The Storyteller's Granddaughter

by Margaret Redfern

  ‘Another slave?’

  ‘A young boy. Kazan. He came across your camp some days ago. I believe he left behind a good chestnut mare, a satchel, a warm cloak – all stolen. A good bow, the curved style. Such things as this. You remember? No doubt he spun you a good tale but it seems you did not believe him and so he – er – left you somewhat abruptly. We caught up with him not long after. We wish to thank you for the safekeeping of our belongings and arrange their return.’

  ‘I see.’ Vecdet spoke slowly, thinking through what he had heard. ‘There was a young boy but he was no slave, that one. He came and left of his own free will. The horse and bow he gave as a gift for our hospitality.’

  Twm sighed. ‘A slave, sir, and one with a ready tongue. He has a fair face, an innocent-seeming face; he took us in at first.’

  But the fat man was pursing his lips, shaking his head and his chins shook with him. ‘I am not so easily persuaded, young sir.’ Aziz had come back into the room. He leaned down to speak softly. Vecdet’s loose lips rounded O in astonishment. He looked again at Twm. ‘It seems we have met before. This one has an excellent memory. He remembers having seen you in the company of the Welshman who does not deal in slaves. He will have nothing to do with slaves. What do you take me for? Some fool? What is his intention?’

  ‘His intention? Why, only to recover what is his, and the mare is his. As for me, I am not answerable to him.’ Twm’s nostrils flared; he was deliberately fastidious. ‘He is not my master. Did you really think he was?’ He laughed, dismissive, deprecating. ‘No, sir: though it is true both of us answer to the same man, Monsignor Heinrijc Mertens of Ieper. The Welshman may have no liking for slaves but it is my right to do as I wish. The slave belongs to me.’

  ‘Yes. Just the fool I took him for.’ Vecdet smiled, satisfied. ‘Well. So. You will have slaves despite him. Interesting. And now you expect me to hand over this – what did you call him? Kazan? This Kazan’s belongings. But he left them behind. He had no further use for them. Therefore they are rightly mine. What do you say to this?’

  ‘Only that you are known as a fair man who will see justice done.’

  ‘Is that what they say?’ Vecdet smiled at the flattery. ‘You shall have the satchel. I have no use for it.’ He was magnanimous.

  ‘The satchel and its contents?’

  ‘And its contents, for what they are worth. But the horse and the other things, they stay with me.’

  ‘The horse belongs to Dafydd ap Rhickert. The boy stole it from him.’

  ‘That may be but you must name your price. I shall not part otherwise.’ Aziz stood threateningly just behind his master.

  Twm raised an eyebrow. ‘The satchel and its contents, sir,’ he said firmly, ‘you will return to us together with the cloak and the bow and quiver. It was our intention to reward you for your care but perhaps agreeing a price for the mare would be more agreeable to us both.’

  Cat-and-mouse, thought Twm, but who is the mouse? Who is the cat? The effort of keeping his face expressionless was exhausting. Time, as well, to be out of this room before there was trouble. Dai had said get out of a private meeting before negotiating the difficult part; he was in the right of it, as ever. Twm could feel sweat beading his forehead. Keep it peaceful, if you can. Made sense enough. That brute of a man of his was itching for trouble. Brusting for a fight, as Blue would say. For the good Lord’s sake, listen to him, falling into Dafydd’s way of quoting the Fenman’s outlandish sayings. Dafydd, he thought grimly, getting him into this. Cat-and-mouse? That was Dafydd’s game, and never a doubt there who was cat, patient and prowling. Keep your mind on it, Thomas!

  ‘A reward?’ The man’s little beady eyes glittered. ‘And what had you in mind?’

  Twm sighed. ‘First, I would like to see the mare. If she is in the same condition as your slaves, perhaps she is not worth reward nor rescue.’

  ‘Why doesn’t your Welshman do this for himself?’

  Twm shrugged. ‘Leaves me to do the work, you mean? Doesn’t believe in slaves but he drives us all hard.’ He allowed annoyance to creep into his voice.

  ‘Not such friends, then.’

  ‘I never said we were. We work for the same man, that’s all.’ He turned to the door. ‘Shall we go?’

  Dai sighed once, quickly, but he didn’t relax his stance. There they were, all three, emerging from the house: Twm, the bulky merchant, the huge bodyguard close behind. Edgar had quietly come back to Twm’s side; he took the satchel and bow and quiver and gave the briefest of nods: the brother and sister were safe with Rémi, then. Twm slung the cloak over his shoulder. ‘Blue,’ he shouted, ‘come here and make yourself useful.’

  ‘Remember, no trouble, if we can avoid it,’ Dai muttered.

  ‘A’d like to tek a poäke at him but A’ll remember, doän’t you fret none, Dai bor.’

  Blue strolled across the street to join the group. Aziz’s eyes widened at the sight of a man as hefty as himself. He smiled, his mouth twisted because of the ridged scar. Blue sized him up and down. Neither man spoke, nor needed to. Brusting for a fight? Both of them, thought Tom, and desperately wanted to laugh. What a comedy this would be, were it not for the boy and the wretched slaves. They walked to the stables. There was the chestnut mare, instantly recognisable from Kazan’s description, but with a dull coat and eye. The man with her was a lout, begrudging any care spent on the animals though every one was a lifesaver. More bartering and a price agreed, and gifts of spices and amber. Not Tom’s wish but Dafydd had said avoid trouble, as far as possible, so a price was agreed for the chestnut mare and the deal was struck. The horses were brought, Tom’s grey and the chestnut. Aziz watched Blue take the two horses in hand and lead them away from the stables, back towards their own lodging. He watched for a long time, long after they were out of sight.

  ‘A good deal done,’ said Tom. ‘You are a fair man, as they told me. Will you drink with me to seal our bargain and our friendship, sir?’ He hoped the answer would be no, but the fat man was genial, pleased with the outcome of the morning’s business.

  ‘Edgar, go ahead with Blue; make sure all our purchases are comfortably stowed,’ Tom said. He looked pointedly at Aziz.

  ‘Leave us, Aziz. Make sure we are ready to leave inside the hour. Come, Thomas Archer, we shall be comfortable in my lodgings.’

  It was as they were walking away from the lakeside, back to the street that the commotion began. When all had been agreed, all deals completed, commotion. It began with running feet, shouts of alarm. Aziz was gone, moving quickly for a big man, but before he had gone far a servant raced up to them, gasping with news. It was a child, a young child. He’d been found in the river by two fishermen. No, not a hope of reviving him – he was dead, drowned. He must have wandered off in all the preparations for leaving. No one was looking out for him.

  ‘Where is that wretch Hatice? Bring her here. She was responsible for him.’ Vecdet’s high-pitched voice was shriller than usual and his expression ugly. ‘Someone must pay for this. Useless donkeys! Idiots!’

  The woman was dragged to Vecdet. Her face was white, grief-stricken, terrified. ‘Yes, I left him. Asperto was ill. I couldn’t leave Asperto… I thought the boy was safe.’

  ‘Asperto? Asperto? What is he worth to me? It was the boy you should have looked out for! Now he is dead. Dead. He at least had some value. How will you pay for this, you useless, worthless, troublesome woman?’ The man’s face was livid purple with fury, and the veins stood out on his forehead. The huddled slaves knew only too well what his fury meant, how it would end.

  Asperto was flung at his feet, and the body of the dead child tumbled to the ground, limp; a small body with baby-fine wet hair plastered to its scalp. A child too young to remember his name, too young to be taken as a slave, no mother or father to mourn for him.

  Hatice ran, as fast as a hawk could stoop, towards the tumbled corpse and the fallen man. She was seized and pulled back by the guards.

  ‘Get her out of my sig
ht. Get rid of her. Him too.’ Gesturing to the ghost-pale, flaccid figure of Asperto. ‘I’ve no use for such as these. They have burdened me for too long.’

  ‘Wait!’ The voice was abrupt, a voice of authority. Everyone stilled, movement stopped mid-action. Like one of the scenes from a mystery play, thought Tom and following rapidly on that thought: trust Dafydd. Everything settled, friendly, just as he said, and now he’s stirring for trouble. You and your conscience, Dafydd, will have us all killed. He edged his sword hand closer to the scabbard, eased the hilt free, saw Giles close by, his hand resting on his own broad sword. Dai strode closer, bystanders making way for him.

  ‘So there you are, Dafydd the Welshman. I thought you could not be far behind your man.’

  ‘I’ll take them.’ He didn’t waste time answering but pointed at the two slaves. ‘These two – I’ll take them.’

  ‘How much?’

  Dai snorted. ‘You expect me to pay to take them off your hands?’

  ‘Of course. They’re worth money to me and, it seems, of some value to you.’ Vecdet was sly, calculating.

  ‘It’s wanting to be rid of them, you say. I offer to do just that, save you the bother of disposing of unwanted baggage, isn’t it, and it’s valuable they are now, hey, bach? A broken man and a bashed-up woman who’s not young nor fair-faced? And that’s not to mention what they both eat.’ He looked them up and down, the man slave and the woman. ‘Not that they eat much, from the look of it. You don’t waste money on food, do you now? You’ll have to fatten them up before market, efendi, or there’ll be no fat purses willing to buy.’ The contempt was there in his voice for all to hear, and a crowd was gathering, drawn by the drama. Thomas and Giles edged closer to Dai; out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Sakoura and, with him, the men, the muleteers and cameleteers, pushing their way through the crowd, staves and swords in their hands.

  ‘Take them then! Rob me! What else can I expect from the English? Take these worthless wretches.’ Dai could hear the slow grinding of the man’s teeth in that milling head of his.

  ‘I am Cymro not Sais.’ Lightly said, but the menace was there lurking at the edges of the brown voice, at the back of the brown eyes. ‘We Cymro know how to value life. It shall not be said that this man and this woman are worthless. Here – take this.’ He flung a bag of akçe at the Turk. ‘Count it. Make sure the price is enough. Blue!’ A switch to English, a jerk of the head to the big man. ‘Take our new possessions – all our new possessions – back to the lodgings.’

  Nobody moved. How much money had he thrown away?

  ‘Well. Come on now, Blue bach, it’s not all day we have to be standing here.’ Then words spoken softly in the Fen man’s own language. They galvanised the big man. He hoisted Asperto to his feet, hustled Hatice past Vecdet. She pulled back at Dai’s side, a tall, gaunt woman with a livid scar on her forehead. Her mouth was working.

  ‘The child,’ she said.

  ‘Ah yes, the child. A corpse, efendim, does it also have value? Shall I buy this dead boy from you as well? Name your price. Or is it enough that we shall give him a burial?’ No emotion; only that ice-cold voice, cutting as the wind from the mountains.

  ‘Take him and be done with it. The parents were glad to be rid of him. I shouldn’t have taken him off their hands. He’s been nothing but trouble – like that accursed woman. Take him.’

  Dai nodded. He unfastened his cloak and swaddled the child in it, holding him as if he were still alive.

  ‘Our business with you is finished, efendim.’ He turned and walked away, leaving the man impotent and furious, aware of the sniggering crowd, the humiliation that had been heaped on him. His beady eyes followed the Welshman’s progress, saw the slim boy who met him and his eyes narrowed.

  18

  Behold, thou art fair, my love;

  behold, thou art fair;

  Thou hast doves’ eyes.

  (Song of Solomon)

  ‘And my curved bow and quiver of straight arrows as well.’ An hour ago Kazan would have crowed with pleasure but not now, not with the child dead and the haggard woman grieving beside him, and the man they called Asperto as white as a corpse himself. But there was Niko, still watchful, still hardly believing what had happened.

  ‘You’ve come back.’

  ‘I said I would.’

  ‘I didn’t know…’

  ‘I promised you I would come back for you,’ she had said to him when they all crowded back into the lodgings. ‘I always keep my promises.’ The girl, his sister, Agathi, was close beside him, frail and shivering and beautiful, even in her sorry state. Kazan was ashamed of the flicker of irritation she felt at the admiration in the men’s eyes. Edgar was gazing at her as if he had seen all the glories of the Kingdom of God, she thought, then shivered at the blasphemy. Struck by love, she amended, like a sharp arrow swift in flight and straight to its target. The girl was glancing at him from under lowered lashes; quick little glances when she thought herself unobserved. This was the beautiful stranger who had led her to safety. His head was aureoled by golden curls and his eyes were blue as the Great Sea on a summer’s day. Our eyes met. Just once, fleetingly, but it was enough. Nene’s words were true. This was how love came.

  Kazan sighed then twirled the warm cloak from her shoulders, from where Tom had dropped it only minutes before, and dropped it into Edgar’s hands. ‘Here, give her this. It is cold today.’

  Agathi clutched the warm wool ferace to her with pale, slender hands. She gazed adoringly up at the young man who had wrapped it round her with no thought for the boy who had given it. Kazan walked away before the girl could whisper her thanks. Dai followed her, put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her to a halt.

  ‘Satisfied?’ His voice was terse, angry, but she could not be sorry.

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘It was good of you to give her your cloak.’

  She shrugged. ‘The cloak does not matter. It means nothing. I can get another.’ Her fingers had tightened on the satchel. Dai nodded towards it.

  ‘That does?’

  She thought of what was inside; Nene’s precious inlaid scissors, the carefully crafted ivory comb that had been handed down from mother to daughter to granddaughter. The amethyst ring. ‘No, that is nothing. He is. He is what matters.’ She nodded towards the boy Niko. He was so young; where had he found the courage and strength to look after himself let alone his sister, let alone the stranger he had befriended? She wanted to thank the brown man by her side but his cold anger choked the words in her throat.

  ‘Best get them to the physician, Blue, then they look as if they need feeding. May as well stay here the day. We’ve a burial to attend to, and our newcomers.’

  ‘The hamam before food, perhaps, Dafydd? And clean clothes?’

  ‘Ever fastidious, Twm?’

  ‘Ever food on your mind, Dafydd?’

  They measured looks. Dai nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. What have we in the way of clothes?’

  ‘Should I go with them to the physician?’ Edgar, his face luminous with pent-up emotion. ‘She is very frail.’ His eyes lit on the pale slender girl and away, but that one look told Dai all he needed to know. Heaven help them all, the boy was smitten. Everything in his gentle nature was roused by her helplessness. Giles pulled a face. ‘Our young rebel’s caught,’ he muttered to Twm. Twm sighed. Another four mouths to feed; another four lost souls. How many this journey? Blue, Edgar, Kazan, Mehmi and now four miserable slaves. Dafydd and his conscience! Heinrijc Mertens was a saint of a man if he countenanced this.

  ‘What will you do with them, Dafydd?’

  ‘Do with them? Nothing. As soon as they are fit they are free to go.’ Dai glared at him. ‘Are you worried about the money I paid for them? Don’t be. That was my own. Heinrijc Merten’s profits are safe and so is your commission.’

  Twm sighed again. ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘You are a difficult man, Dafydd.’
<
br />   ‘And my conscience will kill us all. Yes, I know, you’ve said it all before.’ He turned away. ‘Rémi! Come here. Now.’

  Tom glanced down at the young boy next to him. No elation here but tearless burning eyes. ‘Don’t fret, Kazan. Dafydd can be the very devil when he’s minded.’

  ‘Is it my fault? Did I ask too much?’

  ‘Too much?’ Tom laughed but it was a bitter sound. ‘You wonder why he’s so angry. It’s because he couldn’t save them all. Couldn’t save the child. That conscience of his…’ He stopped. Sighed. ‘Cautions us all to be peaceable, negotiate, strike a bargain. And we do. We did. Then in he comes with that peasant sword of his all but drawn and ready to do battle with the devil himself.’ He glanced down at the boy by his side, subdued for once. ‘Well, that’s Dafydd for you. He’s a riddle. And so are you, Kazan.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You’re no slave – no yürük, I’ll swear – a champion rider and bowman yet you can cozen stories from our souls – and Dafydd’s heart from out of its armour.’

  ‘Indeed I do not. You are mistaken.’

  ‘Am I? But do you wish us harm? That is what I wonder.’

  ‘Wish you harm? No! How can you think so?’

  ‘You may be a spy – an enemy amongst us. How do we know?’

  ‘I am not.’ She was indignant. ‘You know about my grandfather and my journey to find him.’

  ‘And that is all I know. What other secrets do you keep, Kazan?’

  Her face blanked, expressionless. ‘I have secrets, that is true, but so have you all. Dai knows my secrets.’

  ‘Dafydd knows your secrets?’

  ‘Why should he not?’

  ‘He has said nothing.’

  ‘He is a man of honour and I have a right to silence, as have you all.’

  ‘As have we all…’ He was baffled. ‘That is true but…’

  ‘You do not trust me. Well, I cannot help that. I can tell you only that I mean you no harm. I am in your debt. Your Dafydd’ – she used the name the dark man gave him – ‘has been my good friend and I would never do him harm.’