by Kevin Ashman
‘If we do this, will you take me to Madoc’s descendants?’
‘This will be discussed when the time is right.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘It is our way, Tar-ian,’ said Machitaw and he summoned the two women to help the chief to his feet.
Tarian watched them go and walked back to the hut with Achak. He climbed the ladder to find Sir Robert waiting for him.
‘Well?’ said Sir Robert, ‘how did it go?’
‘A good start,’ said Tarian. ‘They will give us manpower to fix the ships but in return they want the Mangonels.’
‘A small price,’ said Sir Robert, ‘but what about Madoc’s heirs?’
‘They were reluctant to discuss the issue,’ said Tarian, ‘but it is early days yet. There is no rush while the Dragon is being repaired.’
----
For the next few weeks Tarian and his men enjoyed the hospitality of the Mandans and each day he asked Achak if Pachua would discuss the descendants of Madoc. Achak counselled patience but Tarian knew they had to move soon or they would be stuck there for the oncoming winter. Finally he decided to go back up to the chief’s hut himself and despite Achak’s protestations, he strode through the village determined to get an answer. Sir Robert walked alongside him and as they walked, a crowd of Mandan warriors followed in their trail, keen to see the outcome of the confrontation. Pachua was renowned for his short temper.
‘Tarian wait,’ shouted a voice and the leader paused to see who had called. Behind him he could see Geraint running through the village.
‘What is it, Geraint?’ said Tarian, ‘for I have business to attend.’
‘Sire, there is news from the Dragon.’
‘What news?’ asked Tarian.
‘It is not good,’ said Geraint. ‘There was another fire and the carpenter reports the lower hull was severely damaged.’
‘What fire,’ roared Tarian, ‘how can this be?’
‘One of the Mandan saw fit to light a fire against the cold, Sire and it got out of hand.’
‘How bad is it damaged?’
‘The planks were severely burned and are now less than half the thickness that they were.’
‘Can they be fixed?’
‘He has tried, Sire but many need replacing and we have no timber suitable.’
‘Can any be salvaged from the two wrecks?’
‘They have gone, Sire. The river rose in the night and washed them away. The Mandan say there was a storm in the hills last night and the river often rises higher than a man’s head.’
‘What are you saying, Geraint? Can the Dragon be fixed or not?’
‘It can, Sire but will take many months. Our tools are few and we need to find a source of suitable trees from which to draw planks.’
Tarian stared at Geraint, struggling to contain his anger.
‘Is there no other way?’
‘Sire, the carpenter says if we risk the open sea without repairing the hull, she will sink in the first storm we encounter.’
‘Then surely our path is clear, Tarian,’ said Sir Robert. ‘We have to make the repairs needed or we will never get home. A few more months are nothing to ensure the success of our quest.’
‘Months, Robert? I fear it will be more than that. The winds already get cold and winter is around the corner.’
‘I hear they do not have winters as we do in Wales.’
‘Perhaps not, though it is not snow or ice I fear but the storms. Achak tells of winds that uproot trees and throw them as if they were nothing. We cannot risk coming this far and having our future ripped from us due to bad weather.’
He stopped talking and stared up toward the chief’s hut a few hundred paces away. Outside the hut he could see Machitaw waiting along with six armed warriors. Finally he turned back to Geraint.
‘Go back to the ship,’ he said. ‘Tell them to beach the Dragon and secure her for the winter, I will arrange manpower from Achak to get her ashore. Task the carpenter to effect what repairs he has to. We will speak to the Mandan and find what trees we can before the winter sets in. After that I want every capable man working on the repairs. By the time spring comes I want that ship stronger than when we first sailed from Caerleon.’
‘What about the men at arms, Sire?’ said Sir Robert, ‘they know nothing of ships and I fear they will only get in the way.’
‘They will help find the desired trees,’ said Tarian. ‘After that, task them with building the Mangonels the chief desires so much.’
‘Tarian, what about Pachua? I thought we were going to ask him about Madoc’s descendants?’
‘There’s no rush now, Robert. Let the chief play his games. We will concentrate on repairing the Dragon but until he deems fit to deliver his promise, hold back on the Mangonels. They are our only bargaining point and we should use it well.’
‘So what now?’
‘Go amongst the village and gather the men. We will meet at the ship at dawn and bring her further ashore, we may be stuck here for a while but we will not have idle hands.’
‘So be it,’ said Sir Robert and strode away to his task.
‘What about the men, Sire? Do you want them camped at the river?’
‘I am not a cruel man, Geraint and the Mandan are generous hosts. Let the men sleep in comfort amongst the native huts but make it known that any who do not report for duty each morning will be flogged in front of the village. Comfort is one thing, laziness I will not countenance.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Geraint.
‘One more thing,’ said Tarian. ‘Speak of our situation in a positive manner. They will be missing their homes and we do not need despondency. The task has been extended by a few months, nothing more.’
‘Of course, Sire,’ said Geraint and headed back to the village.
Tarian watched him go before looking back up to the Chief’s hut.
‘There is still a resolution to be had,’ he said quietly to himself, ‘and this quest has not ended.’
----
Chapter Twenty One
The New World
1277
The following winter was hard for Tarian and the surviving members of his fleet. The Dragon was damaged far worse than had been thought and ended up being hauled far from the river to avoid the floods the winter rains brought. Many weeks were trying to find the right sort of timber to make the repairs and when a suitable forest was found, it was so far away it often took days to bring the trunks back to the edge of the river. Samuels the carpenter rejected some of those found as not suitable, often resulting in vicious arguments between him and the men doing the hauling. Finally Tarian had to intervene and went to the temporary dry dock to confront him.
‘Samuels,’ he called as he neared the grounded ship, ‘attend me.’
The carpenter threw down his adze and walked over to where Tarian waited.
‘Sire?’
‘Samuels,’ said Tarian with barely veiled anger, ‘I am sick to my gut of hearing about you and your temper. This winter has been hard enough but I am aware how hard this work is and have deliberately stayed out of the argument. However this can’t continue. Our men bring you the best they can find and travel days to find suitable wood, yet I hear you reject eight from ten. Tempers wear thin and if you don’t ease your unreasonable demands, I fear it is only a matter of time before someone breaks and you find a blade between your shoulders. Now, I accept you want to do a good job but I demand your manner is eased before tempers break and I lose my only carpenter.’
Samuels stared at Tarian without speaking.
‘Well?’ said Tarian.
‘Well what?’ asked Samuels.
‘Will you curb your manner and ease your demands of the men?’
‘I will not, Sire.’
Tarian was taken aback and stared at the carpenter with narrowed eyes.
‘Explain yourself, Samuels before it is my temper that snaps this day.’
‘Sire, do you remember the day
I first took your coin back in Caerleon?’
‘I do.’
‘Then you will remember what you said that day?’
‘Remind me?’
‘You told me you wanted the best carpenter in Wales and that man had one role only, to return the fleet safely from distant shores across seas unknown.’
‘I did and that is still what I expect.’
‘Then I will make no apology for manner or what seems like unreasonable demands of the ignorant.’
‘The ignorant?’
‘Ignorant in the ways of my trade. Would I dare to show an archer how to string a bow or instruct a Knight the art of swordsmanship? Of course not but by similar standard I will not countenance being judged by those who know not one tree from another.’ He looked around and picked up a nearby piece of planed wood. ‘Give me your dagger,’ he said.
Despite the carpenter’s impertinence, Tarian handed over his knife.
Samuels inserted the blade into the end grain until there was a gap big enough for his fingers.
‘This is typical of what they bring,’ he said and throwing the knife to one side, tore the log in two with his bare hands. Tarian was astonished.
‘The grain is as loose as a linen weave,’ said Samuels, ‘and would last but days in the hammering of the waves.’ He looked around and picked up another log. ‘This sucks up water like a woollen cloth and that pile over there is as tough as iron and will not take working by a blade. We have one ship left, Tarian and you have tasked me with getting it back to Wales in one piece. Given the right timber I will do that but I will do it in my time and to my standards.’
‘And how long will this take?’
‘It may take weeks or it may take a year, I know not but I do know is this. If I use the rubbish brought so far then the Dragon will be little more than splinters on the open sea. I am but one man, Tarian and though I can make the Dragon seaworthy again, there are not enough hours in the day to do it all alone. Get me the right timber and it will be all the quicker.’
‘The men travel for days seeking the right wood.’
‘Then double the distance if need be. Tell them not to return unless they have found trees similar to the oak of home. I will furnish them with samples of suitably grained wood so they can judge the match. The trees are out there, Tarian for I have already received some but they are few and far between. The search parties must be more diligent and curb their keenness to return to the fires of the native huts and the flesh of their women.’
‘You think their priorities are becoming fogged?’
‘As are yours, Tarian. We have been here for six months and I see flab about the bellies of the men. Some of their women are with child and I fear we are all at risk of adopting these people as our own. The men are not solely at fault for they have found a comfortable life of plenty. To stay would be the easiest option and I fear they do not pay the task as much attention as they could.’
‘You are right,’ said Tarian picking up his knife. ‘The men have become soft and the fault lies with me.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Sharpen your tools, Samuels and set out your trestles. You will have the timber you need for I will lead the search myself.’
‘It is the right decision, Sire,’ said Samuels and watched as Tarian walked back toward the native village.
----
Geraint lay under a heavy Buffalo blanket in the hut he shared with Kamoi, the Mandan woman he had met on the first night. He was suffering from a fever and she sat alongside him bathing his head with cool water as they waited for his strength to return. The medicine man had spent many hours chanting his strange words and making foul smelling smoke from the flames of the fire. Finally the worse was over but when Tarian ducked into the hut, Geraint was still too weak to get up.
‘Tarian,’ said Geraint weakly, ‘it is good to see you.’
‘And you, Geraint. I see your recovery is delayed.’
‘The worse is over but I would struggle to fight a babe such is my weakness.’
‘Then you will stay here,’ said Tarian, ‘and in my absence, assume my authority.’
‘Your absence, Sire? Where are you going?’
‘We need timber for the Dragon, Geraint. I am taking the men out on an expedition to find a suitable source. We could be gone for quite a while but it is important we reignite the flame of the quest.’
‘Then I will come with you,’ said Geraint, struggling to rise.
‘No, you will stay,’ said Tarian. ‘I am leaving a group of ten to help the carpenter and there are others who are afflicted with the same ague as you. Stay here and when you are strong, see that they are gainfully employed either by helping Samuels or with weapon training. Our muscles have become soft and our blades rust through lack of use. The carpenter says he need two dozen trunks to finish the repairs and that is what he will get. We have lingered long enough, Geraint. It is time to finish what we started.’
The following day Tarian led a column of foot soldiers up into the hills alongside a hundred Mandan warriors. Geraint watched them go through the doorway of the hut until Kamoi insisted he returned to the fire. For a week he grew steadily stronger until finally he was able to walk around the village without getting out of breath.
----
Tarian had been gone for ten days and Geraint took advantage of a mild evening to walk up a nearby hill with Kamoi until finally he sat on a ridge and stared down at the scene before him. Directly below, the village sprawled out along the valley floor between the lake edge and the palisade wall that stretched across the valley. Smoke tendrils stretched from hundreds of Mandan huts and the smell of roasting meat rolled up the slopes to tease their hunger.
‘You have a good life here, Kamoi,’ said Geraint.
‘It is our way,’ said Kamoi. ‘When it is good, it is good but when the Apalach carry the war bow, many tears are shed.’
‘Why they haven’t bothered us since the battle at the river?’
‘Winter is a bad time to make war and all people stay at their camp fires. When the sun warms the earth, then they will come.’
‘Are you worried?’
‘It is the way it is,’ said Kamoi.
‘Kamoi,’ said Geraint, ‘you know that when the spring comes I will have to leave this place.’
‘You could stay with us.’
‘It is very tempting,’ said Geraint, ‘but there are greater things before us. The fate of a nation may rest on us finding the man we seek.’
‘You seek the sons of Madoc?’
‘We do and your chief keeps his counsel until we make him the weapons he demands.’
‘The fire throwers will kill many Apalach.’
‘Don’t pin your hopes on the Mangonels, Kamoi. They are best used against fortifications not foot soldiers and though you may kill many with the first volley, a determined attack can overwhelm a battery of Mangonels within minutes.’
‘Then why does your leader not say this to Pachua?’
‘They play the games of men,’ said Geraint. ‘Tarian won’t tell Pachua the folly of such weapons whilst the ship is being repaired and Pachua won’t reveal the location of Madoc’s people. But soon, both men must talk sense or all will suffer.’
‘Geraint,’ said Kamoi, ‘there is something you should know.’
‘What is it?’
‘Pachua too holds secrets to his chest.’
‘What sort of secrets?
About the descendants of Madoc.’
‘What of them?’
‘You speak as if there are many and you would take a young man as a leader?’
‘Not quite a leader but yes, a descendant of Madoc could help my country unite against our oppressor.’
‘Pachua gives you false hope, Geraint. The last of Madoc’s line died out many winters ago and now only his son’s wife lives to tell the stories of the days of our grandfathers.’
Geraint stared in disbelief.
‘No,’ he said, ‘you must be wrong.’
‘I am not wrong,’ said Kamoi, ‘for I take food to the old woman when her baskets are low. She tells me the stories of the old days when your kinsmen reached these lands.’
‘You know where she lives?’
‘She stays in the Welsh cave with the body of Madoc’s son.’
‘What is the Welsh cave?’
‘It is a place where the son of Madoc fell to the Apalach many years ago. He lived as a Mandan and fought alongside us against the Apalach but they hated the white skinned and vowed to rid our lands. They brought a great war party and many Mandan fell. Madoc’s son hid in the Welsh cave but died beneath an Apalach axe. His body lies there still.’
‘Then our quest has been in vain,’ said Geraint.
‘No,’ said Kamoi, ‘it has just led you to a different path. Now there is no need to return to your lands and you can stay here with the Mandan. Live alongside us as one and join with our people. Together we can fight the Apalach and become the masters of these mountains.’
‘I don’t know, Kamoi,’ said Geraint, ‘this news is too great to make a decision such as this. Tarian needs to know. There are men who crave to see the sea cliffs of Wales again and have families they have not seen for a long time.’
‘Do you have sons?’ asked Kamoi.
Geraint paused and looked at her without speaking.
‘Do you have sons, Geraint of Wales?’ she asked again.
‘No, but there is a woman.’
‘What is her name?’
‘She is called Misha al Alsabar and she comes from the holy-lands.’
‘The holy-lands?’
‘A place far, far away where people kill each other in the names of their Gods.’
‘Are the Apalach there also?’
‘No,’ smiled Geraint, ‘but there are other people who are just as warlike. This world is a big place, Kamoi and it seems there is no place of peace.’
‘If you stay and fight the Apalach, perhaps we can make these mountains a place of peace. We can build a hut and raise strong sons together.’
‘You are a good woman, Kamoi but my place is at home alongside Misha. I have never kept my wish to go home from you.’
‘I know this,’ said Kamoi, ‘but hoped you would change your mind.’