Duilleog

by Donald D. Allan

  I looked sharply at the Reeve to see if he suspected I had a gold coin on me. I should tell him what I found in the boot, I thought. Now is the time. I opened my mouth to confess, but I saw the Reeve was looking right through me at some memory. I could tell his mind was not on me, but the murder.

  "He didn't come here to rob Bill, that's for sure. Even if he didn't come to steal why not take some of this gold? Nothing makes sense." The Reeve didn't seem to be speaking to me but was thinking out loud more than anything else. He was trying to make sense of the murder, to talk it through. The Reeve turned and moved over to stand behind the desk, careful not to disturb the blood. "The parchment in his tunic, you remember that?" This was directed at me and I nodded. I hadn't really thought about the parchment until now.

  "It's a map of the town and it identified Bill's house. It also showed where the guards did their patrols. When I showed it to Captain Gendred he was furious, and rightly so. The map allowed the thief to pick when and how to get to Bill's house undetected. Someone drew that map, someone who knew the town. Gendred wants the head of whoever aided the assassin." The Reeve opened a desk drawer, looked inside and then just as quickly closed it. It was clear he had already gone through this room in detail. "The murderer was after something here and I'm not sure he found what he wanted. Even if he did take something, I am not convinced he had time to hand it off. He was on the run from the house all the way to the clearing where he stumbled across you and I was on his heels the entire time. He didn't drop it anywhere. There was no time. I'm convinced of that. I wonder who Bill was to warrant an assassination."

  The Reeve looked thoughtfully at the armour on the tree and his eyebrows furrowed in thought. He slid some papers around on the desk, avoiding the blood. Then he looked up sharply at the armour once more, his eyes a little wider. I didn't really notice at the time though. Instead, I was focused on something the Reeve had just said and it confused and angered me.

  "You were on his heels the entire time? From here to my camp? Why didn't you run him down before he got to the woods? Why didn't you stop him before he grabbed me!" My voice raised in pitch as my mind reeled. The Reeve looked at me, at first a little startled, as if drawn out of some deeper thought, but now he glared at me and the look stifled further protests.

  "I was following him to see where he was headed. There may have been more of them out there and I am pretty sure there was. He had no supplies on him, remember? He was meeting with someone else. Someone who had his gear." This froze the anger in my blood as I remembered my fears that night, remembered kicking down my fire in the fright of being discovered. I felt my cheeks redden in embarrassment and hung my head a little, knowing the Reeve was right.

  "Will," he continued a little softer seeing my reaction. "Somehow he knew I was following him. That man had skills in the outdoors. He left no trail that I could find and that was a first for me. I tracked him by other means." The Reeve grimaced before continuing and I wondered what he meant. "I honestly don't think anyone could have snuck up on that fellow. He moved like a shadow. It was uncanny. I have no doubt that he was a professional thief, maybe an assassin based on the murder, although it was sloppily done judging by all this blood." He gestured around at the room. "Either he was terrible at the actual killing part or he revelled in the act. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that and I'm pretty sure he led me into those woods to ambush me and then when he found you lying there felt he had an edge on me. He probably thought having a hostage would lure me out to him for a direct confrontation. It was not a smart thing to do. I don't do direct confrontations very well." A hint of a smile ghosted across the Reeve's face and for a second I almost saw a different man looking back at me—a harder, crueller man. The thief had clearly underestimated the Reeve, and I thanked the Word silently.

  "Will," he said after a moment's silence and I looked up to see him staring earnestly at me. "I didn't know you were there until I saw the light of your fire and saw him pick you up off the ground. Believe me, I was as surprised as you were."

  When I nodded my understanding the Reeve looked around the room. "Good," he said simply and then changed the subject. "Bill didn't keep an inventory and I have no idea what he kept in here. Whatever he took he must've dropped as he ran or else he never found what he wanted. Bill's dead, and that man is dead—a tragedy all around. Senseless."

  I almost told the Reeve about the coin at that moment. I had no doubt the coin was what the murderer was after and perhaps it would provide the Reeve with what he needed to understand the murder. But I was sorely torn. I only needed a few days with it, nothing more. I desperately needed to determine what made it work, how it let me see through walls, and more importantly, how it showed me what ailed a person just by looking at them. I sensed it would allow me to better treat people, and I argued with myself that the number of potential lives I could save outweighed the need to do the right thing. Plus I couldn't shake this feeling the coin somehow belonged with me. And so I warred with myself and stared meekly at the Reeve, waiting until he gathered his thoughts. He clamped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it briefly in warmth.

  "I wanted to show you this to give you some closure. To prove to you it had nothing to do with you. I owed you that after what you experienced last night. And you've got a keen eye, too, Will. You've confirmed my own conclusions here and I thank you for that."

  I nodded, not sure how to respond. I didn't feel like this provided closure. The Reeve looked around the room one more time and beckoned toward the exit and the stairs.

  "Enough. Let's go to Martha and see to her sickness. Let's see if we can't do something to help her and her son. There's been enough death around here."

  With one last glance to the armour in the corner, he escorted me out of the house to the street.

  Four

  East Side of Jaipers, 900 A.C.

  WE MADE OUR way back to the open market and carried on past it down the road to the east side of town. I recognised at once that this was the area where I had glimpsed the sick woman and her child through the coin. A few people stopped and stared openly at us as we walked down the dusty streets, most likely wondering what I had done to warrant the Reeve's attention. As we moved further east, the wealth of the people dropped rapidly. The people who lived on the east side were the poor of Jaipers. They patched together their clothes like me and they were covered in dirt with visible streaks of sweat lining their faces. These poor people could barely scrape a living from the town. I heard a shriek and moments later I watched three children, close to my age but acting so much younger, run past on bare feet thick with calluses and laughing, oblivious to the poverty that surrounded them.

  In this area of town, the homes were nothing more than shacks made of twigs and branches combined, rolled and tied together into log-like shapes and then stacked and held together with hemp ropes, and the gaps filled with mud or clay from the river banks. The roofs were made from woven straw and barely served to keep the rain out. Typically, a small cooking fire lay out back, away from the house in a vain effort to reduce the chance of fire but mostly to try to keep the smoke clear of the inside.

  The shacks were small. A man of my short stature might be able to stand up inside some of them, but most people would have to stoop. In summer, like now, the shacks provided some shelter from the sun and rains. In winter, the people froze unless they huddled together for warmth but at least they could stay dry and warm and that was half the battle. The town allowed the shacks to stand and even had laws on how many could be placed together and how far apart they needed to be. The garrison only made sure no shacks were built too close to the town wall. Fire was always the fear and the people who dwelled here knew and took precautions. They policed themselves.

  I spied a lean dog panting in the shade of a nearby shack, his tongue lolling out of his mouth farther than I thought possible. He raised his head to stare at me rather directly and I moved to the other side of the Reeve to escape his notice. He kept his eager eyes l
ocked on me as we passed, and it was unnerving. I felt sympathy for the poor animal, but his stare was far too aware for my comfort.

  Thankfully, I was distracted by an elderly couple who nodded politely to the Reeve as we strolled past and he nodded back and smiled. I then noticed a young girl of maybe four years of age wearing only a roughly sewn patchwork pair of shorts and nothing else. She stood with one arm raised and holding the support beam of a porch awning with the thumb of her other hand stuck firmly in her mouth. Snot ran freely from her nose and she interrupted her thumb sucking to wipe it away before popping her thumb back into her mouth. Her skin was deeply tanned, but it was hard to tell with the layers of dirt that coated her from head to feet.

  She stared unblinkingly at us as we slowly passed, and it was clear that she was ill with the sickness. She is probably in the early stages, I thought. Her eyes were darkened and sunk into her head. I could count her ribs and couldn't help but notice her distended belly. She was so hungry, and I felt her hunger, too. I felt an urge to do something for her—anything at all—and considered what few coins I possessed and knew it would not be enough. What could I do to help her short of emptying my own meagre pockets? Shame crept up my neck and red-faced, I walked faster to be clear of her gaze. In a moment I was a few paces ahead of the Reeve and heard a soft tsk escape his mouth. I glanced back at him, expecting to see him looking hard at me and judging me, and I was surprised to see him staring back at the poor girl. He must have felt me looking at him and quickly strode forward to join me, indicating the path ahead that led between two shacks.

  I thought of Daukyns then and all the work he did in this area. It was here that he distributed the unguents and herbs I gathered. He took what little coin he could get his hands on and spread it here—equally to all—and spread the Word with it.

  “The Word,” he once told me, “was better understood by the poor.”

  When I had asked him why he merely smiled at me and said, “Those who have nothing appreciate the simpler things in life all the more.” He laughed then and leaned into me as if sharing some great secret.

  "The Church," he whispered theatrically loud, glancing about to see if anyone was listening in, which was ludicrous since we had been sitting alone outside his small room. "The Church would take from the poor. They always have, haven't they?" And then he had laughed as if it was some great joke. After a time, he calmed and drained the wine from his small cup in one swallow.

  "The Word," he added then, “Would never take but give to those who need. Real charity work—not that save my soul for heaven crap. That was what the Word was always about." He hugged his empty cup to his chest. "The balance. It is all about the balance." Then he fell asleep.

  I shook my head to return my thoughts back to the present, looking around at the shacks and seeing that many of the people were sitting inside the narrow strips of shade their shacks offered from the sun. The people did not look well, and I could hear many people coughing with a wracking, wet and deep sound. It was clear to me that the illness was spreading. I was surprised that Daukyns hadn't mentioned to me just how widespread the illness was and I wished he had better prepared me. Dull eyes followed us as we walked through the area and I felt such pity for them. A quick glance to the Reeve let me see he too was surprised at how many people were sick and a shadow of sorrow crossed his face. I realised then that Daukyns could not have known just how bad it now was.

  Where was the Word in this side of town? I fumed. Where was the balance? Daukyns preached the Word in this town and spread the knowledge. Knowledge was the path for humanity, he always said. And people were supposed to treat one another equally. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you", was one of Daukyns favourite borrowed passages from the Church. That way of thinking seemed distant here in Jaipers. If even small towns like this could not hold true to the Word, what hope then for a stronger, brighter future? The war had changed nothing, I thought glumly. The brighter, better future promised by the Revolution and the Word, where was it? The evidence all around me told me that it had failed but part of me yearned for a solution through the Word, a way to fulfil the promise and help these poor people. Daukyns had tried to make a difference every day here but never seemed to solve anything, and sadness filled me knowing that his solution would not, in the end, make a difference.

  "This way," said the Reeve, interrupting my thoughts as he led the way between buildings.

  I was glad he chose to lead. I would not have been able to explain how I already knew where the woman lay with her little boy. I hung back a little as we approached the woman's shack. I wasn't sure what the Reeve expected me to be able to do with her and apprehension filled me. I had always merely looked in on someone the Reeve wanted me to see. Almost always it was merely a simple fever or some minor infection from cuts and scrapes. I would brew some tea with my herbs or apply some of my healing unguents and be gone. I knew, admittedly with a certain pride, that my teas and unguents always worked. And very quickly, too. But as I stood there taking stock of the woman's shack, I felt far removed from what I felt was comfortable or appropriate. I was barely a man, untrained in healing and positive I would be caught as a fraud at any moment.

  So, I stopped on the road and stared at the shack, trying to will myself to keep moving. Absently, I noticed this shack was not unlike all the others except that maybe it stood a little higher than those around it. Then I noticed that flowers had been planted lovingly alongside the front wall in an effort to brighten it. The plants were well tended and thriving. I sensed from them that they were happy here and felt how their roots dug deep into the soil. I knew that the woman in the shack doted on them. The sight of the flowers eased my discomfort somewhat. Based on the large pile of clothing that lay in a woven basket on her small porch I knew she probably mended clothes for a living. Next to the basket lay a large section of a log that served as a seat, a worn smooth section marking her favourite spot. There wasn't much of anything else and it was probably just her and her boy living here.

  The Reeve arrived at the doorway and held back the piece of patch–worked cloth that served as a door and beckoned me in with a tilt of his head. Mustering my resolve, I dipped my head under the low doorframe and entered first, the Reeve following in behind me. As I entered, I stopped in the sudden absence of sunlight and waited for my eyes to adjust. The Reeve came in quietly behind me and announced who we were. As my eyes started to pierce the gloom and I could make out the legs of the woman huddled under a thin blanket and beside her was her son, his back turned to us and blocked the rest of her from my view. He was sitting on the dirt floor holding a small container of water. The smell of vomit, urine and faeces struck me with full force and I gagged despite my best effort not to.

  "Martha, I've brought the young healer to see you," announced the Reeve in a quiet voice and he waited for a reply. Startled by his title for me, I looked first at the Reeve then back toward the woman and her child. Healer, I wondered. What a strange title for me. But I admitted to myself that I liked it and for an instant, I imagined my mother's approving smile and that gave me some strength.

  The young boy, no more than eight, slowly turned his head to look at us and then turned back to his mother and gently shook her shoulder.

  "Momma," he said, exhaustion plain in his voice. He shook her again. "Momma, please wake up." And the boy coughed a little. After a couple more attempts, I heard her murmur 'all right' and she stirred and tried to sit up.

  The Reeve quickly closed the gap between them and squatted down and held her back down. "Shh," he said. "Lie back and relax, Martha. No need to fuss. The healer just needs to have a look and see what he can do for you."

  The boy chose that moment to cough. The sound was from a thick, phlegm-filled hack and it took him like an attack and I noted that it was deep and wheezing. It drained the boy of any remaining strength and he swooned but was caught by the Reeve's quick hand. He held the boy steady until his senses returned and I remained at the door, unsur
e of where to begin.

  The Reeve looked back at me with an expression that seemed to implore that I hurry up and do something. I blinked, shrugged my backpack off my shoulders onto the floor and moved over to the other side of the woman's litter so I could see her better. Her bed comprised of nothing more than old straw with two thin blankets placed on top with her lying between them. The stains and the smell told me she lay in her own filth. Her boy had no sense to clean her up, and she had no choice but to relieve herself where she was. Her right arm sat exposed outside the blanket beside me and by the frightening ease of which her bones could be made out, I knew she was wasting away; to such a large degree it was frightening. The illness was robbing her of the flesh of her body and it had already almost fully consumed her. I squatted down beside her and looked over the shape hidden by the blanket and did not know where to start. The Reeve had called me a healer, but in truth I was nothing more than a boy who created potions. I knew nothing of treating sick people; I had no right to call myself healer. Her boy deserved someone more knowledgeable to take care of his mum and I felt like a pretender.

  The Reeve waited a moment and then quietly told me to lift back the blanket and have a look. I glanced to him and he held my nervous gaze. The eyes that looked back at me seemed to plead. Whatever doubt I felt about my abilities, it seemed the Reeve did not share them. I saw a glimmer of hope behind those eyes and it humbled me on the spot. I broke my eyes from that stare and lifted a hand to pull back the blanket. I looked over at the woman's face and was startled to find her staring right back at me with recessed eyes surrounded by black circles, radiating fear and sickness. The whites of her eyes were yellowed, and the lids were crusted all round. Dried dark-green snot clung thickly to her nostrils and her lips were pasty white and cracked, bleeding and swollen. The top of the blanket, pulled up to her neck, was sprayed with dark green phlegm and bright flecks of blood. She stared back at me and did not seem to blink. She just stared and stared, and I felt frozen in place by the anguish and fear I saw there. Whatever certainty I had left washed out of me and I believed she must have sensed this, for she startled me by touching my foot nearest her with her hand.