The blask rood cc-2

by Stephen Lawhead

  In a little while, the aroma wafting up from the pot had improved marvellously. The old woman tasted again, then smiled a wide, gap-toothed grin, and we all took up our bowls and gathered around as she ladled out the thick stew. We crumbled the hard bread into the steaming porridge, raised the bowls to our lips and lapped up our first meal in three days.

  There was enough to ease the hunger pangs and give us strength to pull the wagon away from the house. We spent the rest of the day helping clean up the wreckage, and moving their few belongings to the other house which, owing to a hole in the roof, they had not been using for several years.

  That night the old women made flat bread on the hearthstones, and stewed bacon in ale; they then wrapped the strips of meat in the bread and gave them to us to eat like that. It was simple fare, but good and filling, and we slept that night without the gnawing ache in our stomachs-except for Roupen, whose unsteady stomach could not abide such rough food. He ate with us, but paid the price with pains and bloaty farting which kept him wakeful and miserable all night. Early the next morning, while the others slept, Padraig and I set off for the mill on the Sa6ne.

  I had decided that our best hope lay in getting to the river head as soon as possible. If we were lucky, we might persuade one of the hauliers to leave the river and return with us to retrieve our boat. How to pay for this service was a vexing problem, but inasmuch as we had, according to Dodu, at least a three-day walk ahead of us, I was confident we would think of something along the way.

  In any event, it was abundantly clear there was no help for us at the settlement. They were poor farmers, made all the poorer by the cruel robbery of their livestock and few pitiful belongings; even to stay with them put that much more strain on their already fragile resources. Indeed, it would be enough of a hardship feeding those who remained behind: Sarn and Dodu, to guard the boat, and Roupen to rest and strengthen himself.

  At least Sarn and Dodu would work for their food, for I had promised the farmer while we were away the two men would repair the damage done to their little house. Roupen, however, I advised to take his ease. On the evidence of his indigestion the previous night, it was clear that he was far from fully recovered from the illness that had taken the lives of his friends. What little strength he had gained while on the river had been spent in dragging the boat up and down the hills. I thought a few days' idleness would stand him in good stead.

  He had other ideas, however, which I discovered when Padraig and I stopped to rest at midday. The old wives had sent us off with a bag of bread, and two skins of water. After walking briskly through the morning, pausing only once for water, we stopped beside the road for a bite to eat. We were sharing a bit of bread and talking, when Roupen suddenly came into view on the road behind us. As soon as he came close enough for speech, I stood, and said, 'I thought we agreed you would stay with the others. Is something wrong?' 'No, lord,' he said. 'I thought you might be needing my help.' I thanked him for the thought, and said, 'As it is, Padraig and I are perfectly capable of dealing with the hauliers. You may as well rest and take your ease for the journey to come.'

  'No doubt your powers of persuasion rival those of Great Moses himself,' replied the young lord. 'But unless the hauliers of the Saone are very different from those we have seen so far,' he replied, 'I think it unlikely you will convince them to work for you without pay.'

  I allowed that this was true, and pointed out that he had lost his purse to the bandits as well. 'Since you have no money, I cannot see how you mean to help in the matter.'

  The thin young man smiled at this, and raised his fist in the air. He came forwards until his hand was before my eyes; then he opened his fingers to reveal the large gold ring he had been wearing on his thumb the night we were robbed.

  'I thought they took everything from you,' I said. 'I saw them search you.'

  'I hid it in my mouth the moment Padraig wakened me.' He smiled suddenly, and I saw a boldness in him I had not seen before. 'And if they had searched me better, I would have swallowed it.'

  It came into my mind that here was a young man who, perhaps for the first time in his life, was truly enjoying himself. Content no longer to be left behind, he had followed us half the day just to take part in whatever would happen next. Sending him back would be a rejection not easily forgiven. Since it obviously meant so much to him, I relented.

  'Come along, then,' I said, passing him my waterskin and a piece of bread. 'We will be glad of the company.'

  So it was that three of us entered the little mill town on the Saone three days later. The settlement was well placed at a bend in the river, with the mill up river of the town. Above the mill, the stream coursed over the stones of a narrow, rocky ford, too rough and shallow for boats; below the settlement, however, it widened into a navigable stream once more. Looking down into the valley from the hillside, we could see several boats in the water. Although whether these were arriving or departing, we could not tell.

  I determined to waste no time, but to get down to the water straightaway and talk to the hauliers to see how matters stood. The road led first to the mill, so we passed by quickly and on towards the settlement. As we hurried past, Roupen halted in the road and turned around.

  Padraig and I walked on a few paces before realizing he was no longer with us. I cast a glance over my shoulder and saw him standing stock still, and staring into the field beside the mill where the miller kept his oxen and cattle. The field was small, and surrounded by a low stone wall; two cows and a pair of oxen stood at the end nearest the mill. I called to Roupen, and when he made no answer, Padraig said, 'He has seen something.'

  Still anxious to hasten on and speak to the hauliers, I resented having to stop with our destination so near. 'What is it?' I demanded irritably.

  Without taking his eyes from the field, he raised a hand and pointed to the cattle. 'Those are Dodu's oxen,' the young lord said.

  I looked across at the two big animals standing in the field, and said, 'Let us not judge hastily. After all, one ox looks very much like another.'

  'They are,' Roupen insisted. 'I walked behind them long enough to know.' Pointing to the two milk cows, he added, 'And I suspect those cows belong to the farmer.'

  I glanced at Padraig, who shrugged unhelpfully, and said, 'Even if what you say is true, I cannot see what we can do about it. We have other -'

  Before I could finish, there came a prodigious squealing from somewhere behind the mill. Roupen started towards the sound. 'Someone is being killed,' he said.

  'Aye,' agreed Padraig mildly, 'a pig.'

  The squeal came again, more frenzied, more terrible. The unfortunate creature was suffering dreadfully, and still its agonies were not cut short.

  'For a slaughtering,' I remarked, 'it is poorly done. And unless they do things differently here, it is very early in the year to butcher your pigs.'

  'Unless,' added Roupen, 'they are not your pigs.'

  With that, we started back along the road towards the mill-a huge wooden structure of hewn oak beams in-filled with river stone set in mortar. A great wooden water wheel turned slowly in the stream gushing from the rocky ford. The yard was wide and covered with flagstone so the fully-laden wagons would not become enmired when it rained.

  That stone paving, however, was the solitary gesture towards order or cleanliness. As we drew closer the stink of the place hit us full in the face: dung and rancid straw stood in mucky heaps either side of the low barn adjoining the house, filling the air with a sour stench to make the eyes water and the gorge rise. Mounds of human excrement were piled on the ground beneath the upper windows of the millhouse, and dog dirt was scattered over the yard-along with horse manure left where the dray animals had dropped it.

  'Our miller is a very earthy fellow,' observed Padraig.

  The house itself was in need of repair; the roof had once been handsome red tiles, but many of these were missing-and indeed quite a few lay smashed in the yard-though some had been replaced with ill-fitting chu
nks of flat stone. The mill wheel was green with moss, which clung in dripping slimy beards from the spokes and paddles.

  The door of the barn had fallen off, and was leaning against one wall; and the wall of the ox pen was collapsed, the gap repaired not with the stone, which still lay on the ground, but with tree branches and bits of rope. A pair of bony, thin-shanked brown oxen stood with their heads down, lacking, I expect, the strength to move. Sharing the too-small pen were five fat pigs laying in the dung, their feet bound.

  At the far end of the yard lay an enormous round grinding stone which was turned by means of a pole attached to a centre post. If not for the four men standing nearby, I would have thought the mill derelict and abandoned. But I saw the old grindstone and realized that this was what Dodu had been talking about when he said the miller kept oxen: when dry summer turned the stream to a bare trickle no longer capable of turning the great water wheel, the miller hitched his beasts to the grindstone, and kept his customers supplied.

  The men were completely engrossed in the activity before them, and took no notice of us as we strolled into the reeking yard. Another sharp pig squeal tore the air with a distressingly human scream, and a sick feeling spread through me as sight confirmed what I had already guessed was taking place.

  A young boy-perhaps eight or ten years old-armed with a spear, was making sport of killing the poor pig. Encouraged by those who stood cheering his efforts, the boy was enthusiastically torturing the animal. He had already put out both eyes, and carved a long, bloody slice of hide from the back. Now, he had the spear thrust up the wretched creature's backside, and was jerking the shaft back and forth while the bawling pig, its feet tied so it could not escape, spewed blood from its mouth as it shrieked.

  The expression of demented glee on the boy's face filled me with cold rage. That this should be allowed was abhorrent; that it should be encouraged was monstrous. I started forwards, and felt Padraig's hand on my arm, pulling me back. 'Be careful,' he warned. 'There is great evil in this place.'

  Shaking off his hand, I said, 'They should be punished for what they are doing.'

  'They will be punished, never doubt it,' he assured me. 'But you may not be the instrument of that punishment. God, I think, has other plans for you.'

  'Then what would you have me do?' I demanded.

  'It may be our presence will suffice to shame them,' he said.

  'And if not?'

  'It is in God's hands, Duncan.' He stared at me. 'Truly.'

  'Oh, very well,' I relented. I took a deep breath, and put aside my anger; when I had calmed myself once more, I proceeded towards the men, calling out to let them know we were there. At my greeting, one of the men turned slowly and regarded us with dull malevolence.

  'What do you want?' he said, his deep voice sharp with irritation at having been interrupted in his pleasure.

  Behind me, I heard Roupen gasp, and whisper to Padraig, 'It is the bandit who robbed us!'

  Although I was taken aback quite as much as Roupen, I could not allow the man to see that I recognized him. So I said, 'We have come to ask if you have any oxen we might borrow for a day or two?'

  'Ask a haulier,' he grunted, turning away again, 'I grind grain for my pay.'

  'You see,' I persisted, moving nearer, 'we have had a slight misfortune on the road. If we could persuade you to lend us two of your oxen, all would be well. We could pay you for your trouble.'

  The big man spun around angrily. 'And are you deaf as well as stupid?' he growled, spittle flying from his fleshy lips.

  At his shout, two of the men with him turned. One of them bent down and picked up a chunk of wood which was lying beside the grindstone, hefting it like a club.

  'I would not ask,' I told the man, 'if need were not great. A few days, no more-and the beasts would be well treated.' I said this last to embarrass him, but he took no notice.

  'This is a mill, not a stable!' he roared. 'Get you gone before I set the dogs on you!' He kicked at a lump of dog dirt and sent it flying at me.

  The man with the chunk of wood raised it in the air and made as if he would attack. Since there was nothing to be gained by provoking them further, I quickly retreated. I had taken but a step or two when I felt a sharp thump on my back as the wood chunk struck me between the shoulder blades. I did not look back, but straightened and continued on to the sound of the miller and his friends laughing at me.

  'Well?' demanded the young lord as I rejoined them. 'Was he the man who robbed us?'

  'No,' I told him, 'this man is older and heavier. Even so, the resemblance is too strong to be happenstance.'

  Padraig nodded in agreement. 'Brothers then?'

  'That is my guess,' I said.

  'Be they brothers, sisters, or husband and wife,' snarled Roupen with unusual fury, 'I say those pie-bald oxen belong to Dodu, and the pigs were stolen from the farmer.'

  'Peace,' I told him. 'As day follows night, I am certain of it.'

  'Then why are we running away?'

  'We are not running away,' I replied, starting off once more. 'We are going to find a place to rest.'

  'Rest!' he fumed. 'While they laugh at us and torture those animals with impunity?'

  'No,' I said. 'While we wait for darkness to befriend us.'

  Roupen frowned with dissatisfaction. 'Cowards,' he muttered.

  Padraig stepped close. 'He means,' explained the monk, resting his hand on the young man's shoulder, 'that having been as meek as doves, now we will become as shrewd as serpents to bring a measure of justice to bear on the crimes of these wicked men.'

  'We gave the brute a chance to treat us courteously and fairly,' I said, 'now we will do business in a way he understands.'

  'What are you going to do?' asked Roupen.

  'Wait and see,' I told him, striding on.

  THIRTEEN

  We laid up in a neighbouring field under a rack of drying hay, dozing on and off through the long afternoon. The rest through the heat of the day was welcome, and it was not until the sun began to set that we stirred. I had taken the measure of the millhouse and yard, and knew how I wished to proceed.

  My only worry was the dogs the miller had mentioned. Although I had not seen the beasts, I had seen ample sign of them in the lumps of dung scattered across the filth-covered yard. I did not know how many there might be, nor whether they were large and fierce, or small and noisy.

  'The oxen will trouble us not at all,' I told my fellow-thieves. 'It is the pigs that will prove difficult. Even if we can avoid rousing the dogs, the pigs will squeal as soon as we go among them.'

  We talked about this for a time, and then Padraig said, 'Leave the pigs to me. I will take care of them.' With that he rose and walked out into the field where he lay down on his stomach and stretched out his arms on either side.

  'What is he doing?' wondered Roupen.

  'Praying,' I said.

  'For pigs?'

  'For all of us.'

  In a little while the last of the daylight faded, and a fine blue twilight descended over us. I lay back and listened as night gathered the little river settlement to its sleep. From the trees along the river came the raucous chatter of rooks in their high nests, and from the surrounding fields the homely sound of cattle lowing as they trailed towards barn and byre; here and there dogs barking, and the rusty clinking of goat bells. When at last darkness grew full, we set to work.

  Setting Roupen on the road to watch between the mill and settlement should anyone come along, Padraig and I hurried to the field where Dodu's oxen were being held. It was as I expected: the wall was ill-made and half-falling down, and the animals had not been stabled for the night, nor cared for in any way, but merely left out in the field to browse as they would. We quickly found a weak place in the wall, leaned hard against it, and pushed it down.

  We then began shifting the fallen stones to clear a path through the breach. Thus, we had only to remove enough stones to lead the oxen out, and our aim was swiftly accomplished. Hurrying into
the field, I loosed the patient beasts' hobbles and led them out while Padraig followed with the milk cows.

  Rejoining Roupen on the road, I said, 'We have what we came for, we can leave now and all will be well. If we proceed any further, we may lose everything.' I looked at my fellow-conspirators. 'What is it to be?'

  'If you do not free those pigs, I will,' declared Roupen firmly. 'It is not right those rogues should prosper so.'

  'The pigs are nothing to us,' Padraig pointed out. 'But they are life or death for the farmer and his wife and sister. I think we should try.'

  'Very well,' I said, 'we are agreed. Whatever happens, there will be no looking back in regret.' Turning to the young lord, I said, 'Lead the cattle away. We will join you on the road.'

  'I am going with you,' he replied.

  'Oxen are slow and easily overtaken,' I told him patiently. 'If we are followed, it would be well if you were out of sight.'

  'I am going with you,' Roupen repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Before I could object further, Padraig raised his hand. 'Let us go together. If trouble arises, we may have need of another pair of hands.'

  Seeing I was outnumbered, I surrendered. Tethering the animals beside the road, we started for the mill. Coming to the edge of the yard, we halted to listen. All was quiet in the holding, save for the slow, creaking scrape of the water wheel as it turned in the stream. No light shone from inside the house. The moon was rising, casting a thin watery light over the empty yard. I could see the ox pen with the starving oxen in it, and the dark shapes of the five remaining pigs.

  'I do not see any dogs,' I whispered. 'They must be inside.'

  'Or sleeping,' suggested Roupen.

  'Either way, we must go quietly so we do not wake them.'

  We moved with all stealth across the yard. The stink of the place struck me like a slap in the face. A pile of entrails and offal marked the place where the pig had been killed, and these added their sick-sweet pungence to the heady reek. We made short work of dismantling the decrepit enclosure-indeed, we had to be careful the wall did not collapse of its own and the resulting crash wake the miller and his dogs.