by Ian Martyn
Kirby whistled through his teeth. ‘And was it Marianne?’
Harold shrugged.
‘What about their mother?’
Harold shook his head. ‘Dead, or so we presume. She wandered away one day without telling anyone. Hasn’t been seen since. Before she went though, Marianne convinced her that somehow it was all Connie’s fault.’
‘Poor Connie.’
‘Yes, well now you know.’ Harold put a hand on Kirby’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t tell you any of this, OK?’
Kirby nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Harold shrugged out of his coat. ‘We’d better get on, they’ll be waiting for us.’ He had just laid out what to Kirby was a bewildering array of knives on his mat when they heard raised voices. One of those voices was Oralf’s and Kirby didn’t need to understand the language to realise that he was arguing with someone.
Harold picked up his sword and buckled it back around his waist before stepping out of the hut. Kirby thought about doing the same, then for the sake of everyone’s safety decided not to.
Outside, Oralf, Goran and several of his men were standing in front of six men on horseback in breastplates and helmets, blocking their entry to the village. One of the riders, whose breastplate was decorated with serpents in what Kirby assumed to be gold, removed his helmet. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and despite his young age, Kirby guessed seventeen or eighteen, gave Oralf a glare that suggested the man should be on his knees. Oralf scowled at him and remained on his feet, hands on hips, bearded chin jutting forward in defiance. They exchanged a few more heated words.
‘Branion,’ Harold whispered, ‘Sisillius’s brat. Thinks he’s it. He’s giving Oralf a hard time for perceived insults, feels that Oralf owes him respect. The young idiot doesn’t seem to realise that in this world you have to earn respect. He’s also insisting that Oralf sends his warriors to fight for his father, his rightful king. Oralf’s telling him that he doesn’t recognise Sisillius as his king, that he doesn’t have a king. As you can imagine, given what I told you, Oralf doesn’t have a lot of time for Sisillius.’ Harold winced.
‘What?’
‘Er, he’s also told Branion that if Sisillius comes here himself, he’ll shove his crown, er… where the sun don’t shine.’
Branion’s red face told Kirby that this hadn’t gone down too well. The young man’s hand had reached for the sword at his waist and there was much scraping of metal on leather as weapons were half drawn. For a moment, both sides contented themselves with glaring at each other.
‘Looks like I’m on,’ Harold said as he stepped forward. He grinned and opened his arms wide, which attracted everyone’s attention and had the effect of lowering the tension a notch. ‘Well, look at who else we have with us. Hello, Mephisto, playing at warriors now are we? I see they must have found some children’s armour to fit you.’
One of the men on horseback, skinnier than the others, nudged his horse a step forward. The others let their hands fall from the hilts of their swords. Oralf’s men did the same. ‘Harold, I might have guessed you’d be interfering. And who’s that with you?’ Mephisto grinned. ‘Oh, smells like a policeman, how amusing. What’s he going to do, arrest us?’ He turned to Kirby and laughed. ‘It’s alright officer, we’ll come quietly… I don’t think.’
At that moment, Connie emerged from her hut with Shirley and Susie behind her. The look of disdain and superiority that had been on Mephisto’s face moments beforehand was replaced by uncertainty. He glanced at the men around him as if to reassure himself that they were still there. The men’s hands twitched towards their swords again. On seeing Connie, they satisfied themselves with resting them on the pommels.
‘So, Mephisto,’ Connie said. ‘Marianne’s letting you out on your own and with Sisillius’s whelp for company.’
Mephisto’s horses nickered and took a step back as if sensing its rider’s unease. ‘Keep out of this, Connie.’
Kirby whistled through his teeth as Connie stood, hands on hips, and gave Mephisto the sort of look Jeanie used to give him when he’d spilt beer on the carpet. ‘Or what, Mephisto? Why don’t you crawl back under the stone you came from and leave these good people alone?’
Mephisto pointed at Connie. Goran snarled, took a step forward and lowered his spear, which had been pointing skyward. Before anyone else could react, Goran flew backwards landing on his back with a grunt. To his credit, he managed to keep hold of his spear. Mephisto’s pointing finger was now wagging. ‘Tell that boy, Connie, if he tries that again he’ll…’
Mephisto didn’t get to finish his sentence as his horse reared and he clattered to the ground. It sounded to Kirby as if someone had kicked the bins over. Branion’s hand once again strayed to his sword. Until, that is, Connie gave him such a thunderous glare Kirby half expected the young man to get off his horse, slink into a corner and stand there, head bowed until told he could come out again. Instead, he did his best to hold on to the last of his dignity, like a too small towel when trying to shed wet swimming trunks on the beach. He then backed up his horse until he was in the middle of his men. Meanwhile, Mephisto managed to control his own horse and at the third attempt hauled himself back into the saddle. He said something to Branion, who glared at Oralf and then nodded.
‘You’ll regret this, Connie,’ Mephisto said as they turned to leave.
Shirley came to stand next to Kirby as they watched the horsemen go. She puffed out her cheeks and he could sense her relaxing. ‘Almost as bad as after a Newcastle-Sunderland game when the pubs shut.’
Kirby smiled.
‘I would have stepped in of course, sir, but I didn’t think my police whistle and a stern look would have quite cut it.’
‘Very wise, Constable.’
They both looked across at Connie who had her arm round Susie’s shoulders. Next to them stood Goran looking a little dusty and embarrassed, his only injury his pride. ‘Mind you, sir. Next time there’s a derby match, perhaps we could get Connie in to help out.’
forty-three
Kirby watched as Oralf stood in the centre of his men, laughing and slapping them on the back. ‘He doesn’t seem too bothered by it all.’
Harold shook his head. ‘Oh he is. But he’s the head man and he needs to put on a show for his people.’
‘So what’ll happen now?’
‘He can’t fight them. There’s far too many and he knows that. They’ll have to move the village.’
‘Where?’
Harold shrugged. ‘Into the hills. There are forts up there. There may be other communities around that think like him and will join him. If there are enough of them, Sisillius will leave them alone. He won’t risk losing men over some insult to his idiot son.’
‘And if not?’
Harold shrugged. ‘Life’s never certain here.’ He clapped a worried Kirby on the shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said, leading the way to the centre of the village where a crowd was gathering. ‘That’s another day and here you learn to live in the present.’
When all the village had gathered, Oralf stood and waved for silence.
‘Stand,’ Harold said.
Oralf spread his arms and started speaking. He then extended an arm in their direction.
‘He’s welcoming us,’ Harold whispered.
Oralf motioned Connie and Susie forward and draped an arm around each of their shoulders. He said a few more words. The whole village then dropped to their knees.
Kirby glanced at Harold.
‘Oralf is the leader of this community. Connie is, if you like, the Queen of these people, of their tribe.’
‘And Marianne?’
‘Ah, yes, well that’s another bone of contention.’
‘I see.’
‘Oh,’ Harold said, pulling his shoulders back and smiling. ‘Now it’s my turn.’
Kirby looked at Oralf, then grabbed Harold’s arm. ‘Just don’t say anything I might regret, understood?’
At the mention of Joo-nar everyone bowed i
n their direction, but at least they weren’t on their knees. Harold spoke and they bowed again.
‘So what did you say?’ Kirby asked as they sat down.
‘Just that you’re a great leader in your land. A peacekeeper.’ Harold grinned. ‘Known far and wide for your justice and fairness.’
Before he could say anything else, Kirby was handed a large, what looked like a cow horn. Liquid was sloshing around inside. He sniffed it.
Harold leant towards him and whispered, ‘Don’t smell it, drink it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Ale… more or less.’
‘More or less?’
‘Drink,’ Harold said, grinning across at Oralf and raising his own horn to his lips. After several impressive gulps, he lowered it, licked his lips and burped. ‘Your turn.’
Kirby took a sip.
Harold elbowed him in the ribs. ‘I said, drink! You’re not some young girl at her first ball with a glass of fine wine.’
Kirby lifted the horn to his lips and followed Harold’s example. It wasn’t at all bad, or at least it would have gone down well enough in that pub Hugh had taken him to. ‘I’ve had worse,’ he said. He hiccupped and then burped. ‘Pardon.’
Harold shouted something across to Oralf who raised his own horn in response. Putting it to his mouth, he tilted it back until ale flowed down his chin. Then he belched with gusto, wiped the back of a hand across his mouth, roared with laughter and held the horn out for a refill. Connie, sitting next to her brother, whispered something in his ear and he laughed again as he put an arm around her shoulders.
‘What was that all about?’
‘I told him what you said, that you’d had worse. However, I did add that you thought it’d taste better after the fourth of fifth hornful.’
‘What?’
Harold grinned. ‘It’s all expected. Like compliments and banter at a dinner party.’
Kirby shook his head. ‘Oh yes, dinner party. I’ll keep that in mind.’
Kirby could see Harold was enjoying this. He had the look of a Newcastle supporter out on the town after they’d won, which was never good. Harold nudged him. ‘Come on, our turn. What do the students sing? Down in one, down in one, down in one.’
‘Oh, hell,’ Kirby thought as he raised the horn to Oralf in salute. He let a generous amount flow down his chin and on to his leathers reckoning it would do them less harm than it would do him.
As the food was being served and his horn was refilled, he noticed Susie and Shirley being led to the opposite side of the ring by three young women.
‘Oralf’s daughters,’ Harold explained, ‘they’ll look after them, don’t worry.’
‘Hmm.’ He watched as one of them gave Shirley a more delicate drinking vessel; pottery he guessed. ‘I think they’re rather underestimating Shirley.’
Susie smiled and Shirley looked a little disappointed. Another handed them some food on a wooden trencher, while the third stood behind them and started braiding their hair. Shirley shrugged in Kirby’s direction as she downed her drink in one and held it out for a refill. Oralf’s daughter’s giggled in response.
‘Shirley’s blonde hair is something of a rarity,’ Harold explained. ‘Er, much prized by the menfolk.’
‘Really?’ Kirby said as he raised his drinking horn in Shirley’s direction. ‘As long as none of them try to get familiar with her. I’ve seen her in action. Not to be messed with that one.’
Harold laughed and nudged him again. ‘What?’ When he looked, Harold was raising his horn again in Oralf’s direction. ‘Oh, hell,’ he thought.
After eating his fill, Kirby sat there in a contented fug as others, including Harold, danced to the complex rhythms being pounded out by three men on a collection of drums. He mused for a while on how many different sounds you could get out of such simple instruments. He felt an arm brush his shoulder as someone sat down next to him. It was Connie.
‘Not dancing?’
‘I don’t think my version of embarrassed dad dancing would impress them. What do you think?’
‘Perhaps not.’
Kirby glanced about him at the happy, rowdy gathering. As he leant back to take it all in, he started to topple and was saved by a strong hand from Connie.
‘Steady.’
He gazed down at his drinking horn, which miraculously was full again. ‘I think I could get used to this.’
‘No you couldn’t,’ Connie said as she gazed into the red-hot glowing embers of the fire. ‘This is the good bit. The winters are harsh and the people have to be tough to survive. What’s more, it can be bloody and brutal. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love my brother and these people. But if they have to fight, they will, as they have done in the past, and some will die. Oralf is a kind and in many ways a gentle man at heart, who takes his role as the head of these people seriously.’ She peered across at her brother and then down into her own, more delicate drinking horn. ‘It’s his job to keep as many of them alive as he can and that means being in the thick of it when the trouble starts.’
‘He looks like he can handle himself.’
Connie smiled and nodded. ‘Oh yes, make no mistake on that front. One or two have doubted it, yet he’s the one sitting there laughing and drinking.
‘Fish out of water.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Me. Sure you can wear the clothes, but that doesn’t make you one of them. You however…’
Connie laughed. ‘No, not really. Yes, I can speak the language and fit in.’ She shook her head as she looked around taking in the people and the huts. ‘I’ve been away too long, grown soft. I like my sofa too much, wine in the fridge and watching the odd TV soap.’
It was Kirby’s turn to laugh. He glanced around. ‘Still, real men and all that.’
Connie nudged his shoulder with hers. ‘Don’t do yourself down, Jonah Kirby. Different place, different time. This lot wouldn’t survive in your world for ten minutes. They would have no comprehension of any of it. And in that world, you are somebody. Other people look up to you. You perhaps don’t always see it. They treat you with a little more respect, even before they know you’re a policeman. You have that certain something about you.’
‘Huh, like I’ve seen a lot of that recently.’ He threw a small stick into the fire and watched it catch, flames flickering and then dying. ‘I have no idea where this is all going, or what I’m doing.’ He shook his head.
Connie squeezed his hand. ‘You’re doing what you do best, Jonah. Like Oralf, you’re caring for your people. You’re being a copper and a good one at that.’ She kissed him on the cheek and then got to her feet. ‘And on that note, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Jonah.’
‘Night, Connie.’
She looked down at him, smiling. ‘And try not to drink too much.’
‘A bit late for that.’
‘Hmm.’
Kirby watched her go and then wondered how the hell he was going to get to sleep on nothing more than a rush mat. He needn’t have worried.
Kirby felt some one kicking his feet. It couldn’t be the long-suffering Mrs Kirby; she generally elbowed him. And when had the mattress become so damned hard? He opened one eye. Smoke. He sniffed, smoke. The place was on fire. Both eyes opened wide as fear kicked in. He sat up and immediately regretted it, feeling that somehow although his body had risen, his head was still pinned to the floor. Thoughts of “never again” went through his mind.
His feet were kicked for a second time.
‘Ugh?’
After a second or two of indecision, then trial and error, his eyes decided to focus. He recognised Harold, and memories of the night before came trickling back, although they were somewhat vague as he tried to recall the end of the evening. After the ladies had retired, there had been even more drinking. This time accompanied by singing and drinking, he remembered that. And then he remembered there had been lots of both. He sort of recalled trying to get them to join in with “We all live in a Yellow Submarine”.
‘I’ll give you rise and shine, you…’
Harold raised his eyebrows and titled his head. Standing next to him was one of Oralf’s daughters.
‘Sorry’, he said before it occurred to him that she wouldn’t have understood anyway. The girl held out a drinking horn. The sight of it made his stomach churn.
‘Don’t worry, it’s water,’ Harold said as Kirby was about to wave it away.
He took the horn and nodded his thanks. His tongue felt about twice the size it should be and it seemed that the rest of his mouth had been filled with the hide he’d been sleeping on. He took a long drink. ‘That’s not just water,’ he said, resisting the urge to spit it out in front of the young girl.
Harold smiled. ‘It’s mostly water. Anyway, it’ll do you good. Drink it.’
Kirby complied and he had to admit he was starting to feel better. Or at least the feeling that his stomach was on a rocking boat somewhere had subsided. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Er, Dor-ice.’
‘Doris?’ The girl smiled at the mention of her name. He handed her the horn. ‘Thank you, Doris.’ She took it from him and smiled again, then blushed and ran out of the hut.
Kirby looked up at Harold. ‘Doris?’
‘Er, yes, my fault.’ When she was born, me and Oralf had a bit to drink and he started asking me about girls’ names, you know, where we’re from.’
‘And you suggested Doris?’
‘Yes well, not really. I went through a list and he liked Doris. In our language it sounds a bit like Mountain Stream.’
Kirby shook his head, then held on to it with both hands, groaning.
‘Come on, we haven’t got time for this.’ He threw a shirt at Kirby, who sniffed at it. ‘Doris washed it.’ He grinned. ‘Taken a bit of a shine to you.’
‘Really,’ Kirby said as he pulled the still slightly damp shirt over his head. Then Harold helped him to his feet and thrust his sword belt into his hands. Kirby stood still for a second, just to make sure his legs would support him, before taking a step towards the entrance.