by Rod Duncan
She stole a glance at Logan, who squatted, hands held to the fire.
“Saul is gone,” she said.
“Gone?”
“Dead.”
He looked at her, disbelieving for a couple of seconds. Then he nodded, as if it somehow made sense.
“He attacked me,” she said.
He nodded again. “It was coming.”
“I didn’t kill him.” Logan seemed confused by her suggestion. “Firehand did it.”
“Of course,” he said, then looked away.
Neither of them spoke again. It was the strangest silence. He got up and brought the coffee pot. As the water boiled she caught a sound from away in the darkness: the methodical crunch and scrape of a shovel digging a grave in stony soil.
Part Four
Chapter 24
No one asked to see the grave. Indeed, Saul’s attack on her wasn’t spoken of. They had been a party of six. Now they were a party of five. That’s all there was to it. But after Jago limped back from Short Harbour, the morning light revealing the landscape of the night’s hidden battles, he went off at a distance from the camp and stood very close to Firehand. From the angle of his head, Elizabeth could tell that he was listening. And then, when it was done, he received something from the giant’s hand, which he tucked inside his coat.
Logan did the work of striking camp, rolling the furs and strapping the baggage to the poor horses, who had been obliged to weather the storm unprotected. Jago seemed preoccupied. He rode his horse off the track and up the slope of the nearest hill.
“What happened here?” Elias whispered.
For once, no one seemed to mind that they were talking.
“When am I going to see your friend?” she asked.
“I tried to make it happen. He agreed to a meeting, but…”
“You’re breaking our deal?”
“It’s Jago who’s stopping you. You want to go ask him to change his mind?”
“You’re breaking our deal!”
“It’s not my fault!”
She knew he was right. Somehow that made her angrier. The Patron still had her in his grip. There was no explanation she could give for wanting to speak to the smuggler. None that wouldn’t give her away.
“But I’ve come so far!”
“I’m sorry.”
Shielding her eyes against the morning sun, she watched Jago in the distance, dismounting to clamber the last few yards of the hill on foot.
“Why’s he limping?”
Elias held out a metal spike. She took it.
“Someone scattered them over the road,” he said.
“Who knew we were coming this way?”
“Few enough. Most likely it was bad luck. But I’d like to know for sure.” He turned full circle, scanning the landscape. “Where’s Saul?”
Elizabeth’s scalp itched at the mention of his name. She didn’t scratch. “He tried to take something of Jago’s.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”
She turned away lest her face betray her.
“Gone?”
Jago had reached the top of the hill. He stood there, feet spread in a fighting stance, hands resting on hips. For a moment he seemed more statue than man. A rehearsal perhaps for the greatness he hoped to achieve. How tall might that statue be, she wondered, if he were the one to order it made.
“You mean… gone home?” Elias seemed incapable of dropping the subject.
“He’s dead. Firehand did it. He’s buried somewhere over there. I haven’t looked.”
“How?”
“Snapped his neck.”
“I mean why?”
“I told you already! Now can we talk about getting me off Newfoundland!”
Elias stepped in front of her. She tried turning again but he put his hand on her shoulder and brought his face close. It was impossible to avoid his gaze or to hide her own. His expression was combative, but only for a second. Then understanding took hold. His eyes widened. He released her shoulder as if it were hot metal. He turned away.
“How do I get to Labrador?” she asked.
“We’re going to the Reckoning.” Elias’s voice sounded flat, as if the emotions had been stripped from him, or hidden.
“We?”
“Jago and me. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. Really. But I’ve given all the help I can. We’re turning south. Back to New Whitby. When we get close… I mean to say, you should escape. Get away from the Patron. He says things are going to change. I do believe him. Everything’s going to be turned upside down. So steal some food. Find somewhere to hide till we’re gone. Then get yourself to the Salt Ray. That’s your best chance.”
Jago was limping back from the top of the hill. She watched as he mounted his horse from the left, using his good foot in the stirrup.
“If I run, he’ll come after me,” she said.
“He won’t have time to search. And now he’s only got the two men…”
“Why won’t he have time?”
“We have to go somewhere. Before the Reckoning.”
“Where?”
“It’s safer you don’t know.”
“Safer for who? Elias, you promised to get me to your friend. You don’t know what I’ve gone through to be here!” He winced. She only felt slightly guilty for the false impression. “You can’t just wish me away. Where does he have to go before the Reckoning?”
“Something’s going to be smuggled in. We have to collect it. That’s all.”
“From the smugglers?”
He nodded.
“Then I’ll come with you. They’re the ones I need to see.”
Elias’s face seemed paler than when she’d first met him. His cheeks more hollowed. She watched as he reached within his cloak and pulled out a small pot of green glass. She thought she saw his hands shaking as he twisted out the stopper. He dipped his little finger into the pot and then put it to his mouth.
“A tonic,” he said, as if she’d asked.
It was what he’d told her before. This time she knew it for a lie.
“The smugglers are dangerous,” he said. “You need to find a different way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Sometimes the truth costs too much. I needed your help. I’m sorry. But that’s it. We’re finished.”
“When you wanted the use of me you said one thing. Now you’re done, you say another! Tell me how you’re different from Jago?”
His knuckle whitened as he clutched the green glass pot. The Patron was approaching, his horse picking its way across the rough ground. Too close for them to speak further without the risk of being overheard. She stepped away from Elias in time for Jago to ride between them.
“The day waits for us!” the Patron proclaimed, as if all the rocks and moss in sight should also be witness to his truth. “A finer day, I’ve never seen. Are we packed?”
“Yes, Patron.”
Perhaps it was the new energy that sparked in Jago’s eyes. But Logan bowed as he spoke. She’d never seen him bow before.
Firehand went down on one knee, as if about to pledge his oaths afresh. She looked up and saw that Jago was gesturing for them to rise. This was no longer the Patron. He seemed more a king, gracing the earth with his presence. His men could sense it. How soon, she wondered, till others saw it too.
He took more risks that day, on the southward ride. The storm had washed the mud from his horse’s flanks. He did nothing to disguise its markings. Nor did he dismount on meeting a party of wool traders heading the other way. They called greetings, which he ignored. News of their passing would spread.
But if enemies did set out in pursuit, they would need to be quick. Jago had struck up a pace so brisk that it seemed to Elizabeth the beasts might not sustain it. There were no more detours to hide. No dissimulation.
When it was too dark to continue along the road, they pitched camp. The night was dry. Jago ordered a large fire
built next to an outcrop, though it would surely be seen for many miles. His men obeyed without question. He had them spread his furs on the rock in such a manner that he could recline in comfort with them sitting on the ground below. When the eating was done, he had them carry the furs into his tent. Instead of leading her by the wrist as he’d done every night of the journey, he strode on ahead. Knowing her part in the display, she followed behind, meekly, her gaze lowered: this for the benefit of the gatherers. And perhaps for Elias too, in exchange for the lies and half-truths he’d been throwing her way.
On the previous nights of the journey Jago had fallen asleep directly, his breathing becoming more regular and shallow, whilst she’d lain awake, her mind turning over the details of the day and the permutations of her future. But on this night she could sense no sleep in him. He turned over to face the canvas wall and then again to face her.
“I’ll reward you,” he breathed.
“For what?”
“For your loyalty to me.”
“When have I been loyal?”
“You walked behind me just now.”
“I had a choice?”
He held something above her. She couldn’t make it out. A thin line of deeper darkness. Then he changed his grip, holding it as it should be held, and she knew it was a knife.
“You had a choice to use this on me while I slept.”
“I… I’m not a killer.”
“I’m told you were going to use it on my gatherer.”
She wondered how much Firehand had seen of her struggle in the storm before he’d stepped in. “It wasn’t his heart I was going to stab,” she said.
Jago chuckled then laughed out loud. They’d hear it outside the tent.
He rolled onto his back and sighed. “You’re more than you seem, girl. You’re an entertainment. Your mistress will hate me for taking you.”
“Why do you keep me here every night?” It was a dangerous question. But it seemed the least dangerous moment to ask.
“You’d like to sleep outside?”
“No.”
She heard him turning towards her again. Then his hand was on her, feeling for her neck until his fingers closed around it. He began to squeeze. She panicked, trying to grab air through her open mouth. Her mind was clouding as pressure grew on the artery.
“I could have you make noise,” he whispered. “I could put bruises on your face so they think I treat you harder.”
He tightened his grip further and her senses faded. The breath hissed in her constricted throat. But she could still hear his voice.
“Would that be better, do you think? You’re a beauty. I can see it. They can see it. Saul died for it. You cost me a man. A talented one at that.” He released his grip and his hand moved to her jaw, one thumb caressing her cheek. “I’d rather know his weakness than find out later, in a fight. So you saved me that.”
Her senses came rushing back. She became aware of the sound of air in her throat. She must have been gasping all along.
“They want gold,” he whispered. “They want women. Or men. Or to be loved. Or admired. Or feared. It’s weakness – all of it. There was a Patron once, in Norway – my grandfather told me about him. A handsome man, they say. He loved to be admired. But that made him weak. So he stopped washing and combing his hair. After a month it started to stink. Women wouldn’t go near him. But he vowed never to wash it till he was king of all Norway. That’s what you have to do – to get what you want.
“You think I’m different from Saul? You think my cock doesn’t get hard? But I made a vow to take no pleasure. When I’m king, I’ll sire ten thousand sons by ten thousand different mothers. But for now, I like having you by my side, Elizabeth. You prove my resolve.”
His fingers followed her arm to her hand. And then something was pressed into her grip. The rough shagreen hilt of her dagger. He rolled away.
This time he did fall asleep. It was as if he’d been a boiler, pressurised with steam, which his confession had released. The tautness left his muscles. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it somehow as he subsided into the furs. She listened to the steadying of his breath.
Once she’d thought him a simple brute. And then later, when she understood his control, she’d known the brutality to be an element of some greater plan. But there had been a strand of delusion in the certainty of his words. So great was his belief in a glorious destiny that he’d put the knife in her hand and drifted to a peaceful sleep. Were he to become the king of Newfoundland, how would the people suffer.
She changed her grip on the knife. In her mind she rehearsed the motion of slamming it down into his chest. But if she were to do it, there’d be nothing to hold back Firehand. And anyway, what she’d said to him had been true. Killing wasn’t in her nature. Not an act carried out in cold blood. She felt for her boot and slipped the blade away inside its hidden sheath. Perhaps he was destined for kingship after all.
Chapter 25
It took a day less to reach the turning than it had to travel the other way. Each morning Jago roused them earlier. Each night he drove them on until the light was too far gone to ride in safety. Making camp was a fumbled affair in darkness. Men might keep up such a pace, saddle-sore but resigned to the will of their Patron. But the horses were doing the real work. And horses can’t understand kingship and the promise of glory. Their dream is a dry stable and a trough of feed.
On the day they reached the New Whitby road, Jago allowed them the luxury of pitching the tent while it was still light. With the fire built and himself seated above it on a throne of rocks and furs, they set about their evening meal: a stew made from strips of dried meat boiled with barley, onions and hot peppers.
As they sat eating, a caravan of mules passed, trying to make the town before dark, Elias thought. He looked to see what Jago would do, but the Patron made no move to hide. The lead mule driver wisely kept his eyes on the path. But a lad at the back did a double take, his mouth gaping as he stared. Such a guileless boy might not have long to live.
Elias tensed, expecting a reaction. But Jago didn’t seem to mind and the lad was left to catch up with the train. News of them would reach the town that night. Maria Rosa would hear of it. So would the spies of the other clans. All the land from the turning southwards was unaligned. That meant they should have been safe. But nothing was certain. He remembered the caltrops on the road. It wasn’t only Jago who could feel a change in the air. As darkness folded in around them, he crept off to a hollow away from the fire, somewhere he might be missed if trouble came.
But in the morning they were all still alive and Elizabeth had not taken her chance to escape. He watched her emerge from the tent, her hair tangled and eyes bleary. She didn’t notice him. He’d tried not to think about her suffering, but it nagged whenever he looked at her. It was, after all, his own stupid mistake that made them argue. And that had driven her off into Rooth Bay. From there she’d fallen into Jago’s hands. There’d been no word of her false oath-marks. But from the way she now acted, obedient to the Patron, he could only think the secret must be known.
“There you are, No-Thumbs!” Jago had spotted him.
“Yes, Patron.”
“Hiding in a hole?”
“It was comfortable.”
“A coward as well as a cripple. What would your great uncle say if he saw you now? You’re a smear of shit on the Calvary name. That’s what you are.” Jago’s voice echoed around the rocks.
The insults meant nothing any more, except they might be followed by a beating. Through the turning of less than two years, he’d lost his clan, his wealth, his thumbs. For a time, he’d fooled himself to thinking there might be some virtue left in him. But when it came to it, he’d washed his hands of Elizabeth. All dignity was gone. What did he have left but one slim chance of revenge? He bowed his head low.
“Are you a coward?” Jago demanded.
“I am a coward.”
“Are you a smear of shit?”
“Yes
, Patron.”
“That should be your name, I think, from now on. Mr No-Thumbs Shit Smear.”
Firehand grinned. Logan laughed. Elizabeth’s face was turned away.
Patron Williams was known to travel with a drummer by his side, beating time, and a line of warriors marching behind. Patron Locke surrounded himself with the young men of his Blood, so the greatness of his line would be seen by all. And Patron Wattlington kept a girl with him on his horse, clinging to his waist. A different one each time.
Entering New Whitby that morning, Jago’s train had only two gatherers, a few pack animals, someone else’s woman slave and Elias, the thumbless fool, tagging along at the back. Yet by some strange alchemy, Jago seemed more powerful for his pathetic retinue. An upstart he might be. But what other clan leader would dare venture from his fortress home without a small army for protection. Many was the ambush on the roads of Newfoundland. Other clans told of brave deeds, the battles of their ancestors. Jago seemed to have ridden from the pages of just such a saga. If his sword had been dripping with fresh blood, no one could have been surprised.
Standing high in his stirrups, he led the meagre column down the last slope into the town. The clattering of hooves and harnesses echoed from the walls. There was no other sound except the low boom of waves on rocks in the distance. He could see no people, though the whole town would be watching. The very emptiness of the streets seemed to cry out Jago’s glory.
Only one door opened. Maria Rosa stepped from the Salt Ray Inn and stood facing the Patron, arms folded in front of her chest. He dismounted and stepped towards her, his limp hardly showing. Elizabeth seemed about to climb down from the pack horse, but Jago shook his finger at her in warning.