Chapter Seventeen
Serren has spies everywhere. He’s just dying to get me alone, then zappo – it’ll be curtains. It's never him I see spying on me - it’s his fanatical monks. They pretend they're not following me, but if I turn round quickly I catch them at it.
Mostly I stay with the warriors. Old Farldant has turned out to be a top bloke. He teaches me stuff and I teach him English. He gets it real quick too, much better than me. He’s taught me the boar spear. He says I'm good at it too. You see, they have light thin spears for throwing, and thicker shorter ones for stabbing. The boar spear is heavy and short. What they do is, some guys go round the back and come towards the others, yelling and banging. The receivers are all top men – brave as loonies. They have these boar spears, and they hide and wait. The beaters have throwing spears. When they see a pig they try to spear it, but usually the pig runs away with spears stuck in its backside. It charges towards the receivers. They spring out at the last minute with the short spears and try to stab it in the chest. The spear butt sticks in the ground and the pig goes flying and crashes down dead. The first man to reach it stabs it again to make sure.
Receivers have to get in low and hard from very close range. If they miss, they're dead – believe me those pigs are big and nasty. When a charging pig hits a man the pig wins every time.
Today Farldant has had me practicing the receiver’s stab. He's rigged up this log swinging from a tree for a dummy pig. I missed it the first time and old Farldant was disgusted. He stomped off and came back with a rawhide shift that the women wear. He took my spear and gave me the shift instead. I had to jump on him and pretend to knock him about a bit to show him I’m not a woman. He just laughs. He’s great old Farldant. We spent all afternoon messing about. I soon got the pig thing and scored ten out of ten hits. He still said I was crap, but that’s just him – I know he thinks I'm good at it really.
These days Blaith is a bit happier too. Hunting is going well. It’s late summer you see, and game is plentiful. They have these big roast meat parties and lots of singing and games at night. They get drunk with this wine made from berries, leaves and honey. It tastes awful, but it gets them off their heads, which seems like the main object.
There is a lot of drinking and laughing. They do this thing with a pig’s bladder, you have to pass it round without letting it hit the ground. You can’t use your arms, hands, or feet. So when it comes your way you have to bat it away with your belly or your head. You can sort of use your clothes or something, as long as it doesn’t touch your bare skin. That’s the thing that makes it hilarious. Everybody, even the snooty up ones, are falling about in embarrassing positions and flashing their bits and when they lift up their clothes to knock the pig bladder away. It's a hoot.
One thing though - it’s a pity so much meat gets wasted. They don’t know about preserving it with salt. They do dry some or smoke it to keep it, but mostly it’s wasted. The dogs eat it. They have these wolves and dogs that are nearly tame. They often take wolf pups if they find 'em, but you can't really tame them. They slink around at the edge of the village and steal meat - there are lots dog fights. Some men like to watch. They start them deliberately.
Sometimes I wonder about telling them about salt, but you never know with something as crucial as that. It could be a real biggy for history and all that. You know, like a major historical change or something. I reckon it’s probably best not to say anything.
They use the bones, and the skins and furs, even teeth and horns get used for stuff. They make gut cords, straps, belts, jewellery, needles, pins, fasteners and of course all their clothes and bedding. They make leather buckets for boiling food. They fill them with water, put in the food and herbs, and then keep dropping in hot stones to boil the water. It takes ages, but boiled meat is really good. A few rich people have pots for boiling stuff. Potters are like gods, and they are kept really busy. They coil pots with special clay from these pits that they guard like gold. They always look good when they make them, but the firing never seems to work very well – quite a few break.
I often go hunting a with Blaith and his men. He likes having me along, because usually, no matter how I try, I end up making an idiot of myself, you know, falling over and killing myself, or drowning, or something like that. He thinks it’s hilarious, but I can tell he likes me a little bit too nowadays. They might even let me be a receiver - thanks to old Farldant’s training. Then I'd be able to show Blaith how I can handle a boar spear.
Don't get me wrong, I don’t go because I like killing animals. To be honest, I hate that. Mainly I go to keep out of Serren’s way. He and his crazy monks would kill me if they could get me alone. Ever since he was made to look stupid over that murder trial thing, Serren has been much worse with me. Sometimes, when I see him glaring at me, it sends shivers up my spine.
I’m working hard to learn everything I can about survival in this world. I want to be like Vart was - independent. He managed fine without help. I already know most of his routes and where his fish traps and game snares are. If I can learn about seasonal food, you know, leaves and berries and stuff, I’ll be OK. I’ll never be as good as Vart, but I might be good enough to get by.
Farldant is great. He treats me like his son or something. He shows me stuff like Vart used to do, but this time, I pay careful attention. Not like I was with Vart. I was stupid then – tupdra gwireen. If I concentrate, I can learn a lot from Farldant, especially how to get through the winter. I might have to leg it pronto to save my bacon if old Blaith takes a dislike to me, or dies or some thing. They are always dying – like almost nobody lives past thirty. Also, I have to worry about Serren – he's always hatching a new wheeze to get me spiked, but if I can learn to survive the winter, I won’t be so scared every day, and my stomach might stop churning all the time.
Something I’ve discovered is, I could trade furs and flints with other tribes. There are lots of small tribes around here. You never see them much, except when they come to the city to send their dead ones across the water. But I’ve been watching them and I’ve found out something - they all want good furs, especially bear and beaver. Well I’m a hunter now and I learn more every day. I already know plenty about snares and traps. I think I could survive by trading furs. If I could I'd never need to come near Serren again. I’d miss old Farldant though, he's cool. He makes me think of my dad. I miss my dad. I miss mom too and little Ryan. Huh, that kid – he's great, I love him. I feel sorry for him too, because he'll never know his dad. At least I had a dad for a little while. And now he's lost me too. Oh boy, I've got to get back there.
Time Rocks Page 49
