by Sam Taw
Eventually, Jago bartered for some food he deemed safe for us to eat. His command of their language was impressive, and his choice of food, inspired. I feasted like a Ruvane on very few grains of tin, such is their demand for our metal. I took great care not to show how much I had about my person, for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention.
When our bellies were full and I had tasted wines from sunnier lands, we went in search of herbs and remedies. Jago asked a kind Frynkish woman selling woollen fabric where we might find what we needed. She pointed to a hut where yellowish smoke billowed out from the door. I frowned at the woman, questioning her sanity, but Jago assured me that it was the right place.
It did not smell or look like my hut back at the compound on the River Exe. For one, the thatch inside was one great mass of dangling herb bunches. The ochre smoke thickened in my lungs making me cough. The woman inside flicked yellow powder into the fire. It sparkled as it caught the flames, leaving the pungent odour to linger in the air.
I waved my hand in front of my face, clearing a path to the woman at a table. Behind her was a long dividing curtain, but from the shadows thrown onto the back wall, I could see three people were there. One sat on a stool, one leaned on a wall nearby and a third was gesturing with his arms.
The woman at the table took one look at Jago and tried to shoo him out of their hut. “Hey now. Don’t you be treating him that way. Stop that!” I bellowed at her, but the woman did not listen to me. It was only when Jago garbled a whole string of Frynkish at her that she stopped, turned to me and gave me the benefit of her toothless smile. “What did you say to her?” I asked my slave.
“She thought I was a dirty bazaar child until I told her that I serve at the table of a great Ruvane from the wealthiest tribe in all of Inglond.”
“Ah, yeah. That’ll do it. Wealth will open any door.” I sighed at her shallowness. All of a sudden, she produced a bench for me to sit on and tried to pour me a cup of her best visitors’ wine, even though it smelled sour to me. Brea hovered in the doorway. When she saw my lavish treatment, she rushed in to take her share of the fine life. While the woman was fussing about Brea, I took a long look at the herbs and dried offerings. The way that they hung the bunches from the cross struts of the thatching was a brilliant idea.
When the woman returned to my side, I instructed Jago to tell her which of the plants I was interested in. He translated my list into Frynkish. It was quite lengthy. After a while, the woman’s face altered to disbelief. She peered at me as though we were trying to scam her. I’d already slipped a few tin nuggets from my secret pouch and had them tucked into my fist ready to begin the barter. I could see that she did not believe us true to our word. With a careful sleight of hand, I moved one nugget from my fist into an open palm, displaying it for her to see. “Tell her that there’s more where that came from too.”
That seemed to do the trick. She skipped about the hut, bundling my order together and trying to tempt me with things that I can easily obtain from our own lands. There was one item that I was in desperate need for, and that was always difficult to obtain.
“Jago. Ask her if she has any poppy resin. I’ll take all she’s got, but don’t let her know that I’m willing to pay whatever it takes. If there’s to be a battle, I’ll need a hefty stock.” I waited for him to explain my requirements in her own language. She rattled off something in return, to which he tried again. Jago looked irritated.
“What’s the matter. Does she have any or not?” I asked of him.
With a deep frown, he tried to explain what she had told him. “She’s says that if we had come earlier in the day, she could have provided the resin at a fair price. Now, she says we are too late. Another has agreed a large amount of gold for her entire jar.”
“Do you think she’s scamming us now, trying to up the price until we’re destitute?” Jago and I huddled together under the smelly fumes from the fire.
“I suggested that, but she got angry with me. She says it’s true. The man who has traded for all her poppy resin is with her husband receiving treatment right now.”
There was nothing to be done. Brea flounced out of the hut and wandered to another trinket stall, while I paid over the agreed value in tin nuggets for my bundle of herbs. We waited outside to catch a glimpse of the mystery man behind the curtain, in the hope that we could persuade him to trade for just a small quantity for me to take back home.
They were in there for a long time. Jago fetched ale and more food for us before the man came out. When he did, we were all filled with surprise. His clothes were of the finest woven linen, his skin was darker than Jago’s and he wore more gold about his person than I have ever seen before in my life. He was accompanied by a young man of similar appearance, but where he was spry and healthy, the older man used a walking stick and his spine bent in the middle.
I found myself staring without shame. He was quite the finest thing my old eyes had ever spied. Jago began sweating with fright, expecting the young man to lose his temper at our boldness. It suddenly dawned on me how rude my behaviour was towards this wealthy man. Not knowing how to communicate, I bowed my head in respect to him. It made him smile. He looked us up and down and then smirked at his companion, before addressing us in Frynkish.
Jago kept his eyes down to the ground and translated for me. “The gentleman says greetings, and that he doesn’t think you are from around here.”
Pleased that he was open to discussion, I knocked Jago’s elbow with mine and told him to reply with, “I am from the Dumnoni Tribe in the South of Inglond, travelled all this way for medicines.”
I observed his response as Jago told the men my aim for travelling. My hope was to steer the discussion around to the jar his companion held in his arms. The faint glimmer of a smile kept my hope alive. He spoke once more to Jago, with more tenderness and respect than those from my own tribe do. Jago spoke in courteous tones, pointing to the jar in the young man’s arms.
That was when the conversation took a turn for the worse. The young man snapped back at Jago, snarling his Frynkish words so that even I understood his meaning. The poppy resin was not for trade.
Jago hung his head in defeat. “Fur Benyn, I fear that we are wasting our time. The man says that the resin is critical for his father. He says that he is cursed.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brea took one look at the handsome young stranger and sidled back next to me for introductions. “Tell them who I am Jago, and make me sound important in our tribe.”
I scoffed at her assertion. She was nothing more than a murderous widow of a fallen Chieftain, who had her eye on his sons. From her coy poses and fluttering lashes, I figured that she could just as easily swap allegiances to this young bejewelled man instead. It would be a blessing to the Dumnonii if she did. Sadly, the man turned up his nose at her attempts to sway his affections. She was just a brash slave girl to him.
“Jago”, I said, with quiet calm. “Thank the man for his time and wish him the blessing of Airmed in his quest for good health.”
My slave relayed my wishes to the old man, stopping to explain that Airmed was our Goddess of Healing. They in turn, bowed to me and wished me good fortune and peace. I watched as the old man shuffled away, his upright and worried son following along after him with the largest jug of poppy resin imaginable. That amount of pain relief would keep our whole tribe half-baked for more than a cycle.
It started my curious mind to thinking about all the possible health problems the old man had, and why he would need such a quantity of resin. Inside my head, I saw massive communities of people coming to him for aid and relief, in much the same way that our tribe do with me. If he was a healer of far off lands, he would know about local plants and herbs. There is so much I could learn from a foreign medicine man.
“Did he happen to mention where they were encamped?” I asked Jago, hoping that we might bump into them a second time.
“No, Fur Benyn, but I don’t think he would be welco
me in paid tents or houses around here. The old man is cursed.”
“Eww, better to steer clear of them then.” Brea shuddered.
“What kind of curse? Is he talking underworld demons or some kind of religious invocation?” I said, ignoring the selfish Ordo and demanding details from my slave.
“I have seen this before. They say that it strikes when you least expect it, and that once it takes hold of you, it can take many winters to die.” His voice hushed to a whisper as if just speaking about it would make him cursed too.
“Die of what? What happens to them?”
“Their fingers turned to stumps; bits fall off them while the curse spreads through their bodies. Then there are the rashes and big lumps on the skin.” Jago shook his head. “Once the curse is laid at your door there is no escape.”
This was something I’d never encountered before. The older man looked fine, except for his slightly bowed back and shuffling gait. I had to put my curiosity behind me and concentrate on the fading light of the day. Turning to the loathsome Brea, I said, “I don’t suppose Tallack told you when the boats would return for us, did he?” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t think so. Come on, we’ll need to find a warm bunk each for the night. Any suggestions, boy?”
Jago pointed towards a series of huts. There were plenty of people sitting around fires, cooking what little food they had and bending green stick poles to make their shelters. I looked at them and my shoulders slumped.
“What is it, great lady. Are you ill?” Jago enquired after seeing my pained expression.
“No, lad. I’m fine, just too exhausted to make my own hut for a single night of sleep.”
“I will ask around. Wait here.” Off he scampered, his old injury giving him a noticeable limp. Brea and I stood back to back, refusing to speak. I was starting to think I was better off in the mining community than all the way out here in Frynk, when Jago scurried back with good news. For a small amount of tin, we could stay in one of the larger boarding huts close to a camp for foreign travellers. That pleased me no end. Even Brea seemed happy to have a warm hut for the night, out of the mud and with an indoor fire to dry out our clothes.
When we arrived, it wasn’t so different from Aebba’s Long Hut. It was large and had tables to one side, and bunks on the other. Being quite full already, we had to make do with two bunks furthest away from the fire, with Jago on the rushes between us. I gave the man running the establishment a little extra tin to serve us a bowl of hot soup and lend us warm furs for our beds.
Everywhere smelled of black mould and dog’s kawgh. Combined with the stinking travellers and steaming wet cloaks, it almost choked me. Leaving Jago with Brea and our belongings, I wandered back outside to catch my breath. The clouds thinned, revealing a moonlit sky filled with the stars of the gods.
To my right, an area marked out with large rocks, showed visitors where they could make camp. Most of the shelters were poor, made from what timber and leaves they could find locally, but one was enormous, made from expensive fabric and pitched all alone at the end of the field. It was surrounded by burning torches and strong guards, each of whom carried a sword at the hip and a spear in their hands. Next to the vast tent, was a wagon of exquisite design, with carved symbols and plush curtains at the windows. Their horses were tethered behind the tent. They stood eating the lush grasses in the growing darkness.
I’d already begun to guess who this incredible travelling cart and shelter belonged to, when the young man left the tent and walked over to one of the guards. I edged closer, hoping that he would see me and initiate conversation. The man finished speaking to the guard and then strode towards the wagon. As he climbed aboard, it rocked with his weight.
I took the opportunity to lurk even closer, so that he would see me as he got down from the cart. The guards glared at me, trying to warn me off, but I couldn’t help myself. The young man climbed down to the ground. He clutched a bundle to his ribs. This was my chance, I called out to him.
“Ho there, neighbour.” I waved, grinning like the possessed. Clearly, I was too friendly, as he nodded recognition and then hurried away into the tent. Foiled, I returned to the smelly boarders, ate my soup and bread and turned in for a fetid night of snoring and farting.
Come morning, Jago handed me a cup of ale and some delicious cheese with a chunk of bread. He gave Brea her share and settled back on the floor with the small piece that remained. My tin nuggets went a really long way in trading for victuals and shelter at this place. I looked at his measly portion of food as he sat cross-legged on the rushes to nibble at the cheese. It was as though someone had shoved a dagger right through my heart. He took his role as slave protector so seriously; he was willing to starve so that we may eat. I passed the rest of my food to him.
“You do not like what I found for you? Shall I trade for something else?”
“No Jago, it’s very tasty, but my appetite isn’t what it was. You eat it for me.”
The smile that shone on his silken smooth face made my guilt all the more painful.
“How far away from here is your real home?” I kept my tone low so that Brea couldn’t hear me. She was already flirting with a large Frynk man on the other side of our bunks.
“A very long way, Fur Benyn. More days walking than I could manage and then across the ocean to my homeland.” He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. His hand fell to his lap along with the bread and cheese. He didn’t like to be reminded of all that he’d lost.
“If you could pay for your passage to go home, would you like to?” It was a loaded question. He understood why I’d asked and appreciation flitted across his face.
With a tender tilt of his head, he said, “What is there to go home to? My parents were both killed in the raid on our homes. My sister…” His voice broke. “My sister, was taken to the flesh markets near the coast where I was sold to a Frynkish slave master who’d travelled for trade.”
I hadn’t noticed that Brea had swung her legs around to face us and was listening to his sad story. I thought that she of all people would sympathise with his dreadful experiences, maybe understand his dilemma.
She snapped at him. “Well it sounds like you got the best deal of that situation, what are you crying about? Do you think Aebba paid my father a fair price for me?”
“Oh, Brea, it’s hardly the same.” I chided.
“No? Why is it more pitiful for a boy to be sold into slavery than it is for a girl to be forced to bind to a brute of a Chieftain against her will?”
“You were the wife of a great man. You were given every privilege, wealth, status, jewels…”
“Bruises, broken ribs, raped every other night…” She spat. “He was a monster and I’m glad he’s dead.”
In a way, I was pleased that she stormed out of the shelter at that point. I had no excuses nor reasons for Aebba’s dreadful behaviour towards his third wife. Maybe he did deserve all he got from her in the end. Only the gods can answer that one.
With Jago alone, I asked him again. “I can give you your freedom and a little tin to see you home, if that’s what you’d like.”
He thought about my offer for some time, swallowing back his emotions and formulating his reply. “I am grateful to you, Fur Benyn, truly I am, and if you are no longer happy to have me in your service, I understand.”
“No, I’m not saying that I want to be rid of you, child. I feel bad that you were snatched by slavers and then treated worse than vermin by my own people. I can set you free. You would not be a slave anymore.”
He frowned at me as though I was plain stupid. “For how long would I be free crossing Frynk, before I was taken prisoner again and sold to a cruel master?”
That was something I hadn’t thought about. His beautiful dark skin was very different from the local crowds. Those that were darker, visited from another land, possibly the same place as Jago. His freedom would be short lived indeed.
“Are you content to stick by an old woman with bad habits then?” I jos
tled his elbow and smiled.
A tiny hint of mirth crossed his lips. “If you are happy with a crippled boy from the other side of the world.”
We both laughed and I was thrilled to see him chomping down on the cheese once more. I yanked my kit bag up from beneath my bunk and handed it to Jago. He slung the strap over his head and followed me towards the door.
Brea was not far away. She was talking at, rather than to, the young man from the exotic tent. I could see him shrugging his incomprehension at her and doing his best to walk away. She caught sight of us in her peripheral vision and called us over.
“Boy, explain to this man that we want to trade tin for that golden torque around his neck.” She folded her arms and jutted out a hip as she stared at him.
In faltering attempts, Jago did as he was told, translating her commands into Frynkish. As soon as he learned of her demands, his hand flew to his neck in protection of his necklace. The response was clear enough to me without the need for Jago to tell me. The man rattled off a rejection in one long and fast sentence.
Brea was not satisfied. “Tin… you know, make bronze with copper, tin?” She shouted the last bit as if he was addled.
“Lady Brea, the man says that the necklace is precious to him. It is passed from father to son and never traded.”
Brea took the hint, but was not pleased. She growled her annoyance and strutted back into the shelter. I offered another apology to the man through Jago, explaining that she was spoiled and did not know the value of such items. That seemed to help smooth things over, since he invited us to their large tent where he hoped to persuade his father to give me a little of the poppy resin.