The blask rood cc-2

by Stephen Lawhead

ELEVEN

  Using the ropes with which we had towed the boat on the river, I attached them to the stern. 'Two men on each rope,' I said, handing one of the ends to Padraig. 'We will lower the boat down the hill a step at a time.'

  'And the fifth man?' wondered Sarn.

  'He will stand ready to place a beam under the wheels to stop the wagon if it begins to roll too fast.'

  'Where will we get this beam?' asked Dodu.

  I looked at the mast, but it was too long and unwieldy for one person alone. Also, I did not wish to risk damaging it beneath the wheels of the wagon. 'We will use stones until we can find a tree branch large enough.'

  Thus, with Padraig and Sarn on one rope, Dodu and me on the other, and Roupen carrying two large stones borrowed from the wall beside the road, we began. At first it appeared we would have an easy time of it. Once we got the wagon onto the road, the slope fell away so gradually that we had only to keep the rope taut to prevent the boat from rolling too fast. Halfway down the hill, the haulier said, 'This is not so bad. Now I know how my team feels in yoke.'

  'Wait until we start up the other side before you decide whether you wish to change places with your oxen,' Padraig remarked.

  We reached the bottom of the hill and stopped to rest. The sun was moving higher and the day growing warmer. A few wispy clouds trailed across the sky, but they would provide no shade. The air was still, so there would be no cooling breeze. I saw a long, hot, exhausting day stretching out before us-and with no food or water at the end of it to refresh and strengthen us.

  The incline of the next hill proved not so steep as it first appeared. Roupen, who had but light work on the way down, more than doubled his labour; he was continually darting from one side of the wagon to the other to place the stones behind the wheels to prevent the boat from rolling backward after each hard pull of the rope had gained us a few precious paces.

  By dint of hard work we reached the top of the hill by midday, and stopped for another rest. We looked both ways along the road, but saw no other travellers, nor any signs of habitation anywhere nearby. Padraig found a small spring in a rocky cleft low down at the side of the hill. We all went down to drink our fill, and then climbed the hill once more to sit in the shade of the boat.

  We dozed through the heat of the day, and then rose once more to our work, taking up the ropes with stiff hands. Again, the downward slope was gentle, and we made short work of it, reaching the bottom of the hill in less than half the time the ascent required.

  The next hill appeared but little steeper than the one we had passed that morning, so I was confident we could reach the top by nightfall. 'We will camp for the night up there,' I said, exhorting my exhausted little band. 'There are some trees for shelter. I think we best move along if we are to finish before dark.'

  This brought groans of displeasure as we resumed our places once more. We were well tired now; the day's labour had worn away our strength. Each step was a struggle for but small advance. In the end, my hope of reaching the hilltop by nightfall proved wildly optimistic. The moon rose while we were yet but halfway to the top, and the stars were alight in the clear blue heavens long before we put the stones behind the wheels for the last time and fell sprawling into the long grass beneath the trees. Too tired to talk, we slept where we dropped.

  The next day was much like the one before-save that we were stiff and aching from our rough sleep and the previous day's exertions, and the hill rising before us was steeper than either of the two we had conquered. 'The settlement is in the valley beyond,' Dodu said once we gained the top. 'There is a wide meadow and a stream. We will get water and something to eat.'

  'Then why are we waiting?' demanded Sarn. 'The sooner we reach the settlement, the sooner we can get something in our stomachs.'

  The first part of the ascent went well, but when the incline grew suddenly steeper, and we could no longer move the boat by pulling on the ropes, we were forced to push. The day passed in a haze of sweat and blistering sunlight. The muscles in my shoulders, back, and legs knotted; my throat grew dry and my tongue seemed to swell in my mouth. My feet tangled time and again, so that I had to struggle to stay upright. Each slow, agonizing step became a battle of will and determination as we fought our way to the top where we collapsed in the middle of the road to lay gasping and staring up at the sky, the sweat running from our bodies in rivulets. After a time, I sat up and looked down into the valley. As Dodu had said, the settlement was little more than two clusters of buildings huddled together beside the road with fields on either side; there was a small stone enclosure for pigs, a few hayracks, a raised storehouse, and a stand of trees beyond the fields. It may not have been much, but, God be praised, it was not far, and the slope was not steep.

  The end is in sight, I told them; the hard work is over. We have but to ease the wagon down the hill and rest is ours-food and drink as well. 'We will eat and drink tonight,' I said, 'and sleep on straw. Come! Our supper awaits.'

  'I wonder if they have any beer?' said Sarn.

  'I will gladly settle for bread and water,' remarked Padraig.

  'Listen to you now,' said the haulier, still puffing as he climbed laboriously to his feet. 'Down there lives the woman who makes the best ale from the Seine to the Saone-and smoked pork chops, too. I always buy a few whenever I pass.'

  'Why have you kept this from us till now?' demanded Sarn. 'You should be telling us this from the first.'

  'I did not want to cause you an injury,' replied Dodu. 'Thinking about such things on an empty stomach can cause a man to forget what he is doing.'

  Our shadows were long on the hilltop as we rose to take up the ropes for the last time. With groans and moans and much gritting of teeth, we eased the boat-laden wagon down the slope one step at a time. With each step, the farm holding came nearer and I could almost taste the ale in the jar. I was jolted out of this pleasant anticipation when Sarn struck his foot against a stone and fell. I heard him cry out and saw him sprawling in the dust, the rope flying from his hands. Suddenly unbalanced, Dodu stopped and reared back with all his might. Unfortunately, he could not hold the weight by himself, and was jerked off his feet.

  Before I knew it, Padraig and I were plummeting down the hill, trying desperately to slow the free-wheeling wagon. Roupen dashed to our aid. He ran up and shoved the tree branch in front of the wheels, but the wagon was already moving too fast. The wheels bumped over the branch and kept on rolling.

  There was nothing for it, but to throw off the ropes and save ourselves. Padraig stumbled, still clinging to the rope, and was dragged through the dust. 'Let go, Padraig!' I shouted, releasing my grip.

  The boat sped down the slope, rattling and creaking as it bumped over the close-rutted road. Faster and faster it fell, slewing this way and that, gathering pace with astonishing swiftness as it careened down the hill.

  Padraig climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. 'Pray God it does not hit the house,' he said.

  Even as he spoke, one of the wagon wheels struck the side of the rut. The front wheels bounced and turned, sending the wagon onto a new course-straight for the nearest dwelling. Padraig raced past me, shouting with all his might. 'Danger!' he cried. 'Danger! Get out of the way!'

  What anyone might have made of this warning, I cannot say. But suddenly we were all flying down the hill after the runaway boat. Despite our fatigue and aching muscles, we ran like madmen for the settlement, shouting for all we were worth. 'Danger! Get away!'

  The on-rushing wagon struck a bump in the road and veered into the long grass growing beside the road; the grass brushed against the hull of the boat and slowed the plummeting wagon somewhat.

  A stone wall forming part of the pig enclosure stood beside the house. The wagon ploughed through the grass, scraping the side of the boat against the wall, knocking two or three tiers of stone from the top. This slowed the wagon further-but not enough to prevent the impending collision.

  The keel of the boat hit the midden heap, showering dung a
nd debris into the air. The wagon bounded into the air and came down with a terrible crash as it drove into the side of the house.

  Padraig was the first to reach the wreckage. He put his head through the hole in the wall and called to see if anyone was hurt. I was next to reach the house. 'I do not think anyone is here,' he said, turning to me.

  Sarn, two steps behind me, came running up. 'Is the boat damaged?' He climbed up onto the hull and looked inside.

  Roupen, his thin limbs trembling with excitement, came to stand beside me. 'Never in my life have I seen such a thing,' he said, his voice quavering as he gulped down air. 'It was…' he paused to find the word he wanted, '… magnificent!'

  'The hull is unharmed!' announced Sarn, much relieved.

  'I wonder where everyone has gone?' said Padraig, moving around the corner of the house to search the yard on the other side.

  'Is no one here?' asked Roupen. He put his head in through the collapsed wall, looked quickly, and then said, 'That is a mercy. Someone might have been killed.'

  Sarn climbed out of the boat and began examining the place where the hull had scraped against the wall. Padraig reappeared to tell us that there were no animals in the pens, or in the barn, and no one in the fields behind the houses. Then he disappeared again, to search the buildings across the road.

  'Is there any ale?' asked Dodu strolling up at last. Red-faced and puffing from the unaccustomed exertion, he sat down on the rim of a wagon wheel and drew his sleeve across his sweating face. 'I am dying.'

  'There is no one here,' I informed him.

  'Impossible,' replied the haulier. 'In all the years I have been coming this way, there is always someone here.'

  'Look for yourself,' I said. 'The house is empty, and so are the fields.'

  Padraig returned just then with a wooden bucket in his hands. 'I found the well,' he said, handing the bucket to me. I passed it to Roupen, who put his face in the water and began slurping away.

  While the bucket made its slow round, I asked Padraig what else he had discovered. 'There is fodder in the crib,' he said, 'and water in the trough. There is grain in the storehouse. We will have meal and water at least.'

  Dodu moaned and shook his head. Sarn stepped around the stern of the boat and said, 'Bad luck. The mast is broken. The end splintered when it struck the house.'

  'Can it be repaired?'

  'Perhaps,' he said unhappily. 'We will have to see.' He walked away shaking his head.

  'What should we do now?' asked Roupen.

  'Padraig has found meal and water,' I replied. 'Let us see if we can find anything else to eat.'

  While Dodu and Roupen searched the farm houses, Padraig and I set about making a fire in the yard. I took wood from the pile beside the door, and a flint and iron from inside the now-ruined house. While I struggled with lighting the fire, Padraig found a cooking pot and filled it with water from the well. He took a quantity of ground meal from a bag in the storehouse, and added it to the water. He then brought the pot to me and, when the fire was going sufficiently, he placed it on the flames, and sat down to keep watch over it.

  Dodu and Roupen emerged from the neighbouring house, the young lord with a small bag in one hand and a bowl in the other. Dodu carried a crock and a wooden cup. 'I knew there would be ale,' he said, placing the crock carefully at his feet. He sat down and began to pour out the sweet brown liquid.

  'I found salt,' said Roupen, offering me the bag. From the bowl, he produced two large eggs, and a wedge of hard, milky-white cheese. He handed the eggs to Padraig, saying, 'Maybe we could boil them.'

  'I have a better idea,' replied the monk. Taking the bowl from Roupen's hand, he cracked the two eggs against the side and emptied them into the bowl. Then, taking the cheese, he broke off a portion and proceeded to crumble it into the bowl, whereupon he reached in and stirred the eggs and cheese with his fingers very fast until the mixture was a pale yellow colour.

  Roupen watched, fascinated. 'Are you a cook in your monastery?'

  Padraig smiled. 'The abbey is not large,' he explained, 'so each of us must take his turn with the various chores.' So saying, he up-ended the bowl into the cooking pot with the meal and water, which was beginning to simmer on the flame. He reached for the bag of salt, withdrew a small handful and shook it into the pot as well. 'Now then,' he said, taking up a stick from which he began stripping the bark, 'we wait.'

  We passed the ale cup around the circle to occupy ourselves while we waited for the pot to boil. Sarn, having decided that his mast might wait until he had a bite to eat, joined us and demanded his share of the ale, which Dodu reluctantly supplied. After a time, the pot began to boil, and Padraig stirred it with his stick. Sarn went into the house to see if Dodu had overlooked any jars of ale. I lay back and closed my eyes, and listened to the pot burbling away. The smell of the porridge brought the water to my mouth, and my stomach growled. I was just remembering the last meal I had eaten before leaving home, when I felt a touch on my arm.

  I opened my eyes, and saw Roupen kneeling over me; his eyes were on the yard behind us. I rolled over and looked where he was staring and saw only the trees of the wood behind the field. 'What do you see?' I asked.

  'Someone is there,' he whispered.

  Padraig stopped stirring; he placed the stick across the top of the pot, and gazed into the deep-shadowed wood.

  'Are you certain?' I asked. The young man nodded. I stood and motioned Padraig to my side. 'We will go have a look. You stay here and guard that pot,' I told Roupen.

  Padraig and I walked to the end of the yard, and started across the field, watching the trees for any sign of movement, but could see nothing in the shade. We halted at the edge of the field, and I called into the wood. 'Come out! We have seen you. There is nothing to fear. We need your help. Come out so we can talk to you.'

  We waited. No sound or movement came from the wood. I started to shout again, but Padraig said, 'Let me try.' He advanced a few more paces alone, and raised his hands in priestly blessing. 'Pax vobiscum! In the name of our Great Redeemer, I give you good greeting.' He paused and waited for a moment, then added, 'I have made a meal of porridge. Come and share it with us.'

  'What are you doing?' I complained. 'There is barely enough for us.'

  Ignoring me, Padraig said, 'The porridge is ready. Please, come and eat.'

  'We cannot feed the whole countryside!' I complained.

  'Hush, Duncan. Be still.'

  The over-generous monk repeated his invitation, and we waited some more. Perhaps Roupen was mistaken, I thought; no doubt, hunger had him seeing things. Before I could suggest this to Padraig, however, I heard a rustle in the leaves and out from the forest stepped a wizened old man with a small knife in one hand, and a broken tree branch in the other. His wrinkled face was set in a glare of defiance as he challenged us to do our worst.

  TWELVE

  'Peace, father,' Padraig said. 'We are pilgrims, and mean no harm.'

  The old man came on a pace or two further and then halted. He raised the broken branch in his hand and pointed it at Padraig. 'Are you a priest, truly?' he asked in crude Latin.

  'I am,' replied Padraig, still holding out his hands. 'Come, let us break bread together, and you can tell us what happened here.'

  The man threw down his rude weapon and gave a nod of approval to the two old women cowering behind him. 'All is well,' he called. 'That one is a priest.'

  At this the women ran forwards and fell upon Padraig; they seized his hands and began kissing them, and crying aloud praises to God. The monk allowed himself to be handled for a moment, and then turned and herded his new flock towards the house.

  Upon reaching the yard, they went at once to where Roupen was waiting beside the pot of porridge, and stood looking longingly at the steaming, bubbling food. Sarn and Dodu appeared just then, having searched the second house to no avail.

  The old people recognized the haulier and ran to him. 'Dodu! Dodu!' they cried and began gabbling at him in a str
ange language. He patted them on the shoulders and listened, his expression growing sorrowful. Finally, he raised his head and said to us, 'They have been robbed – two days ago. No doubt it was the same bandits we met on the road.'

  Dodu listened some more, and then said, 'They took all the pigs-six of them, you know-and the two cows as well. Anna's husband tried to prevent them, and they thumped him on the head.' The old man made a motion with his hand, showing how the blow had struck his friend; his mouth turned down in a frown of sorrow and disgust. 'He died yesterday,' said Dodu. Exchanging a few more words with the old farmer, he added sadly, "They buried him in the woods beside the stream, where they have been hiding.'

  The old women nodded vigorously and pointed to the woods behind them. It seems they had seen us coming down the hill and, fearing another attack, had run into the woods. That had probably saved them from injury when the boat came crashing through their house. I pointed this out, and then led them to the side of the house and showed them the wreckage. They clucked their tongues and muttered to one another, but all-in-all appeared far more interested in the porridge than the ruin of their poor dwelling.

  One of the old wives crawled into the house through the hole in the wall, and began rummaging around in the debris. She brought out some wooden bowls, and passed them to her friend. From another corner, she produced a bag and passed that to me. When I opened it, I found hard bread in small loaves. Next she found a wooden ladle, which she carried to the boiling pot and, with a flick of her hand, dismissed Roupen from his post.

  Settling herself beside the pot, she dipped in the ladle, blew on the food to cool it, and then tasted. She puckered her lips, and then called a command to the old man, who hurried away at a trot. He went to the storehouse and disappeared inside – emerging a few moments later carrying a brown bundle the size of a baby, which he brought to his wife.

  She lay the bundle in her lap, and unwrapped the cloth to reveal a fine side of smoke-cured bacon. Taking a small knife from her sleeve, she began cutting off strips of meat and dropping them into the porridge. Next, the old man produced two onions which she also cut up and stirred into the pot with the ladle.