Heron Fleet

by Paul Beatty

  ‘I’ll not take that from a wench who’s with rough child.’ The man started to move. He was only three paces from Francesca but was not that quick in the sprint. She had just enough time to pick up the thrown staff and whack him a sharp blow on the back of the head as she dodged left. He tripped and sprawled face-down on the planks, loosing his grip on his stave. Francesca kicked it into the river, put her foot in the small of his back and the tip of her own staff over his shoulder in his face.

  ‘That’s enough.’ It was Tobias. ‘Most of you know what I’ve got in my hands.’ Francesca glanced up, he had a crossbow to his shoulder and there was a bolt in place. ‘The first one of you that takes a step forward I will shoot. I’m a good shot and that person will die on the spot.’

  The crowd hesitated. ‘It won’t stop there, I’ve armed both Jonathan and Anya. Just remember how fiercely a mother will fight for her unborn child. You face them if you can get past me and Francesca, and that, I think, is a very big if.’

  He was next to her now. As he had been speaking he must have worked his way round onto the jetty from the boat. With the crossbow in their faces the crowd looked far more uncertain. One or two at the back turned and sloped off.

  ‘That’s it, nice and slowly, just back off,’ Tobias took a step forward. Francesca turned to face them as well, brandishing her staff while at the same time putting more pressure onto the herder’s back in case he decided to try to move.

  The crowd looked down at their feet and backed away. Francesca poked the herder sharply in the back. ‘Your friends have gone. Get up slowly and you can join them.’ She stepped back and he got heavily to his feet. He rubbed the back of his head with his hand. Francesca saw, with some satisfaction, that there was blood on his hand from the blow she had given him.

  All that remained was to help Thomas. When they were certain the crowd had really dispersed, Francesca and Jonathan went to get him. He had been knocked out but by the time they got to him he was coming round. He was a bit bruised and stiff but easy enough to help back to the boat, where Francesca bandaged his forehead.

  They did not report the attempted attack to the Council, agreeing that to do so might make it even more difficult for tempers to cool in the community. While no one had definitely said that the Testing had finished, not even Peter, it was impossible to think how it could go any further without inflaming more ill feeling or further polarising opinion after the reading of the Founder’s Diary. Everyone simply waited for the Council to decide on what had been established. In turn the Council waited for Peter to be in a fit state of mind to continue. The official line was that he was sick but Francesca thought gone to ground would have been a better description. In the meantime Sylvia presided at the evening meal, which was eaten in a subdued and watchful mood for the next week.

  The only other change was that the weather started to break in earnest. The wind backed and started to blow steadily from the northwest. The weather turned colder and wetter, and after three preliminary thundery squalls, a fully fledged winter storm blew in with driving snow and hail.

  The change in weather brought a change at the Council Table: Peter reappeared at evening meal. Though Sylvia still presided, he was back and everyone was waiting for what would happen next.

  Two days later the Council met. That evening the mood was the tensest it had been. When the Council filed in, Peter resumed the Head of Council’s seat. When it came time to offer the evening incantation he stood up but did not take up the hardbread.

  ‘He looks awfully strained,’ said Caleb in Francesca’s ear as the Hall became quiet. Francesca held her breath. Without thinking she reached out for the hand of Anya who was standing next to her.

  ‘Fellow Gatherers,’ said Peter. His voice trembled. ‘Friends.’

  Francesca looked over at Tobias. Gone was his normal air of truculence. His whole attention was on Peter. For the first time Francesca saw on Tobias’s face the expression of the caring lover he must have once been to Peter.

  ‘Friends. I do not know how each of you feels about what happened in the Testing and what has been revealed about our life here at Heron Fleet. I can only speak for myself and say that for me nothing can ever be quite the same again. I still believe in the Rule as the best guide to how the community should behave but there will have to be much re-examination of whether that is still true for the majority of us. As a result I have decided that I am not the right person to guide the community through that process. I will be standing down as Head of the Council from the end of this evening’s meal. The Council have elected Sylvia to take my place for the rest of the year until a new Head of the Council can be elected at Harvest.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Jeremy. ‘Has a Head of the Council ever stood down before?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Christine.

  ‘Other than to bless the hardbread one last time, I have only one thing left to do. For the sake of the whole of the community and the sake of the individuals involved in the Testing a decision must be given. Would Anya and Jonathan please stand forward.’

  Anya let go of Francesca’s hand and stepped forward, followed by Jonathan. Francesca went round the table and stood with Tobias. He put his arm round her shoulders and she put hers round his waist. There were tears in his eyes. She could see Thomas a little way down the table from Peter. His face was stern but he did not look troubled. A good sign perhaps, she thought. Standing next to Peter was Sylvia. Her expression was resolute and unreadable. Whatever was to come was not quite to Francesca’s mentor’s mind.

  ‘Anya and Jonathan. You have admitted that you have acted in contravention of the Pact and hence the Rule. If you are to remain in the community after admitting as much you would have to relinquish each other. Will you do that?’

  Anya and Jonathan looked at each other, then Anya spoke. ‘No. We love each other and will not be parted.’

  ‘We had expected as much,’ said Peter. ‘Some of us would have thought less of you had you said yes. As a result the Council has no choice but to have you declared outcast.’

  ‘No,’ cried Jeremy. ‘Caleb, say something.’ His voice was joined by several other cries of no and other groans from across the hall.

  Peter lifted his hands. ‘Friends, please hear the whole of the decision.’ The hall went quiet again. ‘Bearing in mind Anya’s condition the Council will not carry out this punishment until Mayday so that your journey will be as safe as it can be for the child you will have with you.’

  ‘What did he say?’ said Susan.

  ‘He’s throwing them out into the world with a child,’ said Jeremy in high dudgeon. ‘Shame on him.’

  ‘No, you don’t get it, Jeremy. If the child is going with them then the Council aren’t claiming the child. Anya will keep the baby!’

  ‘The Council have taken into account what is now public about the circumstances of how the Pact was made. They have decided that in the light of story of the Diary, that the Founders may not have intended the Pact to separate a child from its mother under the circumstances of this case. Anya and Jonathan, you will keep your child.’ People started to clap in a wave of noisy approval. Peter went to pick up the hardbread but he was prevented from starting the incantation once more. Standing in front of him was Tobias.

  ‘May I say something, Peter?’

  ‘I think you’re a pretty difficult man to shut up at the best of times.’

  ‘Thank you. I see within this judgement a moderation that is fair and I thank you and the Council for it. I will match that moderation with an offer of my own if I may. I have thought for some time that more communities like Heron Fleet should be established to complement the others that I trade with. I cannot sail until Mayday myself, the day Anya and Jonathan will be declared outcast. They are welcome, with their child, to come with me on that day to found a new community. Any who wish to come with us will be welcome.’

  Chapter 16

  The winter’s wind whistled in the thatch of the Gathering Hall and th
e main wooden members of the roof creaked, making drifts of dust and some snowflakes tumble into the body of the Hall. Winter had laid its hands on Heron Fleet and it would not loosening its grip until near to Mayday. The ground outside was hard with frost and slippery with ice. The morning’s wash was a chilly affair and clothes were put on as quickly as possible. The dash to the warmth of the Gathering Hall for breakfast was treacherous and the Infirmary was busy treating a long line of sprained ankles and bruised hips, elbows or knees.

  Francesca was doing her duty as part of the skeleton crew of Gardeners looking after the Glasshouses. There were a few herbs to be taken for the kitchen and fresh winter greens in the upper houses to be harvested but in general the plants were gathering their strength for the warmth and light to come. So for only two days a week was she Francesca the Gardener, the rest of her time she was carding, weaving or sewing, around the great fire in the Gathering Hall with everyone else.

  She looked up from the summer shift she was assembling from the cut and shaped pieces of wool-cloth she had been given that morning and considered the Hall. It was quiet. People had fallen into a rhythm of work that might have been called placid, even drowsy. There was some weaving going on and its clackerty-clack set something of a musical rhythm that might, on other occasions, have imposed a more urgent pace to the work or roused a shanty or reaping song in the Hall. But not this morning. Only in a circle of tables between her and the west window was there any sign of animation. That was the workgroup that included Tobias, and he was telling them stories from his days as a Trader, as he had done practically every day since ice on the river had prevented him doing any more work on his boat and he had shut her up to endure the winter without him.

  At the beginning of the winter, Francesca had enjoyed being a part of his circle but after a while she had withdrawn. His stories were always entertaining but she felt she needed some sort of peace and quiet in which to think her own thoughts. Sewing in her own corner, mostly on her own, gave her that space.

  She was also beginning to understand his technique, to anticipate just when in a story he would raise the tempo of the words or drop his voice or employ another of his tricks to heighten the drama and effect. While she admired his storytelling skills, they did not help her in the choice she had to make. She did not wish to be swayed by emotion or charmed by his rhetoric. She wanted to work out coolly within herself whether she would stay at Heron Fleet or go with him when Mayday came.

  ‘Very eloquent isn’t he?’ A tall figure lowered herself painfully on to the bench opposite and propped up a beautiful ash staff against the table. ‘He always was very plausible.’

  ‘You make it sound like that’s all you think he is ma’am.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s all wind and no weather as the Fishers say. On the whole he accomplishes what he sets out to do and what he attempts is driven by principle.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘But he gets carried away. That’s what happened when he took Lucia for his mate. He didn’t just live with her and the child, he wanted the community to admit he was right and they were wrong.’

  ‘So you think this new community of his will fail?’

  ‘Certainly not. He is right about the improvement in the weather. I’ve thought for a little while the good weather we’ve had in the past few years might be permanent. I’ve seen signs of it in our harvests. Plants and trees that only gave fruit once in five years now give regular crops. Also they are putting on growth that is meant for use several years hence. The trees know and are reacting. Besides, what all the upheaval of the Testing proved was that Heron Fleet has been backward-looking for too long. A bit of transplantation may well be no bad thing. A sister community that does things differently to us but comes from our stock may be just what we need to get us out of our rut. I think he will succeed but where that will leave those he leaves behind here, that is the question I have to answer. As Head of the Council, they are my care until my old bones can’t manage it anymore.’

  ‘I’m thinking about going with him.’

  ‘I understand that. If I were your age I’d think very hard about it as well. But Mayday is a fair way off yet. You’ve no need rush the decision, as if you will. Francesca the level-headed is what they call you behind your back. But have you thought about how you might feel working alongside Anya and Jonathan when he is her partner and not you?’

  Someone got up from the group and came over. It was Tobias. He sat down beside Sylvia.

  ‘Are you working on Francesca to get her to stay here?’ he teased.

  ‘No she wasn’t,’ Francesca interjected. While Tobias had been appreciative of what Sylvia had done, the tension between them about her part in hiding his daughter was always there in the background. Francesca hated hearing them spar over issues that were no more than surrogates for his central bone of contention. She loved and respected them equally. Sometimes she felt that the choice she would have to make was really a choice between the two of them as much as between the promise of a new community and her loyalty to Heron Fleet.

  ‘I presume if you were prepared to forgo the pleasure of showing off to the Apprentices that you want to talk to me,’ said Sylvia.

  Tobias started to frame a witticism in reply but saw the expression on Francesca’s face and thought better of it.

  ‘Perceptive as ever Sylvia. I wondered if you’d let me teach any who wanted to read and write?’

  ‘I don’t object in principle,’ Sylvia replied. ‘But are you sure that it won’t stir up ill feeling again?’

  ‘I haven’t had anyone say anything derogatory to me for, ooh, two days at least,’ he replied. Sylvia glared at him. ‘Two weeks really. More importantly there’s nothing bad been said to either Anya or Jonathan for ages.’

  The western door opened and as if on queue Anya came in out of the snow accompanied by Elizabeth. One of those who had barracked Tobias at the Testing was on his way out. Francesca watched as he stopped and spoke to Anya, who smiled. Even the most violent of opponents of Anya and Jonathan had been mellowed by having an expectant mother walking round the community instead of being hidden away by the Crèche Nurses. Many had become well-wishers to Anya’s unborn child and then its mother, eager for nothing to go wrong for the baby.

  ‘I’d like to see anyone dare say anything bad to Anya and live while her watchdog is around,’ commented Sylvia, nodding towards Elizabeth. ‘What do you think, Francesca? How would you advise I respond to this Gatherer’s request?’

  Francesca was taken unawares. She blushed, realising that she was being asked for advice by the Head of the Council in much the same way that Sylvia might have asked another Member of the Council, even though it seemed like a casual chat between friends.

  She had her own reasons for hoping Sylvia would say yes. She wanted to learn to read and write and if Sylvia gave her permission she would be Tobias’s first pupil like a shot. Things were much calmer than they had been after the Testing. But it might well be seen as a step too far by some of the staunch traditionalists. Reactions might be bad.

  ‘I’d allow Tobias to teach just one or two people, discreetly but not in secret, to see how it went. If there’s no reaction then he should be allowed to increase the group gradually, ma’am.’

  ‘Well that’s a bit…’ Francesca just knew Tobias was going to say timid and frowned at him along with Sylvia who, it seemed, had had the same thought. As a result Tobias saw both women frowning at him and changed his mind. ‘…But I suppose it’s a sensible move.’

  ‘Do you have anyone in mind as a start?’ asked Sylvia.

  ‘Well, Caleb and Jeremy would like to learn and then there’s…’ again he paused. ‘I wondered if Francesca would be allowed?’

  ‘Yes I think so,’ said Sylvia after apparently thinking carefully about it. ‘A Gardener who could read and write might be very handy at keeping records from year to year as well as picking up some new tips from any books on gardening you might have or come across in your
travels. I think Francesca should join your class.’

  The classes went well. They started work with Tobias for an hour each evening before the community meal. That way they could not be accused of shirking work but everyone who came into the Hall early were sure to see what was happening so the word would get round gradually. They started and waited for any bad comments but none came. The biggest reaction was mild curiosity from a few who came and looked on some evenings; perhaps wondering if it might be for them.

  It only took them a few days to learn the sounds of the letters and then another few days to be able to write them reasonably clearly. Rather than waste precious paper from the store he had on the boat, Tobias used some seed trays from the Glasshouses and part-filled them with sand normally used for potting-on seedlings. Then his pupils could write the letters in the sand with their fingers and when all the space was taken up with their attempts the tray could be shaken and reused.

  Three weeks after Tobias’s class started, Thomas stood up at the end of the evening meal and announced that he would take on three students who might have acquired the basics of reading and would like to improve. From then on there were two classes each evening: Tobias’s beginners and Thomas’s improvers.

  Then one night it looked as if all the arrangement was about to come to an abrupt end. Francesca was the first to spot him. People were starting to come into the hall for the evening meal when he lumbered in from the eastern door. It was the Herder whom Francesca had knocked down on the jetty. Whilst he had been apparently friendly, since he was headed determinedly in their direction and he didn’t look friendly at all. She nudged Tobias and he stood up. The herder stood in front of them. Francesca looked at his size and bulk and wondered how on earth she had had the courage, let alone the strength, to knock this big fellow down.