“Look, this can easily be worked out,” said the black nervously.
“We can’t feed them, they’d die anyway. You can ask the quartermaster.” He turned to Squeak. “Isn’t that right?”
“Oh, don’t bother me. I don’t care anymore. I wash my hands of this whole business.”
“But that’s murder,” said the soldier.
“Not when you’re wearing a uniform and following orders. Soldiers don’t commit murder. This is war!” He gave a manic laugh and raised his gun. “Look, I’ll show you.” He shot the one who’d acted as spokesman. Immediately the slaves reacted by trying to rush the soldiers, or by running into the woods. The soldiers all started shooting. Some of the slaves tried to climb the trees, but this just made them clearer targets. One woman snatched up a child and bolted for cover. Snivel ran after her and shot her in the back. Then he smashed the child’s skull with the butt of his rifle. He gave a silly giggle. His only wish was that this could all go on much longer, he was having such a good time. All around him slaves were falling to the ground amidst a clatter of bullets and a haze of gunsmoke.
Nero, horrified at the summary execution of unarmed men, women and children, grabbed Squeak’s shoulder and shouted, “Why are you all so blood thirsty? There is good value in these slaves you are killing so unnecessarily.”
“No,” answered Squeak, “not after they’re suspected of being werewolves. They’ve no value at all.”
“Werewolves?! Only Famularis was a werewolf and he is dead.”
In his exasperation Nero turned to Snivel where he was standing over the dead child, the light of insanity in his eyes. “You seem to be a man of sense. Why are you destroying these slaves when you could sell them and make yourself rich? Killing them is just a waste.”
Snivel looked at him, his face freshly flecked with blood. “You’re right. It is a waste. We should rape the women first.” He cackled like a maniac.
Akoko stood up to him. “They said my husband was a peast. You are much worse. You are fluffy masqueraders! Have you no smart?”
“What are you saying? I’m worse than a priest? That’s absurd.” He marched off looking for others to kill.
“No! Kill me!” shouted Akoko. “I don’t want to love!”
Nero grabbed her and hustled her away. “You’re out of your mind. They’re all out of their minds.”
“No! No!” Akoko was hitting him.
“Lie low. I’m saving your life.” He pushed her down and lay on top of her. Akoko continued to mutter and cry out, but she spoke in her native tongue, and the words she used would not endure translation.
In the end it was a bloodbath. With the brutality of a horde of butchers the soldiers waded through the mass of ill equipped, disorganized slaves, slaughtering them as they went. A few small groups escaped into the Forest, but the army of werewolves the traveling man had envisioned was never to be.
When the killing was over, and no more wounded were moaning their agony, the shooting stopped and an eerie silence descended. The soldiers looked in amazement at what they’d done. Snivel gave order to pile the corpses together and heap the dried kindling around them. He set a small piece of wood alight and was going to throw it onto the funeral pyre. The dancing flames were reflected in his eyes. At this point he hesitated. It occurred to him that the Forest was exceptionally dry and there was great risk of starting a wildfire. He stood for a moment and then, making the greatest effort imaginable, willed himself back to sanity. He looked around. He saw his troops transformed into maddened executioners; he saw his uniform soaked in innocent blood; and for one awful moment he was aware that he could have chosen otherwise. Then the flame, burning down the wood he held, reached his fingers and he involuntarily yelped and tossed the fiery brand into the kindling. The kindling caught alight and the flames spread rapidly, quickly consuming the funeral pyre. The burning flesh smelt sweetly as black clouds of smoke enveloped the clearing, shutting out all sight of the stars. The roaring flames cast sparks into the branches of nearby trees where they ignited dried leaves and twigs and soon the fire was spreading from the clearing into the surrounding forest. The blaze spread with an eager ferocity, erasing all traces of the massacre and threatening to surround the troops. Quickly Snivel called his force to order and began a hasty retreat, staying just ahead of the flames. They reached a river. It was not deep and they were able to ford it. On the other side they finally dared to rest, the river making a boundary between themselves and the fire. Elsewhere flames spread all that night and the next day and the next. To the north there’d been much rain, but here the Forest was dry to the point of being arid. The blaze spread, engulfing the neighboring plantations and many of the largest and the most grand were destroyed. Eventually the fire burned itself out, but not till much of the southern Panhandle had been reduced to ashes.
The area around Trento, however, was spared, so on their way back to Port Jay, Snivel’s troops stopped at the Merriwether estate to deliver Nero and Akoko. Just as Nero had foreseen, Andrew Merriwether was delighted to have his slave returned to him. He resolved to make Nero an example that would deter any others who were thinking of escape. He made a public spectacle of breaking both his arms and both his legs before hanging him from a tall and many-branched elm tree. The body was allowed to dangle several days till it had been picked apart by crows and was starting to decompose. Akoko was taken in amongst the household slaves, where she found a place in the Master’s bed. She was there on several occasions, until the next full moon, when Master Merriwether, after a tumultuous night, was discovered with his throat ripped open amidst the bloody bedclothes. A shattered window in the boudoir was the only clue to Akoko’s whereabouts.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HEARTBREAK HILL
Tavish and Katie moved on from the tavern and traveled the rest of that day. When night fell they still hadn’t found a suitable spot so they pressed on. Katie was dozing as she sat Neddy’s back and Tavish was plodding along beside her, putting one foot in front of another, on and on, as he’d been doing since they left Port Jay. As he walked beside her he fell under a spell cast by the freshness of the night air, the fragrance of the pine woods and the constant swish and tinkle of the saddle bags and bridle. He knew the man he was, and he thought of himself as one of those rare souls who can see himself without self-deception. He knew himself to be generous and compassionate, tender and sensual. He also knew these qualities were hidden from others, but they were his essential nature. He wanted to share them with Katie, but every way he’d tried, she’d blocked him. That was her essential nature. Yet he loved her so much. It wasn’t because of her beauty that he loved her like he did. That had drawn him to her, of course, it drew everyone to her, but it was something else that made her so lovable and impossible to resist. And it was such a common thing there must be some word to describe what it was, but he was blank as to knowing what that word might be. And it struck him there were lots of things that existed and everybody saw them and knew what they were but what was the word for them? The thing about Katie that made it impossible for him not to love her was one. Whenever he tried to think what that thing was he’d get tongue-tied and end up falling back on something about how beautiful she was, but that wasn’t it. That was just what you saw. There was something she had in addition. It was vain struggles like this to pin a word to what made Katie so desirable that his mind would contend with as he walked step by step beside the pony through the night . . . Moody . . .? Headstrong . . .? Whatever it was, that was what had gotten him so tangled up with her. Sulky – that didn’t quite hit it on the head. But still, if he had to describe her in one word, that would be it. Or maybe sultry. Wasn’t it queer that there were these things that must be clear to everyone but no one had thought to put a name to them? Like the pleasure Madam Lanchester always got from being displeased, what was the word for it? How she’d go about looking for things that didn’t please her just so she could get all swelled up with it, whatever it was. He wondered
if an educated man like Father Clumphy who’d read many books would know the word. But as he thought back to the words the Father used, words like sin, or morality, or pride, they all seemed to be about something else. He was sure that wasn’t what he was thinking of. But these young women – that’s what he kept coming back to – especially the ones that looked pretty – well, they all knew they looked pretty, why did that make them pretend they didn’t want to look pretty – no, that wasn’t it exactly – it made them screw their faces up so they didn’t look pretty, but . . . Now he was losing track of his thoughts. He took a moment just to pace beside Neddy, and take in the night . . . The trees around here were different from the trees around Port Jay. He’d never paid much attention to trees before, but lately he’d been seeing so many he couldn’t help but notice all the different kinds. And what would things be like in Kashahar, he wondered. He’d heard stories. The houses were built more with stone and less with wood. He wondered if they had the same kinds of stores and sold the same kinds of food as he was used to. And thinking of what they sold in the stores set him to thinking of things he’d bought for Katie and other girls before her and what it was, in his experience, was that anything you gave them wasn’t good enough, like if you gave them something to wear it was either too big or too small, though as far as he could tell they looked pretty good in anything. Nothing was right for them and nothing annoyed them more than a friendly remark and they were cross with all the lads who admired them. And there he goes thinking of himself as a lad again. He was a grown man, damn it, why did he still have these thoughts? Though the girls seemed pleased by thoughts of being admired. They’d put their feet in shoes that didn’t fit and walk all day with pains in their ankles just so they could be admired, but if you said anything friendly there went that face again. He couldn’t make any sense of it. But that’s what it was that had got him so tangled up with Katie. Tangled was the word he kept using. Was that the right word? He was sure it was. That word tangled seemed to have been thought up just to describe the way he was. So he had a word for that, but what had made him give up his old way of life entirely and become a thief and a wanderer just so he could be with Katie? There wasn’t even a word for it he could use if he wanted to explain to someone why he’d done it. Not that there was anyone but himself who’d ask.
It was getting towards morning and they hadn’t stopped yet when they saw an abandoned farmhouse. Chickens were running wild in the yard, and the place looked like it had just recently come to be neglected. Tavish took one of the hens and broke its neck and tied it to Neddy’s saddle bags. But the inside of the house had such a sad and forlorn feel to it, they knew something bad had happened there, and they chose to move on.
Dawn’s first light was filtering through the branches of the trees near that sorry farmhouse, falling on the travelers on the road, and also on a small campsite just inside the edge of the woods where a man lay asleep. This man had been here a few days, resting and recovering from a wound in his stomach. He hadn’t had much to occupy himself with while he was recovering so, like Tavish, he’d been mulling over the events that had led him to the spot he now occupied. And as he mulled over those events he thought to himself, What is a life? What’s it for, and how should I use it? He realized that the greatest moments of his life had in a way also been the simplest. They were the moments he’d spent at the top of a mast, taking in or letting out sail, with the ship rocking and the whole ocean below him and the wind tousling his hair, up among the seabirds with the whole wide world spread out for him to wonder at. There was nothing that compared to the way a man felt when he was up on a yard at the mercy of the gusty, blowing winds, the waves throwing him back and forth, hanging to the sheets for dear life. If he could have chosen any moments to relive, those would have been the ones, over and above even the sport of love. Why had he let those sorry buggers confuse him with their talk of a life on the land? That wasn’t life. What he wanted was a ship, and an ocean to sail her on, and a breeze to blow her across the water, with nothing between himself and the horizon.
And now, his thoughts went on, now was the time he could have whatever he wanted. He had a lot of gold. He was very rich, especially now that Mr. Chips had bequeathed him his share. Now was the time to live the life he could imagine. And that life was far distant from the one he was living, here at a campsite in the woods. He had enough gold he could buy himself his own ship. The days spent lying on the ground, wearing dirty clothes and nursing a savage old wound were soon to come to an end. A man with as much gold as he had was a man who would make an appearance in the world. The first thing he needed was some new clothes. Then he’d need a pony too, to carry his gold into Kashahar. So when he’d recovered some strength he found a place not far from his camp where he buried most of his gold, and he made his plans to head into Kashahar, there to purchase his own sea-going vessel.
This morning he was feeling well enough he thought the time had come to put his plans into action. He’d watched as Crazy Dog tore the farmhouse apart and carved up the old lady and then moved further up the Coast Road. Now, while Crazy Dog was looking in another direction, was the time to move.
Till he could get new clothes he’d have to do the best he could with what he had. He tucked his shirt in so the tear wouldn’t show. He hoped his hair and his beard didn’t look too unkempt. He’d need to visit a barber. He set his knife in the scabbard at his waist. He filled his pockets with doubloons. And trusting his appearance wasn’t too much that of a thief in the night, he headed into Kashahar.
Shortly after he’d gotten onto the Coast Road it went up a small hill, and on the hill he saw a man and a woman with just the pony he wanted. He hurried to catch up with them and when he was within shouting distance he yelled, “Ho there! I’ll buy your pony.”
The man looked around and came to a stop. Vincenzo caught up to him and held out his hand with two shiny doubloons. “Here,” he said, “I’ll pay two gold doubloons for the pony. I’ve not inspected him, but he looks a stout one. Sure two gold doubloons is more than he’s worth but I’m in a hurry.” He smiled.
Tavish and Katie looked at him. His clothes were dirty and bore some bloodstains. His hair was tousled and his beard was unkempt. He had a nasty scar on his face. A man like this with a lot of gold hadn’t earned it in any respectable way. Of course they had long ago stopped expecting to meet anyone honest, but in this man they sensed a hitherto unsuspected measure of depravity. Tavish said, “Well, true enough. That would make a good profit on this pony, but I’m not sure we want to sell.” He looked at Katie. Katie was looking very tired and she just shook her head no, so Tavish answered, “I’m sorry, but the lass says no. She’ll not part with her pony.”
“Whose pony is it?” asked Vincenzo. “Is it yours or hers?”
“We’re in this together and sure we must both agree to sell.”
“You mean she decides.”
Now Katie spoke. “I’ll not walk the rest of the way to Kashahar. I’m fatigued and my stomach is not settled. It may be a fair price for Neddy if we were standing in a market where ponies are sold, but I’ll not part with him here for your two gold doubloons.”
This vexed Vincenzo. He wished the man would take charge so a deal could be struck. “Very well then,” said he, “I’ll sweeten the pot. Here’s a third doubloon.” He was not smiling now.
“I think you’re not understanding me,” said Katie. “I’m not holding out for a higher price. The pony is not for sale. I’ve no need of your gold and I’ve a great need of Neddy.”
“There’s no reason you can’t walk into Kashahar.” Vincenzo was letting his impatience show. “And I need a pony.”
“She cannot. Not in her state. You can walk into Kashahar,” said Tavish, “and I’m sure you’ll find another pony there will suit your purpose.”
“Ah, the ponies they have in Kashahar, so I’ve heard. But why can she not walk?”
“She’s with child. Surely she must have the mildness of the pony ride.
To say naught of who would have to carry the saddle bags. And that’s an end to it.”
“I’m offering enough she could buy her own bed and a midwife in Kashahar and be set up like a real lady. Does she not see that?” He felt slighted. It wasn’t just the pony. Only a few minutes ago it had been his plan to walk into Kashahar to purchase a pony, but now he’d seen this one it was like an omen. Sure some friendly spirit had put this pony in his way and he was bound to have it. Well if he couldn’t buy it there were other ways he could get it.
“She sees that well enough, and sure she’ll be cursing herself later for not taking your gold, but at this moment all she can think of is the gentle ride into Kashahar, and she cannot ride your doubloons.”
“She’s with child, is she?” He put his gold back in his pocket.
“Certain it is.”
“Well something can be done about that.” Pure spite it was. He hit Katie a brutal blow in her stomach and then pulled his knife on Tavish.
Katie screamed.
“Get her off that pony,” said Vincenzo holding his knife to Tavish’s throat.
Tavish was stunned by this sudden change and Katie was whimpering from the pain in her belly. Both were staggering from fatigue and had no strength to resist the attack. It took little time for Tavish to maneuver Katie off the pony and get her standing on the ground.
“Give me that musket also,” said Vincenzo. He still held the knife pointed at Tavish.
Tavish looked at the knife. Then he took the musket from his shoulder and handed it to him.
“Oh God, I can’t stand.” Katie swayed and sank slowly to the ground.
Nimbly mounting the pony, Vincenzo said, “So you really didn’t have to worry about who’d carry the saddle bags because I have them. And you don’t have to worry about her walking into Kashahar with child. I’ve fixed that too. I’ve solved all your problems not that you’ll thank me for it.” He gave a mean laugh and took Neddy’s reins in hand.
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