you’d need a wash down when you’ve finished ploughing not before.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Broad conceded. “But I reckon one day in the fields will clear me of my debt.”
“I don’t know,” said Shade, floating closer to a window in the eaves. “I say we go with my plan to have a feed and get the key.”
“No!” Broad pleaded. “I have made a promise.”
Shade sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. You and your promises. Nothing but trouble.”
He rose into the sky.
“Where are you going?” Broad whispered.
“Not far,” came the reply. “I can’t very well, can I? With you chained up like the family pet.”
“Sorry about that,” said Broad. “But you can go one night without a feed, can’t you?”
I can, thought Shade. But I prefer not to. You never know when my abilities might be called upon.
He did a tour of the property, as far as the perimeters, before the pull of the ring brought him back. These people were tenants, eking out a meagre living from substandard soil, and probably paying over the odds to the Duke for the privilege. They would be better off if I swooped inside and ended the lot of them, the poor sods.
But no; Broad had made a promise to do what these people wanted. If they were dead it would release him from that promise but he would never forgive Shade for intervening. And I’m the one who’d be stuck with him and his resentment. He’d never let me forget it.
Shade restrained himself. He went back to the youth whose fate was entwined with his own and returned to the ring. An early night won’t kill me, he supposed.
There’s not much that will.
***
Upon his return from his secret morning assignation, the Duke had taken to his apartments and would brook no visitor. Not even his valet was admitted. Ridiculous, declared Carith! If my husband is unwell, he must be attended!
What are you up to, she wondered outside his door? She refrained from knocking - another ludicrous idea that she should knock. Have I not freedom within my own home? She tried the handle; the door was locked.
Hang the man!
Carith did not like it when it was made apparent to her that her husband had a mind of his own and would engage in activities of which she knew very little, if anything. And when you discovered one - like an ant in your kitchen - it could only mean there were more, unseen and unknown, hidden away somewhere.
Well, she would get to the bottom of it. She couldn’t have the fool sneaking around the Principality getting up to all sorts and thereby jeopardising the sacrifice - which was now less than a month away. So, so close!
If I had my way, he would remain in his quarters until that day. At least I would know where he was.
These thoughts preoccupied her so much that the entire day was wasted. The Duke’s advisors kept appealing to her, with scrolls and documents tucked under their arms. There were letters to be read, replied to and despatched. Could she not do something to entice His Grace from his confinement? Or, if he was so desperately ill, could he not appoint a proxy until such time as he made full recovery?
A proxy!
That was a capital idea.
“I hereby appoint myself proxy to His Grace the Duke,” she announced, giving rise to consternation among the bewigged advisors. “After all, anyone may wield the ducal seal, may they not? Weighty issues can wait until my husband may be consulted, but I, a mere woman, I grant you, have some proficiency when it comes to the more mundane matters. Do I not run a household, and what is the Principality but a larger household?”
The advisors dared not answer. They backed out of her presence, promising to return when His Grace was in better health.
Fools.
Carith toyed with the seal, ornately carved as any chess piece. She looked at the emblem, tooled in reverse. That sums us up, my darling, she grinned to herself. Our marriage is backwards. It is I who should be in charge.
When evening came, hunger induced the Duke to unlock his door. Carith was swift enough to intercept a tray the valet was about to deliver.
“I shall take that,” she smiled, dismissing him with her thanks. She let herself in and approached the bed. The Duke, still in his riding clothes from his earlier excursion, was sitting on the bed, looking ashen and pale. “Poor darling! Are you strong enough to take a little something?” She lifted the cloche. “Oh! Salted meat and peppered eggs!”
“I asked for them especially.”
“You should have said. I would have prepared-”
“Come now, dearest; you and I both know you are too busy to be bothered with such an insignificant task.”
She looked at him carefully. Was he hinting at something? Was he letting her know that he knew she did not prepare his breakfasts herself? That it didn’t matter?
She perched beside him and cut up the meat. He allowed himself to be fed, seemed, in fact, to enjoy it. All men like to be mothered, she reflected. Mothered but not smothered. Although the plump pillows behind him did look exceedingly tempting...
“Bah,” he complained on receiving a forkful of egg. “These are not as good as yours.”
“Really?” she sniffed at the dish. “She has forgot the pepper! That is why! I shall fetch you some at once.”
“There’s no need-”
“My sentimental darling,” the Duke had said when first he had seen it. “A pretty thing!”
“Do you mean me or my pepper pot?” she had laughed.
“Both, I suppose,” he’d said. Every morning since then, he had applied liberal helpings of pepper to his eggs - the eggs she claimed to prepare for him every day.
She handed him the pepper pot and he seized it with gratitude, twisting its neck so fine black dust rained on his supper.
“That’s better!” he cried, tucking in with gusto. In a trice, the dish was clean and he seemed in heartier spirits.
“Something upset you today, my husband,” Carith arched an eyebrow.
He shook his head, dismissive. “Oh, just a funny turn. Teach me to go gallivanting before my breakfast!”
Indeed. She pursed her lips, prompting him to say on.
“Got a little overheated, I expect. Felt a little faint. Came straight home. Feeling better now. Stars bless peppered eggs, eh?” He reached out for her hand and squeezed it. She, for her part, permitted it. “All that’s missing now is a couple of whizz-bangs to finish the night off properly!”
He jumped off the bed and hurried to the window.
“Darling, no!”
“Just a couple. When the hour is struck. Let the people know their Duke is alive and well. Send them off to bed with happy thoughts!”
Make your mind up, she scowled. He caught her dark look and laughed.
“I know; I know what you would say. Me and my fireworks! I own it: I am addicted to the things. Such a marvel gunpowder is! But isn’t it better, darling, for it to be put to use for something beautiful rather than the murder and mayhem of war?”
“I suppose so. But people will already be in bed. Some of them get up before first light. They have farms to tend. Where do you think your beloved eggs come from?”