“All right. Out with it. What’s the trouble between you and Stig?” he asked. He expected to hear that they had quarreled over some minor matter but Hal’s answer left him dumbfounded.
“He’s planning to stay behind when we go,” the skirl told him miserably.
“Stay behind? Where? Here? What are you talking about?”
“He says he’s in love with Tecumsa,” Hal told him.
Thorn stroked his beard thoughtfully at the words. He remembered a time when his friendship with Mikkel, Hal’s father, had been disrupted by the advent of a beautiful young slave named Karina. The two friends had got through the disruption, but for a time it had been touch and go, and Thorn had thought their friendship might not survive.
“Oh . . . ,” he said now, understanding the anguish on Hal’s face and Stig’s downcast appearance as he walked off down the beach. “That makes things difficult. Is he sure he wants to do this?”
Hal shrugged helplessly. “He seems to be. He’s obviously thought it through. He says he has a place here with her and her family. Says he can be happy here.”
“I’m sure he can. She’s the sort of girl who would make any man happy,” Thorn said.
“I wish she’d never been born!” Hal exclaimed viciously, but Thorn laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“I felt that way once,” he said, and when Hal looked at him curiously, he added, “About your mother.”
“My mam?” Hal said, surprised. “Why would you hate her?”
Thorn didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “For a start, you don’t hate Tecumsa, do you? Not really?”
Hal hesitated, about to argue, then lowered his eyes. “No. She’s a terrific girl. And I’m sure she’ll make Stig very happy.”
“That’s what I realized about your mother when Mikkel wanted to marry her. I felt I was being cut out of his life.”
“But you weren’t, were you? They were still around and you could still see my father whenever you wanted to. This is different. Once we leave, I’ll never see Stig again.”
“You could always come back,” Thorn suggested.
Hal shook his head. “No. I’m not keeping any sailing notes on how to get here.” He saw Thorn’s surprised look. It would have been standard practice for Hal to keep sailing records—courses, currents, wind conditions—on the way home so that the voyage could be retraced. Hal explained, “If we came back, others would follow—more and more of them. I don’t think the Mawagansett want an influx of strangers from the other side of the world barging in on their lives, changing their customs, bringing new ways with them.
“It’s been all right with just ten of us, but think how it would be if a hundred, or two hundred Skandians came here. The place would change, and not necessarily for the better. The Mawagansett have been good to us and it wouldn’t be fair if their kindness ruined their world.”
Thorn regarded him with admiration. “I’ve always said you’re a thinker,” he said. “That’s a very wise attitude for someone of your age.”
Hal essayed a sad smile. “Yeah, well, who knows? Maybe Stig will change his mind when the crunch comes.”
“Maybe,” Thorn agreed. But he didn’t sound convinced. Tecumsa was not a girl you changed your mind about, he thought, and he sensed that Hal felt the same way.
They walked side by side back to the campsite, where Edvin was serving breakfast. They each took a slab of toasted corn-flour bread and a few slices of smoked river trout. They had finally run out of coffee, but the pot was filled with a rich herbal tea. It was a hot and comforting drink and they took a mug each and sat on the ground, their backs against a log, to eat.
Lydia joined them, looking around curiously. “Where’s Stig?” she asked. Then, answering her own question, she said, “Probably off with Tecumsa.” She liked the Mawagansett girl. She felt a proprietorial interest in both Stig and Hal. They were like brothers to her, and initially she had viewed Stig’s growing attachment to Tecumsa with some reservations. But the more she saw of Tecumsa, the more she liked her, for her openness, her honesty and her cheerful attitude to life. She did wonder what would happen between the two of them now that the time had come for the Heron to leave. But it was only idle speculation. At heart, she assumed Stig would say farewell to the young woman. It would be sad, but it would be bearable. She shrugged away the thought. We’ll cheer him up when the time comes, she thought. That’s what friends do for each other.
Neither Hal nor Thorn replied to her, so she settled down to eat her breakfast.
Edvin, who had now served breakfast to all the crew who were gathered around the cook fire, filled a plate of his own and moved to join Hal, Thorn and Lydia by their log.
“When do you plan to get away?” he said to Hal.
The skirl looked up at the ridge behind them, where the tops of the trees were bending to the south wind.
“No rush,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of time to get the ship fully provisioned.”
Edvin considered the statement. “We’re pretty well stocked,” he said. “I’d like to get in a few more jars of water and some fresh vegetables, and then we’ll be ready.”
They had filled the water casks already—the leaking one had been repaired—and the Mawagansett had provided them with large clay jars to hold extra water. There was still room for a few more and Hal wanted to carry as much water as possible with them.
“We’ll give it a few days,” he told Edvin. “I want to be sure this change isn’t temporary.”
Edvin nodded agreement. That made sense, he thought. They wouldn’t want to set sail and then find the wind back in the northeast, blowing them away from their destination.
They finished their meal without further discussion. Not for the first time, Hal reflected on how lucky they’d been to have Edvin in the crew. No matter where they were, or what supplies were available, he seemed capable of turning out appetizing, nourishing meals whenever asked.
“I suppose he’ll tell me he wants to stay here and open a restaurant with the Mawag ladies,” he said gloomily to himself. He placed his dirty plate and mug on a wooden rack to be washed. Stefan and Ingvar were detailed for kitchen duties. One of the perks of being skirl was that he didn’t have to take his turn at menial camp chores. Of course, this was balanced by the fact that, in the event of an emergency, he could find himself at the tiller for eight to ten hours at a stretch.
He walked down to the palisade and studied the bay. The wind was holding steady from the south. The small rollers were no longer being pushed in between the headlands. Looking down the beach, he saw Stig slowly returning to the camp, walking in the firm wet sand by the water’s edge, head down and shoulders hunched.
“I know how you feel,” he said softly. Then a cheerful voice interrupted his gloomy thoughts.
“Good morning, Hal.”
He looked up, a little startled. Simsinnet was standing just outside the palisade, by the entry ladder. These days, they didn’t bother to raise the outer ladder at night, but Simsinnet still thought it would be a breach of protocol to enter the stockade uninvited.
“Good morning, Simsinnet,” Hal said, and gestured for him to enter. “Come on in.”
But the young Mawag shook his head. “Mohegas has asked if you will come to the village,” he said. “You and Thorn and Stig.”
Hal cocked his head curiously. It was unusual for the elder to request that all three of them come to the village. He reflected that it might have something to do with the change in wind direction.
“Is there some problem?” he asked.
Simsinnet shrugged. “He didn’t say. But a messenger came in last night from the north. That might be what he wants to discuss.”
Hal turned and caught Thorn’s eye. The old sea wolf had noted Simsinnet’s arrival and was watching with interest. Hal beckoned to him and po
inted to the trail leading to the village. Thorn made a gesture of understanding and began to walk down the sand to join them. Hal mounted the inner ladder and stood poised at the top. Stig was still several hundred meters away. Hal put his fingers in his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle.
Simsinnet grinned. “I wish I could make that noise.”
Stig, hearing the signal, looked up and Hal beckoned him urgently. The tall first mate increased his pace, jogging through the sand to the camp.
“What’s going on?” Thorn asked.
“Mohegas wants a meeting,” Hal said.
Thorn nodded. “Probably wants to ask when we’ll be leaving.”
Hal shrugged. “That’s what I thought. But Simsinnet seems to think it’s about a messenger who arrived last night.”
They climbed the ladders and descended to the beach outside the palisade, waiting for Stig to join them. Simsinnet greeted him cheerfully and Stig nodded in reply. He met Hal’s gaze with an inquiring look of his own.
“Mohegas wants to talk to us,” Hal explained. Then Simsinnet led the three Skandians toward the path that wound through the forest to the Mawagansett village.
The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to penetrate far into the forest and they walked through the dark green shadows in silence. Small birds and animals scampered out of their way and the undergrowth around them was alive with the sound of panicked rustling.
At last, they emerged from the shadows into the clearing where the Mawagansett huts were arranged in neat rows. Those tribespeople who were up and about greeted them as they headed for Mohegas’s hut, but Hal sensed an air of tension about them. They seemed on edge and the usual smiles were absent.
“Something’s wrong,” he said quietly to his two friends.
Mohegas emerged from his hut as they approached, doubtless informed of their presence by one of his two guards. He stooped to pass under the low doorway and stood in the early morning sun waiting for them. As they reached the hut, he greeted them, then beckoned them inside.
It was warm and smoky in the hut. The fireplace at one end had a smoke hole in the roof above it, but not all the smoke managed to escape. They followed Mohegas to the circle by the fireplace and sat cross-legged, while his wife, Pacahan, served them with hot mugs of herbal tea.
Stig and Thorn deferred to Hal, waiting for him to open the conversation. The young Skandian came straight to the point.
“What’s up, Mohegas?” he asked.
Mohegas took a deep breath, as if stating the problem were somehow going to make it more real.
“The Ghostfaces are raiding again,” he said. “They’re already in a village five days to the north of here, and they’re on their way south.”
PART FOUR
THE GHOSTFACES
chapter thirty-two
Both Hal and Stig reacted with surprise, the latter muttering a curse. Of course, thought Hal, his friend was committed to the Mawagansett people now and he felt the threat of the Ghost tribe’s approach keenly.
Thorn remained unperturbed, as ever. He went straight to the practical question that the problem raised.
“What do you plan to do?” he asked.
While Mohegas shrugged, Stig answered impulsively.
“We’ll fight!” he declared. His features were flushed with anger at the thought of these white-painted marauders threatening his adopted home.
Mohegas raised an eyebrow. “There are over a hundred of them,” he said. “All warriors. We can raise barely forty. And our young men are trained more for hunting and fishing than warfare.”
“You have fifty if you count us,” Stig replied. “And we are trained to fight. Plus we have better weapons than the Ghosts’. That’d go a long way toward balancing the numbers.”
The Mawagansett had spears and arrows and clubs. But they had no iron. Their spearheads and arrowheads were made from stone or flint. Their clubs were hardwood or stone. Presumably, the Ghosts’ weapons were made from similar materials. The Herons’ axes and swords would be far more effective in a fight. Plus, as Stig said, the crew were trained to fight, and to fight as a unit. That would do a lot to redress the inequality in numbers. The tribal elder looked inquiringly at Hal and Thorn, who remained expressionless. Stig was overlooking one vital fact, and, after a few seconds, Mohegas voiced it.
“The wind is from the south,” he said. “You can leave anytime. This is not your fight.”
Stig reacted angrily. “It’s our fight all right! You’ve been kind to us. You’ve welcomed us into your country. We’re not going to turn and run now that you’re facing trouble!” He appealed to Hal. “We’re not, are we? We’re not going to desert these people. They’re our friends!”
Hal shook his head. “No. We’re not running. If the Mawags need help, we’ll give it.”
Stig subsided, relieved. He had simply assumed that because he was willing to stay and fight, his shipmates would support him. Mohegas’s statement had suddenly made him realize that he might well be on his own.
“Will you fight?” Thorn said, addressing the gray-haired Mawag.
Mohegas hesitated, looking away from them, glancing round the neat, warm little hut. This was his home. He was happy here and the thought of leaving it for the Ghostfaces to burn and pillage left a sour taste in his mouth.
“In the past,” he temporized, “we’ve always hidden in the forest when they came.”
“And watched them destroy your homes,” Thorn said evenly. “I can’t believe you enjoy that.”
Mohegas’s brows came together in a dark line. “I hate it,” he said. His voice was low, but the venom in it was all too obvious.
“Well, perhaps this might be the time to do something about it,” Thorn said. “I’ve trained my boys to fight and they’re good at it. I’d say that ten of us are a match for any thirty white-faced, bare-bummed tribesmen. Presumably they don’t know we’re here, so we’d have the advantage of surprise. And if we give them a good bloody nose this time, they might think twice about raiding here again.”
Mohegas looked thoughtful. “Perhaps if we could borrow your special weapon,” he said thoughtfully. “The one you call the Maggler?”
“Mangler,” Hal corrected him. He considered the idea. “It would certainly give them a nasty shock. But whether it would be enough to turn the tide, I’m not sure. Maybe . . .” He hesitated. A thought was taking shape in his mind. It wasn’t fully formed yet, just the beginning of an idea. Thorn and Stig both looked expectantly at him. They recognized the distracted, slightly distant expression on his face.
“What is it?” Thorn asked, but Hal waved the question aside. He needed a few more moments to think. Thorn made a cautionary gesture to Mohegas, and the Mawag leader nodded. The three of them sat watching Hal for several minutes as he sat, head bowed, mind racing. Then he finally looked up. The question he asked took them all by surprise. As ever in such situations, his mind had raced off at a tangent.
“Your bows,” he asked Mohegas. “What wood do you use for them?”
The Mawag’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t been expecting that question. “It’s from a local tree, but I’m not sure what you would call it. It’s tough and springy and we use hide to reinforce it.”
Hal nodded thoughtfully. He’d seen the local bows. They were short and thick-limbed. The wood used was powerful and tough and the bows spat out arrows with surprising speed and power for their size.
“Could you make bigger ones?” he asked. “Perhaps ones that were this long?” He spread out his arms, indicating a length from fingertip to fingertip. “And a lot thicker? Maybe twice as thick as your normal bows?”
Mohegas considered. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “We’d simply have to use thicker branches. But nobody could draw a bow that size. The wood would be too stiff,” he pointed out.
Hal waved the objection aside. “Never mind
that,” he said. “I can sort out a way to draw them.” He turned to Thorn with a new question. “Thorn, is the village a reasonable defensive site?”
Thorn screwed up his lip thoughtfully. “Not as it is,” he said. “But if we built a palisade like the one at our camp, we could make it a tough nut to crack. We could anchor each end at the stream that runs behind the village, and set stakes in the shallows to discourage attackers from going around the ends.”
“Very well, here’s the idea. We build a palisade round the village.” Hal looked round and saw a large piece of bark in the pile of firewood and kindling. He took it and raked a piece of charcoal out of the edge of the fire, using it to sketch on the bark.
“We can use the materials from our camp to do it,” he said. “I don’t want the Ghosts to know we’ve been here when they arrive.” He looked at Mohegas. “While that’s happening, we get your men to make maybe ten big crossbows, like the Mangler. I’ll give them a plan. They only need to be basic. We don’t need the training and elevating gears and we can set them on simple wooden tripods. Can your men do that?”
He sketched a rough diagram of a simplified Mangler set on a wooden stand.
Mohegas studied it for a few seconds. “I don’t see why not.”
Then Hal marked two lines on the bark, one to either side of the defensive half circle he had drawn, and facing in toward the palisade.
“We place them in the forest, out of sight, and off to either side, so they can provide a cross barrage on the Ghosts when they attack the palisade.”
Stig whistled in admiration. “That would give them a nasty surprise,” he said. “Ten big crossbows hitting them from either side, and from behind. We could cut them to pieces.”
“Shaping ten big bows in a few days might be difficult,” Mohegas warned. “The wood is tough to work and we have only flint knives.”
Again, Hal waved the objection aside. “I’ve got iron tools,” he said. “Adzes and drills and saws and planes and shaping knives. That’ll speed things up.”
The Ghostfaces Page 21