The Bark of the Bog Owl

by Jonathan Rogers

  “Next time one of those alligator hunters comes through,” said Father, “we’ll get him to catch that big boy for us.” Longleaf Manor was the last outpost of civilization on the eastern frontier. Hunting parties heading downriver to the southern wilderness often stopped by to visit and swap news. “I don’t think a sixteen-foot alligator is something I want to tangle with.”

  Aidan had an idea. It wasn’t a very good idea. It may have been one of the worst ideas he had ever dreamed up, but he decided on the spot to carry it into execution. He would catch the alligator himself. What better way to show his loyalty to King Darrow than to single-handedly capture a bull alligator three times longer than he was tall? If he made such a gift to the king, Father couldn’t possibly question his loyalty. And maybe even his own doubts on that score would be put to rest.

  * * *

  The next morning found Aidan crouched among the leafy branches of a fallen tree that slanted down into the river. Below him, the dark water of the Tam swirled in slow eddies around the limbs that dipped and bobbed in the gentle current. By midmorning, it was already unbearably hot.

  A great brown cottonmouth snake, as thick as a man’s forearm, wound itself over the tree’s upthrust roots and slithered down the slanting trunk toward Aidan, apparently unaware that he was there. Aidan broke off a branch with his left hand and prodded the big snake off the tree. “Sorry, friend,” he said, as the snake plished into the water, “I was here first.”

  Aidan’s right hand gripped a long wooden pole, twice the length of his shepherd’s staff, with a noose of heavy hempen rope attached to the end. The other end of the rope was tied to a cypress tree near the river’s edge. He was a few feet from the great alligator’s sandbar.

  Here Aidan had sat since sunup, waiting for his prey to approach. In the growing heat, the excitement of the hunt had slowly dissipated into numb boredom and disappointment. He expected the alligator two hours ago; soon it would be too hot for anyone—even a cold-blooded reptile—to sunbathe. He saw little point in staying much longer.

  But just before Aidan gave up, the great alligator came gliding down the current and lumbered onto the gently sloped bank. It made straight for its sandy wallow and dropped down onto its belly with a snort, like a dog’s. Aidan was no more than ten feet away, but he was hidden, and the big alligator hadn’t noticed him.

  Aidan had never been this close to such a magnificent alligator. Earlier, he had estimated it to be sixteen feet long, but he saw now that he had not given the creature enough credit. It was at least seventeen, maybe eighteen, feet from its broad, knotty head to its tree-thick tail. The great belly was as round as that of a full-grown horse.

  The scars and indentions on the alligator’s scaly hide told a history of many epic struggles with other bull alligators. But now it smiled the toothy, complacent smile of an animal that feared no enemy.

  Aidan braced himself against a stout tree limb. He felt for his hunting horn. If he got in trouble, he could always blow it. His brothers were in nearby fields, and all of the Errolsons knew to come running anytime they heard the distress call on a hunting horn. “Let’s see if you have one more battle left in you,” he whispered as he lowered the noose end of the pole toward the alligator’s snout.

  The alligator noticed the loop descending, but it did not move. It mistook the brown rope for a cottonmouth and had no intention of surrendering this sandbar to a mere snake. When the noose touched down on the sand in front of it, the alligator hissed warningly and raised up in an aggressive posture.

  This was exactly what Aidan had hoped for. With a quick flip of the pole end, he looped the noose over the alligator’s snout. Only now realizing that it may be in trouble, the alligator made an explosive lunge toward the river. The lurching force tightened the noose around the big reptile’s chest, just above the forelegs.

  Aidan had planned to drop the pole as soon as he felt the noose tighten. But he had miscalculated the suddenness—not to mention the force—with which the alligator could move when it felt the need to. When the gigantic reptile hit the water, Aidan was still gripping the pole with both hands. The limb that supported Aidan splintered like a twig, and he catapulted out of the tree toward the snapping jaws of an angry alligator.

  Chapter Seven

  Home with Samson

  Barely clearing the alligator’s gaping mouth, Aidan landed on its back, like a trick rider at a carnival. Though it didn’t seem so at the moment, this was a remarkable stroke of providence. Aidan’s first instinct was to jump from the beast’s back and swim to safety. But it took him only a split second to realize that he had no chance of outmaneuvering an alligator in the water. He decided he was safer where he was. He scrabbled up the ridged back to a spot just behind the beast’s head. He reached up under the alligator’s forelegs and hugged as tightly as he could, trying to think what to do next.

  When the alligator recovered from the initial shock of having a boy leap onto its back, it began to thrash back and forth with a violence that nearly shook Aidan’s teeth loose. Aidan was nearly drowned with the splashing, and the bellowing roar of the furious alligator nearly deafened him. He was also taking a beating from the oaken pole, which had not broken free from the noose. But as long as he could maintain his grip, he was relatively safe. The alligator couldn’t bend its head around to bite him, and its tail, though it whipped around only inches away and could knock him senseless with a single blow, didn’t quite reach him.

  Aidan still had no plan of escape from this predicament. He couldn’t signal his brothers for help; there was no way to reach for his hunting horn without losing his grip. The alligator, however, did have a new plan. It rolled over on its back, dunking Aidan under the river. It continued rolling over and over in a sickening spin. Growing dizzy and disoriented, Aidan found it difficult to catch a breath without sucking in as much water as air. But he managed to hang on, and he was grateful not to have cracked his head on an underwater root or stump. He was also grateful that the alligator didn’t roll onto its back and sink to the river mud, crushing him under its mass.

  The alligator finally stopped rolling. Perhaps it was getting dizzy too. But Aidan’s reprieve lasted only a few short seconds. The scaly beast carried him out toward the deep part of the river. When it had swum a few powerful strokes, it went into a steep dive. It intended to drown the boy who wouldn’t get off its back.

  But Aidan knew something that the alligator didn’t know. The other end of the rope was still tied to the big cypress, and it couldn’t pay out much farther. When he felt the rope grow taut, Aidan gathered up the last of his strength. Just as the rope jerked the alligator backward in a half-flip, Aidan propelled himself forward from the top of the alligator’s head, as if from a springboard. He leaped clear, out into the middle of the river.

  He had escaped—as long as the rope held. He swam out another ten strokes or so, then let the current carry him well beyond the reach of the great reptile, which was still thrashing at the end of its rope. When he was safely downstream, he swam with labored strokes back to the shallows, then waded to the sandy bank on trembling legs. He blew three blasts on his hunting horn, then lay exhausted on the bank, waiting for his brothers to arrive.

  * * *

  The trials experienced by the Errolsons as they hauled the alligator to the riverbank, tied it up, loaded it onto a mule-drawn haycart, and drove it to the manor house compose a long and colorful story—too long to recount in detail. The whole adventure consumed a full afternoon and involved six broken ropes, the near-total destruction of a hay cart, and numerous scrapes and bruises to the Errolson brothers. Percy, who had the unenviable job of roping the thrashing tail, was flung into the river twice. The Errolsons eventually had to call on ten farm workers from the indigo field to help them heave the great beast onto the cart. No one suffered any serious harm, and no harm of any sort came to the tough old alligator.

  Waiting in front of the manor house, Errol beamed with pride as he watched his sons tr
udge up the path. The splintered cart tilted dangerously to one side, then to the other, as the alligator hurled itself against the sides of the cart. The mules, clearly displeased, flattened their ears back against their heads. Percy halted them in the shade of a great oak tree that overhung the path.

  Errol peered over the side of the wagon at the trussed and blindfolded alligator. “Just look at the great blind Samson,” he laughed, as the reptile again threw itself at the wall of the cart. “He’s determined to bring the walls down on himself, like Samson of old!” From that moment on, the alligator went by the name of Samson.

  “Boys,” Errol continued, “that’s a fine animal you’ve caught. He’ll make quite an addition to King Darrow’s collection.”

  Aidan felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of this magnificent creature, once the master of all he surveyed, becoming part of anyone’s collection, even a king’s. Before this moment, he had given little thought to how the alligator might feel about things.

  Errol saw the sadness in his son’s face. “Aidan, you needn’t worry about Samson. He’ll be right at home in the moat of Tambluff Castle. Plenty to eat, plenty of smaller alligators to boss, a nice sandbar to sun himself on … Alligators don’t ask for much more than that, do they?”

  “I don’t suppose so,” Aidan answered, but he suspected that Samson would have preferred to be left alone.

  “Yes, I’ll be very proud to give such a creature to King Darrow—all the prouder because my own sons captured him.” He patted Aidan’s shoulder. “And I was thinking, because you boys were the ones who caught him, maybe you’d like to be the ones to deliver him to King Darrow.”

  The Errolsons looked at their father, then at each other, disbelieving. Was Father talking about a trip to Tambluff Castle? None of Errol’s sons, not even Brennus or Maynard, had ever set foot within the castle walls. There was hardly anything they more desired to do.

  “We have been invited to Darrow’s castle on Midsummer’s Night, two weeks hence. For a treaty feast.”

  A wave of excitement rippled through Errol’s sons. “Which of us is invited?” Jasper asked tentatively, afraid even to hope that he might be included.

  “All of us,” Errol answered. “The Four and Twenty Nobles are all invited and all of their sons.”

  A treaty feast! The Errolsons could hardly contain their excitement. “There can be no treaty feast without a treaty,” said Jasper. “Have we made a new alliance?”

  A cloud passed over Errol’s face. “Yes, with the Pyrthen Empire,” he answered. “We have made an alliance with our bitterest enemy.”

  “Why do you frown?” asked Brennus. “This is wonderful news—to have our most dangerous enemy become our friend!”

  “They have been fearsome foes these many years,” Errol answered. “But I fear their friendship more than I fear their enmity.”

  “But, Father,” Maynard persisted, “with the great empire as our ally, what other enemy could rise against us?”

  “With Pyrth as a friend,” said Errol, “we may have no need of enemies. They do not love what we love. They love only power.”

  He gestured at a great sprawling live oak that shaded them. “What is this, Maynard?”

  Maynard thought the question odd but certainly not hard to answer. “It’s an oak tree.”

  “You see a tree,” answered Errol. “A Pyrthen sees lumber.” He ran his hand along the low sweep of a massive limb. “You find beauty in such a graceful curve. A Pyrthen sees the curving ribs of the imperial navy’s next warship.” Samson crashed against the wagon. Errol nodded toward the sound. “You thought that was an alligator? No, that’s seven pairs of officers’ boots.”

  “Boys,” he continued, “don’t you ever forget how we got here. When the kingdom of Halverdy fell to the Pyrthens, your great-great-grandparents and a handful of others decided they’d rather take their chances on this uninhabited island than live under Pyrthen rule.” No matter how many times he recounted this history, Errol still grew misty-eyed to think of his forebears, the last free people on a vast continent, giving up all their worldly goods and comforts to start their lives over in a teeming wilderness.

  “Our very existence is an act of defiance against the Pyrthen Empire. Four times they’ve invaded this island. And four times the stout men of Corenwald sent them home in disgrace.” Errol smiled as he thought of it. “They’ve swallowed up a whole continent, but people who have a taste for freedom aren’t easily conquered.”

  Errol had spent much of his adult life fighting Pyrthens. Indeed, it seemed that all of the suffering experienced by Errol and his family had come at the hands of the great empire. He still walked with a slight limp, his leg having been crushed by a Pyrthen catapult stone ten years earlier at the fourth siege of Tambluff. Twice he had rebuilt the manor house after Pyrthen raiders had torched it in the second and third western invasions. Countless friends had died in battles with the Pyrthens. And Errol’s dearest treasure—they had taken that too. His wife Sophronia was killed in a Pyrthen raid while Errol was away at the fourth siege. Aidan was only two years old.

  “Boys, you know I’m an old warrior. But I’ve never been a warmonger. I hope I’ve taught you to seek peace wherever it can be found. But an alliance with the Pyrthens …” Errol’s voice trailed off.

  “Times are changing, boys. Not everybody still keeps the old Corenwalder ways. There aren’t many of the Four and Twenty Nobles who still make their sons work alongside their farmhands.” He nudged Brennus, who had often voiced this very complaint. “Of the Four and Twenty, I think I’m the only one who still wears homespun. I know things change. Still, I keep asking one question: Can Corenwald be a friend to Pyrth and still be Corenwald?”

  Errol grew quiet as thoughts of the future crowded upon him. But he soon shook off his gloom. “The king knows my mind. So do the Four and Twenty, and they have decided to go forward with this alliance. There is nothing left now but to stand with them. We will speak no more of this today.

  “I’ll get Smithy started building a cage of iron and oak for Samson.”

  “From the looks of this hay cart,” offered Percy, “you’d better talk to Waggoner too.”

  Chapter Eight

  To Tambluff

  On Midsummer’s Eve, in the second watch of the night, Errol and his sons left on their journey to Tambluff Castle. Samson rode in his heavy iron cage on an oversize oxcart that Waggoner, the cart builder, had constructed especially for the trip. Errol and Brennus rode ahead of the oxen while Maynard, Jasper, Percy, and Aidan rode one at each corner of the cart, like a troop of bodyguards to the great alligator.

  The sandy River Road shone like a white ribbon beneath the round midsummer’s moon. It was easy going in the cool of the night, and there was hardly a hill all the way to Tambluff. But still they made slow progress, the team of oxen plodding along at its deliberate pace. Aidan nodded in his saddle, lulled by the rhythmic creaking of the cartwheels.

  The little village of Hustingreen, two leagues from Longleaf, was still asleep when the Errolsons inched through. A small dog yapped a few sharp barks at the strangers, but he beat a hasty retreat when Samson raised his head to investigate, and they heard no more from the little dog. Aidan smiled to think of the villagers, unaware of the terrifying beast that crept only feet away from the beds where they slept so snugly.

  They were more than halfway to Tambluff when the first pink rays of dawn glimmered in the east. By mid-morning, they were in sight of the castle’s honey-brown parapets. Tambluff Castle was situated on a high sandstone bluff overlooking the River Tam. The sandstone from which the castle was built came from just across the river and, like the bluff stone, was a rich honey color, between brown and gold. The exact match between the masonry and the surrounding bedrock gave the impression that the castle hadn’t been built on the bluff but carved from it.

  Tambluff Castle was nestled in a U-shaped bend where the river bulged eastward to wind around the sandstone promontory. So the castle h
ad deep river on three sides. Along the fourth side, which bordered the city of Tambluff, the king had dug a wide moat, making an island of Tambluff Castle and providing a habitat for his alligators.

  The city of Tambluff, Corenwald’s capital city, sat at the foot of the castle on the west bank of the southward-flowing Tam. The city walls formed a nearly exact square mile. Three walls were perfectly straight, twenty feet high, one mile long, and built at right angles to one another. The east wall followed the river. It served as a levee to protect the city from flooding. It also protected the city from enemies who would attack from the water. Each of the walls—except the east wall, which had a moat and drawbridge—had a gatehouse in its exact center.

  It was nearly noon when the Errolsons reached Tambluff’s south gate. Southporter, the old keeper of the gate, recognized them from a distance and came down the gatehouse steps to meet them. “Errol, old boy,” he shouted, genuinely glad to see him. “I’ve been watching for you. What’s took you so long?” Southporter was a peasant, but he spoke to the nobleman with the easy familiarity that had long been the custom among Corenwalders of any rank.

  “What’s kept us, you say?” laughed Errol. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

  Walking around to see what was in the oxcart, Southporter whistled with surprise and awe. “That’s quite a beast. For Darrow’s moat?”

  “Yes sir,” answered Errol. “Aidan, my youngest son, captured him where the Tam runs along the edge of our lands.”