by Jacky Gray
‘Sounds like this Guaril is a smart operator.’ Geraint’s comment was unconsidered, and Yanko called him to task on it.
‘I hope that’s not the sound of admiration in your voice, grudging or otherwise. Did I mention what he threatens to do to the young girls if people try to resist? Or the boys for that matter; he’s not fussy.’ He gave a pointed look at Geraint.
Rattrick bared his teeth. ‘I’d like to see him try.’
‘Oh he does more than try, I can tell you. Some family in a hired cart from up north, that poor girl will never …’
‘Can nothing be done about them?’ Geraint saw a simple solution. ‘If the marshals know what they’re like, can’t they just arrest them?’
‘That’s the really clever bit. They start off in a new area by sending in spies to suss out the lay of the land.’
‘But people must recognise these strangers.’ Rattrick sat forward and Geraint sensed his father going into leader mode and stayed quiet as the two men talked it through.
‘You would think so, but they have so many guises: foreign merchants, travelling minstrels, roving farm workers; all manner of credible stories.’ Yanko shook his head.
‘They are still strangers.’
‘Another master stroke. They set it up months in advance and always get introduced into the town by someone trustworthy.’
‘So by the time the wagons arrive, they already know who is worth targeting.’ Rattrick swigged his ale thoughtfully.
‘They take their time squeezing out the people who are least likely to squeal to the law.’
‘But what about their camps? Surely they must raise suspicions, it sounds like there are a lot of them.’
‘If they camped nearby, maybe, but they split into two or more camps and the main villains stay in town with the spies until they have outstayed their welcome.’ Yanko drained his beaker.
‘By which time they’ve set up something in the next town.’
‘You’ve got it. As you can see, it’s quite an operation. They never target the people they think will complain until just before they move on; then they have a night of blitzing and are gone by morning.’
‘You know a lot about it.’ Rattrick divided the remaining ale in the pitcher between their beakers.
‘My friend in Dover said they were there at Beltane, and he heard of similar attacks in Hastings at Imbolc and Chichester at Yule.’
‘They seem to be moving round the coast toward London.’
‘I don’t think they’ll go back there again; there’s a big hunt for them with posters in every inn.’
‘Thank you for the gen. I’d say it’s well worth the price of your lunch, and all the ale you can drink tonight.’ He handed over a generous payment.
‘Glad to be of service, old friend. You take care out on the road.’
Rattrick had spent a lifetime being cautious and had several options open to him. In a stroke of luck, one of his oldest friends was travelling to London with a military escort, and agreed to deliver a small, precious package to an address in Whitechapel. For a modest consideration.
‘There we go, son. All sorted. We can relax for the rest of the trip now, knowing the lads will get their due when we get back to camp.’
Geraint was relieved – he’d worried about his father carrying that many valuables. ‘It’s all about timing, then. That’s what you usually say when something like this happens.’
‘This time it’s a little more than just timing. I did what Savannah’s always suggesting and asked the universe to help me find a way of keeping the goods safe from those bandits.’
‘You mean wicce stuff.’
‘You can call it that if you want to. All I know is I haven’t seen Tinker for a while, then something told me to go to the Sun instead of the White Bull, and there he was. Ten minutes later, I’d have missed him; he was trying to settle up with the landlord. He’d been there three weeks and couldn’t quite meet the chitty.’
‘So once you’d given him the difference, he was happy to help you out.’
‘It would have been rude not to, really.’
For the two nights since they’d spoken to Yanko, Geraint’s dream had changed from the whole camp being under attack to just his father’s wagon. It became even more disturbing as the two of them were helpless against so many raiders and his father insisted on handing over the gold when the faceless giant held a knife to his son’s throat. But that night, it changed again. Still the terrifyingly faceless raiders, but this time they were lying in wait as a hired carriage went past. Although he did not see any detail of the three figures inside, he knew without doubt it was Siany and her parents.
27 Ruins and Delays
‘You don’t really expect me to change my plans because of some dream do you?’
Geraint had waited until breakfast finished before tackling his father. ‘You changed them to meet this Tinker fellow and that worked out well.’
‘That wasn’t a dream it was just … I don’t know. An instinct or something.’
‘These dreams are my instincts. This is not the first time. I’ve been having them for a while.’ He explained about the potion Savannah gave him and described some of the dreams since then and what happened as a consequence.
Only one thing made Rattrick pause. ‘So you and Siany both dreamt of the long barrow at Samhain, which is why you went there.’
‘Yes, I told you I met her there and her uncle insisted I stayed the night with them.’
‘But you didn’t tell me about the dreams.’
‘I know. I didn’t think you’d believe me then.’
‘What makes you think I’ll believe you now?’
‘Because of what happened at the barrow and what happened here in Kent.’
‘But you told me you buried the dog by the spring and you all went inside the tombs to have a look.’
‘All true, but I left something out. Siany and I sat down in one of the tombs …’
‘With all the creepy crawlies? Wasn’t she scared?’
‘… and she somehow managed to give me pictures in my head of Ciria,’ he gulped, ‘and mother.’
‘You saw Renata? How?’
‘It was like a dream, but I asked her questions and she told me things.’
His father wanted to talk more about her, but Geraint steered the conversation back to the dreams he’d had, particularly the ones since they’d come to Kent. Finally, Rattrick agreed to consider it, spending the morning with two merchants he’d not managed to fit in previously. As they left, a buzz went round the market like wildfire. They could only hear snatches of conversation and patchy rumour, but something was definitely going on, and it sounded huge. When they reached the White Bull, everyone seemed to have something to say about the rash of burglaries which had broken out all over town. It was the blitz Yanko had spoken about, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
‘Come on, son. I’m convinced. If they’ve got any sense they’ll lie low for a couple of days or at least until nightfall. If we go now, we should be able to get a good head start and be at Maidstone by nightfall.’
‘You mean you believe my dream?’
‘I don’t know about that. My business here is done and there’s a good coaching inn at Aylesford. It’s not too far from the beaches and right next to the White Horse Stone. I said we’d spend a few days there before we go back.’
‘But you’ve paid up at this inn for another two days.’
‘I know, but the landlord reminded me the spring break started today, so the place will be filling up with children.’ He shuddered. ‘I got a couple of pasties and a skin of ale.’
‘And Siany’s folks should arrive there tomorrow, so you want to make sure they get there safely.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to take a trip up to Eynsford. I hear there’s the remains of a Norman castle and a couple of nice inns on the London road.’
With a grin, Geraint realised he wouldn’t get any more from his father, but it was enou
gh. By tomorrow, he would know Siany was safe.
The first part went perfectly to plan; they made it to the George with no incidents and ate a hearty meal. Geraint’s dream that night still had the wagon being attacked by the faceless bandits, but at the height of the skirmish, two riders approached the scene. Although unable to make out their faces, he had a pretty good idea who they were.
The next morning they had a leisurely breakfast, and Rattrick hired a couple of fine horses for the day. He seemed in no hurry, stopping at almost every inn on the road for a drink, a short break for the horses, or just to pass a few words with the landlord.
Geraint was content to let him break the journey frequently, as he checked the road for good sites for an ambush. He recognised one of the landmarks with an excited shout.
‘See that crooked willow tree? I saw it in my dream.’
‘I hate to dampen your ardour, but there are probably several crooked trees like that along the London Road.’
‘Yes, but not right next to three oak trees.’
‘They were in your dream, too?’
‘Yes. With a small copse on the opposite side of the road.’
‘Which looked exactly like that one, yes?’
‘More or less.’
A few miles down the road, they passed another place with three oak trees opposite a copse and another crooked tree, not willow this time, but a weeping birch, very similar. Rattrick made no comment, merely gesturing towards each item so his son could see the significance. Geraint tried hard to picture the scene from the dream, but could not tell if it was more similar to the first location or the second. When it happened for a third time, he groaned in despair.
‘That’s not fair. It could have been any of them. You must know this road well.’
‘Not really, but with inns like the Royal Oak and Oakdene, finding three oaks together is not unusual.’
‘But the crooked trees.’
‘Again, quite common in these parts. But don’t worry, all is not lost.’
‘What do you mean? It could be any of the three places; maybe even more. We can’t be in more than one place at once.’
‘We won’t need to be, you’ll see.’
‘Why, what do you know? Has one of the innkeepers told you something?’
But his father just tapped the side of his nose with an infuriating grin and even more infuriating, ‘Wait and see.’
The ruins of the Norman castle were disappointing, so they didn’t stay long. Rattrick declared it just a pile of old stones, although the huge wall was quite impressive. They had lunch at an inn where they found out about a Roman villa, a mile to the south, which had been recently opened to the public.
This was much more interesting; the people who’d discovered it had paid for it to be professionally dug out. They’d restored as much as they could to give a sense of the original, but much of it had been destroyed in a fire.
Rattrick shared his son’s enthusiasm for the craftsmanship of the beautiful mosaic floors and his interest in the chequered history of the chapel room. Frowning at the picture of the original pagan shrine it replaced, he questioned the likelihood. ‘I don’t understand. If they really believed in these water gods, why would they decide to follow the Christian God? It sounds unlikely to me.’
‘That’s because your faith is strong and you don’t live in a world where there are many people with different religious beliefs. You aren’t under pressure from people with weapons trying to convert you to their way of thinking.’
‘I didn’t know you knew so much about it all.’
‘I don’t, I just read it.’ Geraint pointed at the information board.
‘I forgot you can read. Remind me when you learnt.’
‘Siany taught me last year. I couldn’t do much with a broken leg.’
‘No wonder you sound like a professor all the time. I thought it was from living around educated people. What else is written? Does it describe who lived here?’
His father seemed amused by the idea of finding out about life in Roman times by reading the board in each room, and they spent much longer there than they planned.
Geraint was so happy to use his new skill for something which pleased his father, he lost track of time. When some people came into the room discussing whether they could get to Canterburgh by nightfall, he noticed how late it was and suggested they leave.
‘Let’s just see what’s in the tomb; it’s the only one we haven’t been in.’
‘But what if Darryn started out earlier than we figured? Or they’re travelling faster? We could be too late.’
‘Don’t worry; the carter won’t want to push the horses in this heat so he’ll keep it slow. They’ll need to stop somewhere for lunch, and he’ll take his time so they get a good rest. It’s different at Samhain: The days are short and cool, so he can push the horses to go faster.’
Rattrick had obviously spent some time thinking about their plans, but Geraint could not relax and enjoy the last bit with his mind constantly focussing on Siany’s whereabouts and what was happening to her. In the end, his father gave up trying to get him to finish the story behind the two young children buried in the lead coffins and they returned to find one of the horses had lost a shoe.
‘I’m sorry lad, but you’ll have to wait your turn. These good people have been waiting for an age because my apprentice is off on his travels.’
Geraint tried to convince the smith of his urgency. ‘But you don’t understand; there are bandits coming to the area, and they will attack my friend’s wagon.’
‘So you plan to don your shining armour and ride to her rescue?’
‘I didn’t say it was a girl.’
‘I can’t see you would get yourself in such a lather over a boy. But the longer you stand here arguing with me, the longer it will take. I can’t argue and hammer at the same time.’
‘Can I put a proposition to you?’
Jumping as Rattrick spoke, Geraint turned with a desperate look, hoping his father might be able to persuade the grinning onlookers their need was not as important as his.
‘I’m afraid your money’s no good here. These good people will not be bribed, and it’s more than my reputation’s worth to pander to queue-jumpers, no matter how desperate the story.’
‘Even if it meant your customers would not have to wait so long?’
‘How does that work? There’s no other smith for miles.’
‘I may not be a certified smith, but I’ve spent many a summer working with one of Oxford’s finest. I can throw a shoe with the best of them.’
‘That’s a mighty claim to make. But I can’t deny an extra pair of hands right now would be a great help.’
‘I’m not ’avin’ no stranger near my Bessie. ’Ee says he can do it but ’ow do you know?’
‘How about I shoe the lad’s horse and you can inspect it. If you’re happy with it, I’ll do two more in payment.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘Then I’ll give you the price of the iron and we’ll be on our way.’
‘Sound’s like a good deal, Smith. Can we get on with it?’
Geraint witnessed another of his father’s many skills as he put on the thick leather apron and strapped on the protective cuffs. He knew his way round the tools and procedures necessary to mould the iron and pierce it ready for the nails. The sweat from the forge dripped off his brow as he plunged the horseshoe into the water trough. The customers seemed pleased with this new entertainment, giving him a round of applause as he expertly tapped the last nail in and another one when the smith declared it “a fair job.”
The sun was well past its zenith and heading west when they emerged from the blacksmith’s forge, Rattrick happily munching the fine ginger cake, still warm from the oven. Although impressed they’d cut short the wait, Geraint was becoming frantic about the continuing delays. But he kept cool, even when his father insisted on taking a slight detour to ride past the Thistle inn. Trusting his father had a
good reason, his faith was confirmed when Rattrick appeared after no more than a minute inside, leaping up on his horse.
‘They came through just over an hour ago, but they won’t have done much more than four miles in that time, the horses are tired from the heat.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The landlord’s son has been looking out for them. If we stop chatting and get a spurt on, we should be able to reach them in twenty minutes. Our horses are fresh and we can gallop for a while.’
They retraced their steps, quickly reaching the first of the three potential locations where the dream could have played out. Rattrick gave a cursory look over the dusty ground; it was difficult to find tracks, but he satisfied himself the site had seen no skirmish.
A small party were sitting outside the Bull enjoying the afternoon sun. The landlord stopped serving to report a carter’s wagon had passed half an hour earlier.
The second place was as barren of tracks as the first, apart from a pit in the road. Shiny mud indicated this had recently been full of water. The carter had positioned the wheels on either side, leaving two smudged tracks astride two sets of hoof prints.
‘Looks like he’s got the same wheels we have.’ Geraint’s tracking skills didn’t match his father’s, but he knew the rudiments.
Rattrick wasn’t content just to look at the tracks from his horse; he got down and examined them closely, feeling the edges of the wheel tracks and two of the hoof prints. ‘Aha, that explains it.’
‘Explains what? What can you see?’
‘Why they are going so slowly. Come and have a look.’
‘But I thought you said the heat would make him go slowly.’
‘I did, but I’ve been checking, and he’s going even slower than I thought. Can you see why?’
After staring at the layout of the hooves for a few seconds, Geraint had a sense of the horses’ gait as he walked through the dried out puddle. ‘The left horse is not putting one of his hooves down properly. Is he lame?’