A Place of Meadows and Tall Trees

by Clare Dudman

  Caradoc tips his head in a nod. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘He’ll go,’ Mary says, indicating her husband who looks faintly startled. He shakes himself a little. ‘Oh yes, I’ll go.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Mary smiles complacently. She is dressed entirely in black as usual, the collar of her dress pressed down by the jowls of her face. The woman appears to have no neck at all. Silas looks away quickly before she catches him staring.

  ‘Three. Good. You’ll need the two stallions.’

  ‘And the largest of the mares, perhaps?’ asks Jacob.

  ‘Yes, yes, I was just coming to that. And guns, and plenty of ammunition, of course. If you prepare for trouble you’ll most likely not have any.’

  The rifle feels heavy strapped to his chest. He doesn’t like the touch of the metal, the way it becomes so quickly cold when exposed to the air and chills him. Jacob is leading. Of course Jacob is leading. Ever since it was first mooted at yesterday’s meeting Jacob and Caradoc have referred to this as Jacob’s mission, as though he is about to convert a horde of Indians to the Christian cause. John comes next and Silas takes up the rear on his diffident mare. They are riding close together. It is as if it is something they have agreed although nothing has been said. Jacob seems to be careful not to go on too far ahead of the rest and keeps glancing back, slowing or stopping and waiting then going on again.

  He waits now, his head swivelling from side to side, scanning the valley floor and then the slopes so that Silas looks too. There is nothing there, but still Jacob looks. When he catches Silas’ eyes he smiles, but as soon as he looks away again his face becomes still and tense, with two small lines extending the outline of his nose upwards into his brow. ‘Nothing yet, brawd,’ he says, his voice careful and even.

  He swings the horse away again, and continues along the flat piece of ground by the river. John follows behind him without comment; his body rigid in the saddle. Silas follows closely. They are being watched. The further they get from Rawson the more strongly he feels it. There are eyes in the undergrowth, shapes in between bushes, shadows where there shouldn’t be shadows. But when he turns they are gone.

  There is a sound. A twig snapping. Silas pulls on his horse to stop and looks around him. Nothing. Everything is quiet. There are no birds, no insects, just the sound of the river and his heart thudding in his ears. He looks again, his eyes resting on each bush around him in turn. Too quiet. Not a single warble, squeak or rustle. As if someone has frightened everything away. He waits. Still nothing. He breathes out slowly.

  Ahead of him Jacob and John have stopped and are looking back. Everything waits. Silas searches around him for footprints, old campfires, skeletons of dismembered animals... nothing. A cricket starts to hum. A bird gives a short sweet call, and then Jacob calls out. ‘Silas? What’s wrong?’

  Nothing. He shakes his head and then the reins of his horse and she trots quickly to join them.

  A narrow passage between rocks opens out to a small meadow and Jacob smiles back at them, opening his arms to indicate the expanse. Silas looks around him again. It is too open here. He feels suddenly exposed. Anyone watching them could pick them out with an arrow one by one. He eyes a distant patch of vegetation and digs his heels into the horse’s flanks. Faster. She grumbles a little but trots more quickly. Faster. He catches up with John and Jacob, points to the vegetation, and then waves at them to hurry. Jacob nods once, his eyes flicking around him.

  Once they are under the cover of the bush they listen.

  ‘What is it?’ Jacob’s eyes are wide. ‘Have you seen anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A pity,’ he says, but his face relaxes.

  They pass quickly from one island of cover to the next. Even Jacob is silent now. His face is like John’s: tense, his jaw clenched.

  Now it is John’s turn to stop. He has smelt something. His head twitches sharply like a deer that has sensed a dog, or a guanaco that has smelt a puma. Silas comes close.

  ‘Can you smell it?’

  Silas nods. Something burning – strong, aromatic, close. A scorched piece of twig tumbles over the ground in front of them.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Shst!’ Jacob’s voice is too loud.

  They listen again. A piece of loose vegetation is picked up by the wind and for a time they all follow it with their eyes.

  ‘Indians.’

  ‘Where?’

  Silas shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Can’t you smell them?’

  There is a sudden sharp crack of twig nearby. They all turn towards the sound. The branches of a bush part and a small cat steps through, hisses and then bounds from them.

  Silas gives a small laugh. He has been holding his breath. It is a relief to let it go.

  Jacob snorts. They can still smell smoke. He looks around. ‘Maybe they’re hiding from us.’

  ‘No,’ says John. ‘Look, over there.’ John points towards the cliffs to the north.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Can’t you see it? A fire.’

  He narrows his eyes. He can just make out a line of smoke, but it is faint and distant.

  They ride on carefully. No one talks. No one even tries to whisper. Even the horses seem to know they must be quiet and tread where the mud is wet and soft by the river. Jacob prays in silence, his eyes open, and his lips barely moving.

  The sun climbs higher. They follow the riverbed, sinking behind an embankment and then out again. A wind has started to blow from the west and they can no longer smell the smoke even though they must be riding towards it. Jacob slows as he climbs, then stops and waits for John and Silas to draw level. He is looking at where the fire was and laughing silently to himself. ‘It’s just the cliffs. Not smoke at all. A crack in the rock. Look.’

  Now the sun has moved it is easy to see.

  They carry on alongside the river. It is low in its bed now; even Silas’ timorous mare can be persuaded to cross. Jacob crosses it again and again; to cool the horse’s feet, he says. But he doesn’t mention what they all know – that this will also disguise their tracks if anyone is following. They look behind them, checking to see if they are being followed, and then ahead again and to the side.

  The sun sinks and they mount the bank again, each man starting as something noisily disappears into the water beside them. Silas strokes the mane of his mare to soothe both of them. There is someone watching. The horse knows. No matter how much he smoothes down the mare’s ears they prick up again. She seems to be listening. A shiver travels along her flank and she neighs softly. Silas looks around him; ahead of them is a small canyon and Jacob is foolishly leading them through. The man doesn’t think. Sometimes he seems wilfully stupid. But it is too late to stop him now. To make a fuss now would only draw attention to them. He smoothes his horse’s head again and urges her forward.

  The wind picks up. It gusts down the gulley so ferociously that they have to tuck down their heads and fight to make headway. Then all at once there is a howl. It is human, loud and close. They stop, their eyes wide, searching the steep slopes around them. Silas pats down the hairs on his horse’s neck and then his own.

  ‘Just the wind,’ says John. But he doesn’t sound certain. Then the sun disappears behind a scrap of cloud.

  Silas shivers. The shadows are becoming darker and deeper. He hears one rock grind against another. Whoever is watching has come closer. The walls of this gorge are steep but pitted with small caves and strange-looking boulders that stand proud of the rest: what had been a brilliant orange in the sun is now grey and brown and black.

  ‘Move,’ hisses Silas, ‘we can’t stay here. We should never have come. We’re asking for trouble.’ Each crevice could contain an Indian. He imagines the Indians watching them pass, waiting for them to get into range of an arrow or spear.

  Jacob attempts to laugh. ‘Don’t be afraid, brawd. The Lord will protect us.’

  Silas looks at the man cowering in his saddle. ‘The Lord?’ he says, �
�where is He?’

  Jacob’s face is partly hidden beneath his hat, but Silas can just make out that he holds his finger to his lips.

  ‘If He is with us, why does He never say anything? And why are you afraid?’

  ‘Hush, man.’

  Silas takes a breath. He has had enough. If they are going to kill them let them hurry out of where they are hiding and finish the business now. He is tired of waiting. ‘Why doesn’t He talk to us, eh, Jacob?’ He takes another breath and starts to shout. Above the wind his voice echoes faintly off the walls of rock. ‘Perhaps He has abandoned us too. Have you thought of that? Perhaps He was never there at all!’

  Jacob and John are rigid in their saddles, staring at him with open mouths.

  Silas laughs then gallops forward. He stops and shouts again. ‘Is anyone there?’

  Above him a few pebbles scatter down the hillside. He turns towards the sound. ‘Is that you? Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Why don’t you come out and show yourself?’

  Some more pebbles come tumbling from the slope as if someone is walking there, or trying to scramble away.

  ‘Coward! Come out. Show yourself.’ Silas peers upward but it is difficult to see. The sun is setting and it is becoming darker. A few more pebbles fall in a small sharp torrent, and Silas’ mare suddenly takes fright. She neighs loudly once and then gallops wildly with Silas clinging onto her mane until the valley floor opens out into a plain, then stops just as suddenly, snorting and stamping her feet.

  Behind him Jacob and John follow almost as noisily, then they trot a few more yards to where a small willow grows between two boulders. Jacob dismounts and immediately disappears behind the nearest boulder to relieve himself. When he returns, he falls to his knees and jabbers out a few words to thank the Lord for their deliverance.

  They light a small fire and take turns to sleep alongside it on their saddle blankets and furs. They hear growls and the sound of something heavy moving close by but nothing comes close. When dawn comes Silas can at last see clearly where they are – in a lush-looking valley too broad for its river. But the patina of yellow-green is a deception; only part of it is vegetation – most of it is a strange yellow rock; this place is nearly as much of a desert as anywhere else.

  But when he wakes, Jacob’s eyes open wide. ‘A valley,’ he says, standing and looking around him. ‘A wondrous fertile valley. Do you see God’s hands? Oh brodyr, this is a message. Even though we doubted Him, He shows us this!’

  Everything is faded and parched. It is becoming hot, the sun burns at the ground and on their backs, but still they go on – Jacob with his head held high, the brim of his hat low on the back of his neck, turning around again and again to smile and ask if all is well.

  ‘A paradise,’ he says when they stop. ‘Praise the Lord.’ But he is fingering his gun, a strange distant look on his face.

  It is too hot to think. The sun seems to be becoming more intense with every day. Even though they rest during the hottest part of the day the heat seems to cling to the ground late into the afternoon, making every movement slow. No one speaks. The only sound is the clatter of hooves on rock and gravel. It is as if everything has burrowed underground or moved to the mountains in the west to get out of the sun. Once a fox barked close by and a skunk ambled nonchalantly across their path, but there have been no guanaco and no ostriches and just a few of the long-legged rabbits making their strange circuitous routes to their holes as soon as they approach.

  They are aching: sore, chafed where they rub against the saddle or where sweat drips. Silas is tired of turning his head, tired of checking. He slumps with every footfall of the mare, until he feels himself in danger of falling, and forces himself back into his saddle. At the back of his head an ache is spreading over his skull. It is the strain of knowing they are being watched. He knows the eyes are still there. He can feel them on the back of his head. But he is tired of waiting for something to happen. He droops again.

  They have been climbing for the last two days, but now, still keeping close to the river, they start to climb more steeply. The wind is stronger with more frequent gusts and the air is cooler. Plants cling more tightly to the ground, and in each depression there are the remains of winter ponds, crusted with salt, the footprints of birds like perfectly preserved fossils at the edges.

  The summit of this hill leads on to a higher one and then beyond that to a hill that is even higher. Both horse and rider pant. The air must be thin. Silas looks around him. The land is bare – just rocks and sand. He sits up, feels oddly jubilant. They are almost at the highest point now. Something lifts from him as he realises. No longer the watched but the watchers. High and invincible. A view that stretches for miles. Nothing can touch them.

  ‘Closer to God!’ Jacob cries out. He turns to Silas and John. ‘He has delivered us, brodyr! You see? Our faith has been rewarded.’

  The valley spreads out before them to the east. From here it looks misleadingly lush, much greener than the higher land that surrounds it.

  ‘Our promised land,’ Jacob says happily.

  They have reached the end. Above them the river forces a way through a sheer-sided granite block and there appears to be no way through. Even so they attempt to scramble up and succeed in peering through a narrow gap. The land continues to rise in barren slopes towards distant mountains.

  Jacob climbs higher up the rock face, reaches the end of a spur and pauses. Silas can see his jacket riding up and then down again as he breathes. He is only halfway to the top, with a great mass of rock still above him, but he plants his feet out wide as if he has conquered something significant and grins down on them. ‘You see, the Lord has thought of everything. He has given us a haven. No one can get through here. We are quite alone in our paradise! Praise be to His name!’

  Twenty-nine

  It takes some time for the rest of the people to assemble. The crops that seemed to be thriving by the river a short time ago are withering, but no one understands why; some of the colonists have been trying to save them by adding a little manure from the pig pen to enrich the soil, but it has proved hopeless. They are hot, tired and dirty but at the sight of Jacob they brighten – the fact that he and his companions have returned so quickly must be good news.

  Caradoc dismisses Silas and John with a small wave of his stick, and Jacob is invited to the front to speak for all of them. Silas glowers, attempts to correct the inaccuracies in Jacob’s account, which are many, but each time his words are swept away by Caradoc’s hand. ‘It will be less confusing if only one speaks,’ he says, and motions for Jacob to finish.

  ‘The end of the valley is impenetrable,’ Jacob says. ‘It rises in a great mass that no man can cross.’

  Silas looks around. Everyone seems to be smiling – even Megan. He tries to catch her eye but she is watching her brother with a studied determination.

  ‘So we are quite safe. There will be no attack from the west. The Lord has seen to that,’ Jacob concludes and sits down with his arms folded.

  ‘But they can come from the north or the south,’ Silas protests, ignoring Caradoc’s glare. ‘There are breaks... in the escarpments... between the cliffs. Places easily breached. We saw them again and again. Why don’t you tell them about that, Jacob? Have you caught the Meistr’s disease of never speaking the truth?’

  Caradoc frowns at Silas and tuts. ‘There is no need for that, Mr James.’

  Silas looks around him; the majority are listening to him, so he continues, ‘There are places where a whole army of savages could break through, as quickly as they like, and the first we’d know about it would be an arrow in the back, or a knife at our throat when we woke.’

  A woman at the back gives a small wail.

  ‘You are upsetting people, bachgen. There’s no need for that.’

  ‘But Jacob is giving a false impression. The Indians could be at our doorstep any day they choose.’

  Jacob’s face reddens. At his waist the finger of one hand points half-
heartedly in Silas’ direction. His voice, when it comes, is high and strained. ‘Which is why I am about to tell you my plan, if you would just pause for a while to hear what I have to say. We should spread out, take the land allotted to us and spread out along the valley. The Lord has given us this land, so it is up to us to guard it and ensure it is safe.’

  ‘But surely you’re not proposing we risk the women and children...’

  ‘But Silas,’ Caradoc says, ‘your journey has told us the valley is empty for now.’

  ‘But we didn’t search everywhere.’

  Caradoc raises his voice and talks over him. ‘Whichever way the Indians come, we’ll keep a watch for them… warn each other, have a series of fires as they did in earlier times...’

  ‘But what if we don’t see them?’ A few people around him mumble their agreement.

  ‘We can’t miss a whole tribe of people,’ Caradoc says firmly, and for a few minutes everyone is quiet, looking from Silas to Caradoc.

  ‘Well, I think it’s hopeless,’ Mary says at last, ‘but I’ll make sure that husband of mine builds a pyre, now he’s back. It’ll stop him getting in my way...’

  Up until now the only structures that have been built outside Rawson have been shelters – one-roomed affairs, crudely built on the higher land out of reach of the river – just a place for a man to shelter from the wind, rain and sun when he goes out to his land to tend it. But now they are beginning to extend them in stone and brick, a bedroom and then a scullery with two or three cottages clustered together to form a hamlet where one colonist’s land meets another.

  Joseph Jones comes running and yelling along the path from the beach, followed by his oldest brother and sister, all three of them running, ‘A ship, a ship! Mam says to come at once!’

  All is not well. This stretch of water with its treacherous sandbank has already claimed one ship. The Jones family are already there yelling warnings, the eldest three charging along the beach waving anything they can find, but if the captain can see, there seems to be little he can do.