by S E Turner
'Boys dig deep take small steps back.'
They took small steps back in unison.
'Stay focused! Do not look up from the rope!'
They stayed focused.
'And heave!'
More steps back. The tension was coming their way. They had control.
'Stay focused boys! Stay focused—dig those legs in firm... lean back, and—heave.'
They heaved with all the strength they had, having gained the advantage over the fatigued team. Low sitting thighs skimmed the soil with the exertion. Defined triangular calf muscles took the weight.
'Now big steps—move with the rope—keep momentum—and pull—and pull.'
They responded to his roars with their own deep guttural growls. Rivers of sweat poured down straining bodies. Focused eyes squinted and teeth clenched hard, tight fists were shredded and raw. With a final surge of exertion they strode back with giant strides and pulled the failing team on the left off their feet. They tumbled on top of each other; a sweating, heaving mass of testosterone, with arms of useless jelly. Exhilaration voided the exhaustion and they celebrated together, jumping and cheering and punching the air.
'Well done men,' they shouted together. 'Well done all.'
Vlavos looked suitably impressed. I'm going to come back next year with a team,' he exclaimed with vigour. ' The farmworkers at Aiden Hall will give anyone of them a run for their money.'
Saskia laughed and put her arm through his. 'So next year you will be the jousting king, and taking part in the tug of war?'
'That is correct, and I will show everyone what I am really made of.' He kissed the top of her head as she leaned into him.
'Come on my brave knight, I think it's time we were heading home.'
Chapter Eight
Inga Smythe was saying her goodbyes at the front door when they heard it. A sound shuddering down the hillside like nothing they had heard before. It was Tiller blowing his hunting horn—loud and intrusive, panic driven and constant; it was sounding danger. This was an alarm.
This was most unusual at this time of night, and the camp looked around in anguish, not quite sure what to do. Philipe ran out of the house, followed by Nolene. Inga held on to her friend's trembling hand. A torch sailed above their heads with tongues of fire following it and landed in the dirt behind them. A pail of water extinguished the fire, but their relief was short lived.
At the same time, Vlavos appeared with his trap. Saskia was next to him. They could hear the thunder of horses' hooves and men yelling in the distance. Torches were ablaze and heading for the homestead. As they descended, the soldiers were lighting the fields, torching the trees, setting fire to the crops, and in an instant the golden chards of life had turned black. Saskia watched in horror as a hundred year old oak became engulfed. Its branches weak against the force, it stood like a monstrous candelabra, burning out of control. Everyone was running about now, opening barn doors to set the frightened animals free. Ducks and hens took to the air. Troubadour was crazy with fear, snarling and barking at a small black and tan terrier that ran alongside the lead horse. Within minutes the air was full of choking smoke, and the drifting embers looked like crimson fireflies.
The workers were pleading with the attackers to stop. Crying at the devastation, and trying to fight back as more than a dozen soldiers set fire to the dwellings. The mounted soldiers pushed them aside or beat them down.
The riders reined up in front of the magnificent house. One figure, dark against the glare of the sun, rang out his orders.
'In the name of King Hezekiah, surrender your men and put down your arms.'
'What do you want with us?' shouted out Philipe above the screams of horses and shrieks of terrified people.
'We have orders from King Hezekiah. You are to surrender all that you own.'
'What? I have never heard of such a thing. Who is this King Hezekiah anyway?'
Nolene grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him, but Philipe looked at her with a reassuring glance, and continued to press for answers.
'I ask again, who is this King Hezekiah? '
The lead rider was a stout man, who topped all of the other men by more than a head, his blood-red cloak fanned out behind him and trailed like a burning flame. His face was concealed by a solid gold full-face helm. He bore a spear in one hand and held his horse to rein with the other. His charger wore a blanket of crimson scales with a golden saddle on top, and bore a gilded shaffron on its head. The man's sheer size gave him an air of authority, but before he could answer the given question, his attention was diverted as a young soldier spotted Saskia.
Following the commanding officer's gaze, all eyes were on the lad as he dismounted his horse and strode menacingly towards her. She gripped onto Vlavos. The young ranger circled the horse and trap, running his finger along the timber struts until he came to Saskia. He went to touch her leg. She shuffled closer to Vlavos. The watching soldiers were sniggering in their saddles.
Vlavos felt such a rage, he wanted to bellow.
The soldier inched his hand closer to Saskia. She pushed him away. Nolene held a handkerchief up to her mouth in shock. Inga Smythe held on to her small, pale hand. The soldier started to whistle a tuneless sound.
The mounted guards looked at each other, some were amused, others were clearly not.
Vlavos' rage continued to burn inside him. He would not be able to control himself if the young soldier did not stop.
The large stout man called out. 'Leave the girl alone. That is not what we are here for.'
The young ranger took no notice. His tuneless whistle continued, and his hand reached for Saskia's ankle. She shrank away from the groping fingers. Her eyes full of fear.
'I said leave her alone!' The order barked louder.
Still the juvenile ignored the order from his commanding officer and reached up her skirt.
'Boy! I will not tell you again.' The visor was lifted and angry eyes bore into the unruly youngster. His spear was raised.
In that instant, Vlavos had jumped down from his seated position, charged round to the other side, and pulled the brute off his sister. A fist went to engage with the ranger's jaw, but the soldier had other ideas, and a dagger was plunged into Vlavos' side. He gripped the wound and collapsed to the ground. Saskia screamed just as the commanding officer's spear came hurtling through the air. The spearhead went in the ranger's throat and protruded out the back of his neck. He grabbed the shaft and tried to pull it free. It was a futile move. Blood soaked the wood in seconds and he fell to the ground.
'Now is anyone else going to ignore my instructions?' The lead rider jumped down, retrieved his spear and dragged the dead youngster out of the way. He knelt down beside Vlavos. 'You are a strong and valiant warrior, a knight of the highest order. But your bravery was in vain. My spear was gathering force as you leapt down from the wagon.'
He stood up and ordered two of his men to dispose of the soldier's body.
Saskia, was at her brother's side. Philipe and Nolene scrambled over.
He struggled to speak, and each sound took all his strength. 'I love you all so much. I have looked up to you as my father, and respected my dear mother with a passion. Thank you for giving me the most wonderful sister.' He grimaced as the fatal wound sucked the life out of him. 'Be the warrior that you were meant to be Saskia. Be that warrior.'
Nolene gripped his hand, Philipe lowered his head.
'Always look for the good in people—but remember to watch out for those monsters.' A smile tugged at his mouth as he remembered the games he played with Saskia. A warm tear ran down his cheek.
'Don't you leave me brother, don't you dare leave me, don't you dare.'
'I'm sorry Saskia,' he rasped. 'But I will always be with you, concealed in the shadows. I won't ever leave you. I'll be right here.' He groaned with the pain as he touched his heart.
'You are not going anywhere Vlavos. We will always be together. I will watch you win the jousting next year, and I will
whoop for joy when you lead our team to victory in the tug of war. Father will come with us to cheer you on. Do you hear me Vlavos, do you hear me!'
But he had already gone. Somewhere he was flying above her, looking down on her, trying to give her strength, trying to pull her up and become the warrior that she was born to be. But she wailed and sobbed as if she would never recover. Philipe and Nolene mourned with her.
'I am sorry for your loss,' the commanding officer took off his helm in respect. 'Bloodshed is never what we want. '
Saskia ran into him and beat her fists on his metal breastplate. 'So what did you expect! What did you come here for? Why couldn't you leave us alone!'
The soldier let her beat him, she had little strength against his powerful armour.
'I am following orders from our king. But I do not condone bloodshed, and I will not tolerate impudence.'
Her mother approached wearily, and led her distraught daughter away. The family mourned and the farmworkers gathered.
The commanding officer spoke.
'We leave tomorrow morning. I will allow you to have this time with the deceased. Be sure to pack some provisions, for we have a long walk ahead. Food, clothing, water, but only what you can carry yourself.' He paused and looked at the mourning family. A conscience pricked his mind as he felt their grief. 'Because of the loss of life, the mother will stay here.' He glanced around. '.... with you.'
He pointed to Inga Smythe.
'But I'm the housekeeper,' interrupted Moira. 'I should stay with her.'
The officer looked her up and down. 'You are the cook— right?'
'Yes I am.' Moira stood tall and puffed out her amble bosom.
'Then you are more use to me than a lady of the manor.'
He turned as Moira went to answer him back. An outstretched arm from Nolene stopped her. She had taken note of what could happen in the face of defiance .
No one challenged the officer, no one had the energy now. A fine young man had lost his life, an insolent youth had lost his. That was enough bloodshed for one day.
That night, as Vlavos was laid to rest in a shallow grave, a vigil was held. The wailing continued well into the early hours. Saskia knelt by his grave and sobbed endlessly. The soldiers sat by the trees, contemplating what had just happened. Many could not sleep, others would never find redemption.
The commanding officer stood tall.
'We have to see this work done, but we do not have to like it.'
Chapter Nine
The homestead was numb and broken, people moved about like slow grey moths. The fields were charred beyond recognition. The animals that survived were wandering in hopeless abandonment. Carrion crows assembled in their hundreds, scavenging and squawking over rotting remains. Smoke drifted from the holding. And even though it was a mere skeleton, it still stood like a mast in the blackened sea.
The next day they began their march. The crunch of damp grass from a morning dew under hoof and foot, seemed magnified in the silence of the early hour. They were beginning to leave behind the home they loved. For the wild formations between rocky landscapes of the southern territories were quite breathtaking.
In the summer, the fields would shine like shards of gold. In the winter, the darkness consumed it and weathered it under its dull grey cloak. Saskia looked behind her one last time, and wept for the memories she had to leave there. Her mother was a mere dot on the horizon now, flanked by the loving arms of Inga Smythe. She would go to the pastor's home to be cared for; and in time, she might be able to salvage something from the homestead.
Clinging on to her father, Saskia's steps were laboured and slow. The henchmen pushed them whenever they could. She glared at them with hateful eyes. She had never known hate in all her life, now she was consumed by it, and she even hated herself for feeling how she did. She wrapped her shawl around her fragile father to offer comfort, and tried her best to protect him from the glare of the sun.
The farmland soon gave way to forests. The hills were higher and the valleys deeper. Food was scarce. The day before, their wagons were full of bread, wheat, barley, eggs and corn. Now, they carried meagre rations and a small bindle of clothes.
As they marched on, the east began to grow pale, and gradually, the black of night called them to rest.
'We shall stop here for the night. The trees will protect us as we sleep.' The commanding officer's words echoed round the forest.
The group settled. The guards made a fire and sat around telling stories. The captives huddled together. Saskia could see the spirit waning in her father.
'We will be all right father, I know we will.'
He put a hand on her knee. 'We know nothing of this King Hezekiah though, and if he can send out men like that...' he jutted his chin in the direction of the horsemen, 'then I can only imagine what their master must be like. '
Saskia had to agree and let out a big sigh. She took out some venison pie and split it in two, she gave one half to her father and picked at the other portion.
The commanding officer came over with a flagon of water as an offering. Saskia reluctantly took it and gave it to her father. The soldier had removed his helm and breastplate; and without his camouflage, the real man stood before them. 'I am truly sorry for these events. You have lost a son and a brother in the worst way possible. He was a brave man, so I punished the actions of a coward, not fit to carry a royal sword; and I spared your wife from what lies ahead.'
'I thank you for that at least.' Philipe's voice was withering, he did not look up. 'My boy was a fine young man with a bright future, he shouldn't have died.'
Her father's tears prompted Saskia to speak up. 'Why couldn't you have just left us alone?'
The officer's gaze looked over to his men, then dropped to the floor. 'I have a duty, I am bound by my position. I obey orders from my master.'
Saskia looked at the giant of a man in front of her, and wondered what the master must be like, to be obeyed by a soldier such as this.
He saw the angst in her face.
'I will not let any bad treatment happen to you, either of you. I give you my word. I will be responsible for your safety, and that of your people, you can be sure of that.' He bowed to them, took his leave, and left father and daughter immersed in private conversation. He stopped to tear off the hind leg of a rabbit that had been cooking on the fire .
'Digger, come here girl!' The black and tan terrier followed her master, and they went to eat alone.
The pitch of night gave way to the pink and blue of dawn. Then the sun rose into the sky and the horizon glowed once again. On and on they went, stopping briefly for rest and water. No words were ever spoken. Sadness tinged the swollen line of captives. Mournful glances and a sorrowful touch was all that could be mustered. For the despair of the living was the heaviest burden to carry.
'It should have been me that died back there,' was all that Philipe could say, all day, every day.
'If only he had held back, instead of running in.'
'He was protecting me father, as you would have done.' She held on to her father and tried to offer comfort, but her own grief was immeasurable and it was impossible to say the right thing. She sobbed under the blanket of darkness, while in the day, the sun bleached her tears to her skin.
The trees opened up and started to thin out when they approached the lower slopes of the mountains. This was the hub of a new kingdom. Here, the views were spectacular. High peaks and steep braes were covered in green velvet, and under the brilliance of the sun, they gleamed and shimmered like shards of light.
The true indicator that they had passed into a new realm lay in the countryside around them. Saskia and Philipe looked around with bewilderment. A bare windswept land, where only the hardiest of plants, gorse, heather, and thorn, clung to the stony ground in clusters. On the other side, fields and hedgerows, plentiful and fertile, were criss-crossed by deep-ditched watercourses, while further on, groups of farm workers could be seen driving teams of ploughs and oxe
n, or digging potatoes with hoes and spades.
The captives looked around in awe as they shuffled along. Their weary spirits somehow lifted, and for most, as they looked across at the farmhands and barns, decided that this was not forced slavery after all.
Something reminded Saskia of the kitchen of her old house in the valley, and she turned to look back at Moira. She was quiet with her head bent low, and looked like she had almost lost the will to live. Her blisters had gone from raw open wounds to calluses; and though the pain had been hard to bear, she had decided their plight was far worse, and had bravely walked through it. Walking alongside her was Asher, whose tears had never stopped flowing after witnessing the death of the man she had loved for so many years. Winta held on to her all the way; not knowing what to say, but supporting her in grief.
But even they looked more uplifted when they saw the farmland and surrounding livestock. Saskia sighed with relief as they marched past the green fields, and farms, and rows of timber sheds with happy workers in the meadows. It looked an amazing place, with so many people. It was short lived, for then they saw the high barbed wire fences with guards stationed at lookout posts, bearing arms and menacing faces.
The road curved around and down. Descending further away from the fields, and with it, the sun followed; lowering itself behind the trees until it was barely visible. Though it was strong enough to light up the immense stone bulwark of Break Pass Ridge mine, to reveal a shadowy construction where its tears had encrusted and turned to gold. Now, in the haze of a crimson sunset, this massive edifice was dappled in light, so that from the distance, it resembled an intricate veil of blood red lace. It was menacing and unwelcoming, like an open wound of unbearable suffering. Its power consumed them and sucked the life out of them in minutes. The weary line of captives were pushed along with torturous bayonets. Closer and closer to the beast they went, their reluctant feet desperate to run in the opposite direction. The weary travellers shielded their faces from the glare of a beacon as the rock face came to life. First, the metal gates creaked and groaned as they were stretched open from the sides. Then, ushering the slaves through the yawn, they were herded in front of a closed portcullis. A platoon of guards hurried along the palisade and fixed a deathly stare on each one of the captives. Their situation got worse when the giant cog of a pulley, slowly raised the spiked monstrosity to reveal the inner workings of the mine. And there to greet them, with legs astride and arms folded over a puffed up chest, was Segan Hezekiah, self appointed master of Hezekiah Hall, and king of the mountain mine.
