Savaric nodded and stepped over the ditch to cross the field. Elias sighed and followed. As they approached the clearing, it was obvious that this particular corner had been used by many travelers before them. A small ring of blackened stones stood ready for their campfire.
Savaric dropped his staff and bundle on the ground and said gruffly, “I’ll go look for firewood.”
He strode off toward the edge of the forest on the other side of the hayfield. Walking through the dense forest, he found that most of the odd bits of sticks and felled logs had already been picked up. After scrounging the ground for almost an hour he finally headed back to the camp with an armful of wood. As he approached from far across the field, he could see that a group of four or five people now sat and lounged about the site.
“Glorious, Elias,” he muttered to himself. “Just invite everyone passing by to stop in for a chat.”
He looked down for a moment to check his footing on the uneven ground, and when he looked back up, he saw a big horse crossing the ditch and trotting over to the site. The rider rode tall, swathed all in black. Instinctively, Savaric stopped walking to observe what happened next. As the horse and rider got closer to the site, Savaric’s stomach twisted. Something felt terribly wrong, though he had no good reason to explain the dread he felt.
He dropped to the ground, the firewood scattering. From his position on the ground, he strained to hear any sounds coming from across the field, and then heard a shout. He turned to get on his knees and peek over the top of the hay. The horse and rider walked back toward the road. Savaric’s initial relief quickly fell away. A second rider now rode on the back of the big horse. It was Elias.
CHAPTER 9
Nicola swirled her skirts up through the air. The table tipped back and forth dangerously on uneven legs. Nicola continued to dance and show off her legs, tapping her feet quickly to the fife music and twirling around. The bawdy crowd gathered around, clapping their hands and hooting, encouraging the entertainment. When the music stopped, she fell off the table into the arms of a big man with a tangled mess of dark-brown hair that topped his head like a mop.
“Fine dancing, Nicola. Very fine.”
“Glad to be of service, Warin. Now where’s my next tankard of ale, Thomas?” Nicola called out as she moved through the crowd toward the bar.
“Wait, you screeching wretch. You haven’t even walked across the room yet. Warin, I’ll be needing ye coin.”
“Ah, Thomas. Always the surly end to a lovely moment. Here,” Warin replied, pushing coins across the bar to him.
Warin turned to Nicola as she gulped the ale. “Plenty thirsty, eh?”
“Thirsty. Ha. That boy of mine is what drives me here.”
“Boy?” he replied. “What’s his name, again?”
“Savaric,” she spat. “I rue the day I even birthed him.”
“What’s the whelp done now?”
“Done? It’s more like what he hasn’t done. He got lazier and lazier. Wouldn’t help with any of the work. I finally had to turn him out.”
“Ha. Then he got what he deserved, didn’t he? Sent him off to some family, did ye?”
“Non. I don’t know where he’s gone off to. We don’t have any other family.”
Warin guffawed as if he had just been told a hilarious joke. “So you mean he’s out there trompin’ around the woods by himself?”
Nicola tittered along with him, a bit surprised by his hilarious response to the situation. “Well, yes…”
“And how long has he been gone?” Warin said.
“A few days.”
Warin laughed again. “Hoo. Can you imagine a young coddled thing like him, trying to figure the way to anywhere? Lighting a fire. Tripping over nothing. What I wouldn’t give to eye him trying all of that.”
Nicola laughed more in earnest now, trying to envision such a comedy of errors. “Ah, yes. That would be funny, wouldn’t it?” She threw her head back, downed the remainder of ale, and slammed her tankard on the table. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she said, “Ready to dance again, Warin?”
Off the coast of Greece, 496 BC
Huge waves broke across the bow of the small vessel, stinging the eyes of the already soaked men on its deck. The crew brave enough to be on deck watched the man tied to the mast far above them. Although stationed high above the deck, he was as soaked to the skin as they were. For hours, he had scanned the horizon, looking for land or any kind of break in the ferocious storm. The captain manned the wheel, desperately trying to keep the ship facing into the waves so that it could break through the roiling masses instead of being rolled and swamped. The man reached up and wiped the saltwater from his face. Blinking furiously, he stared off to the east.
“Land ho!” he cried out. “Land ho!” He pointed to the east with his free arm.
Cheers erupted from the deck. The captain adjusted the heading, aiming for land.
“We are saved, Kleitos. We are saved,” one of the crew said, shaking Kleitos’ shoulders.
“Yes. That well may be. But where are we?”
“What does it matter? By the gods, we are saved!”
“It’s the only thing that matters. The importance of our task is greater than our own lives, just as I have told you for all the weeks we’ve tossed about on this wretched beast of a sea.” Kleitos turned away and leaned into the wind, struggling to the port side of the ship. He looked beyond the new path of the ship, spray continuing to douse him.
The other man watched his struggle to remain standing, then turned to join the crew below decks.
The next morning, Warin turned over in his bed, twisting in his covers. “Nicola…” he breathed. He rambled between sleep and wakefulness, half dreaming of the night before. As he came to, a thought nagged at him. Grunting, he extracted himself from the constricting blankets and thrust himself up off the low bed. Scratching his head, he shuffled out of the bedroom and over to the ladder leading to the loft. He climbed two steps up the ladder, teetering backwards in a sleepy fog for a few seconds before catching his balance. He continued climbing and then ambled over to the spot under the eaves. He thrust his hand into the thatch and wiggled his hand around. Nothing.
A hundred yards away, a doe scrambled off, startled by the long guttural sound of anguish that emanated from the cottage.
By that afternoon, the anguish had turned to rage. Warin paced for hours, struggling to make some sense of how anyone could possibly have stolen both of his hidden treasures. At the same time, images of Nicola’s boozy face flashed in his mind as well. Suddenly he stopped his pacing.
“She said that that sprout of hers had gone off. Nobody ever leaves this village. It must have been him—that Savaric creature. By the gods, I’ll kill him for taking what’s mine. My grandfather’s and his grandfather’s.”
Warin whipped a knapsack off the wall and began thrusting random things into it.
“I don’t care if that limey wench says she doesn’t know where he went. From here, there’s only one place to go. Deva.”
Within minutes, the fire fizzled in the corner, the door slammed, and Warin disappeared down the road.
CHAPTER 10
Savaric ran across the field to the campsite. The dry stalks of wheat whipped his face, lashing his cheeks. He lost his footing on the uneven ground and fell down hard. His hands shot out to break his fall, but not fast enough to keep him from falling on the crocks. He rolled over to his back and reached to the hidden pouch that held the crocks. His hand met shards of broken pottery, and as he pulled his hand out of his cloak he saw a tangle of pine needles mixed with blood diluted by the precious water.
Panicked, he pulled the rest of the pouch’s contents out onto the ground in front of him. He looked over the field briefly. The horse and its riders had disappeared. He looked back at the array on the ground before him. Only one crock had broken; the rest remained intact. He sat back on his haunches, relieved. But the loss of a crock still meant that he had less time t
o find the treasure. Hastily pulling everything back into his pouch, he peeked back across the field to the campsite. The group seemed to be gathered around something on the ground. Savaric began running across the field again, heedless of the sharp stalks whipping his body.
When he reached the campsite, he pushed through the group of people to see what lay on the ground. It was his bundle and staff. He lunged forward, snatching at the contents spilled out in the dust.
“That’s mine. Give it back.”
He glanced around at the group. One filthy man with wild hair lay sprawled on the ground, contentedly chewing on his Nana’s bread. “Oo are you?” he said through a mouthful of bread, spewing crumbs into the air.
“The owner of this bundle, and that’s all that should matter to you,” Savaric retorted.
“The owner of this bundle was bundled away by a man on a horse. Never seen you before,” a younger man replied tauntingly. “You just saw that and thought you’d take advantage of it, didn’t you?”
“I was gathering wood. What happened to Elias?”
“Gathering wood, eh? Where’s it all, then?” the younger man said. A woman laughed, her voice crackling like a static-filled blanket. Savaric lunged around the group, snatching his belongings out of the hands of three of them. They looked at each other, surprised at his fervor and speed.
“In the field. I dropped it. Who was that man?” he demanded.
“Ah, in the field,” the younger man said mockingly.
Savaric took his staff from the hands of a young boy playing on the outside edges of the group. He whipped around and held it out before him, daring anyone to come near him, his body crouched into a fighting stance.
“Who was that man?” Savaric said through gritted teeth.
The group stepped back. “I didn’t ask him his name, you whelp. It would have seemed … impertinent,” the younger man replied, laughing at Savaric’s display of bravado. “Put that down, silly. No one is going to take your pathetic bundle.”
“Why did my… my friend go with him?”
“He didn’t have much of a choice. Apparently, that whelp stole something and then ran away from home. When you do that the sheriff will come looking for ya. That friend of yours is bad news; you’re lucky that you weren’t here,” the younger man said.
“You would have ended up on the back of that great black beast as well,” the crackly voiced woman said. “No matter whether you had done wrong or not.”
Savaric looked desperately from person to person in the group. It felt like his feet had turned to lead, and his stomach flip-flopped in his gut. “But he had done no wrong. It was…” Me, he thought. “Not him,” he said.
“That is what your friend said as well. It does no good. Put it out of your mind, lad, you won’t be seein’ him again. You should just go about your business here in town.”
“Ya, whelp, what are ye here fer anyway?”
Savaric mumbled something about a stable boy as he turned and walked away, stumbling a bit. Elias was being punished for who knew how long for what he had done. How was it possible that anyone even knew about him? When he reached the road that led into town, he stood for a while. Then he fearfully turned away from the houses and noise and walked down the road toward the forest beyond.
Savaric spent a cold night deep in the forest, far from the road. He found a little gully that he nestled into out of the wind, but he felt too frightened to light a fire. He didn’t want to attract any more attention to himself. He caught a few snatches of sleep, but mostly he wondered what in the blazes to do next. In the morning, he sat in the sun for a long time, letting it warm the cold that seemed to seep into the marrow of his bones. He chewed on a stalk of grass and sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, rocking a bit and thinking. Suddenly he lunged for his cloak and sack and started striding purposefully back toward the town.
As he got closer to town, he felt amazed at the crush of people rushing down the streets. Many buildings stood so close together. The human and animal smells clamored strong against his nostrils, much stronger than the barn back at home. Of course, there they mucked it out and covered it with hay from time to time. Nothing of the sort was done here. Just as he started to feel overwhelmed by the press of people and the odors, he saw an empty side street and stepped into it to catch his breath. He put his hands on his knees and took some deep breaths, then straightened, looked for a break in the crowd, and stepped back into the fray.
Carried along by the crowd, he tried to push toward the edges of the street so he could find his goal—a stable. After a few minutes, he saw what looked like the open doors of a barn. He walked inside, calling out, “Hello. Anyone here?”
“Aye. What is it you want?” a man said.
“I’m looking for work. Do you need any help around here?”
“Nah. Be off with ye.”
And so it went for three more stables. By the time he found the fourth stable, he felt less and less like his plan would work. The doors to this stable loomed larger than the rest, and the gloom inside stretched in deep, making it difficult to see. Savaric stepped out of the light and into the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust. As they did, he realized that this stable belonged to a richer man than the other ones he had visited. The horses’ coats shone, every strand of mane lay in its place, and every piece of leather on the saddles and bridles glistened.
“Hello. Is anyone here?” Savaric called. He waited for a few moments and then hesitantly stepped in further. The only sounds were the horses stamping their feet and nickering gently.
“Hello,” he repeated louder.
“Hello. Who’s there?” a man’s voice called out from the far back of the stable.
“My name is T-Tristan and I’ve come about a job,” Savaric said.
“What did you say?” the man called out.
“I…am looking for a job.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so?”
“Well, I did,” Savaric said under his breath. “Do you have any need for a stable boy?” he called out.
A man walked quickly from the back of the barn, passing through shafts of light from the high-set windows that swirled with dust from the hay. “You’re in luck,” he said. “My stable boy ran off a fortnight ago, and I’ve been handling everything in this place myself. Have you worked in a stable before?”
“Not a stable exactly, sir. But a barn, yes. We had ponies at home that I cared for.”
“Had ponies? What, did you kill them off or something?”
“No, sir. Everything was sold off when my parents died. I’m an orphan. Our ponies are gone.”
“Oh, well then. That’s a rough bit. I guess you won’t want to go runnin’ back to the country to see your da like the last one.” The man stood for a moment, rubbing his stubbly chin, then took his groom’s cap off and put it back on.
“Come here.” The man walked about halfway into the stable and opened the door to a stall. He handed the bridle to Savaric and said, “Go in and put that on.” He stepped aside and let Savaric pass. Savaric turned into the stall and staggered back, overwhelmed by one of the biggest black horses he had ever seen. He sucked in his breath.
“That’s Fiona,” the man said, chuckling quietly. “She’s the master’s favorite.”
“Oh.” Savaric stepped around the edges of the stall. “She’s a beauty.” He swallowed and approached the glossy head of the beast. The horse stamped its foot and turned to look at the source of the strange smell that wafted suddenly into its stall. Savaric stopped and held out the leather and brass.
“Here’s your bridle, Fiona. Are you ready?” He stepped forward boldly, as if he had done this a thousand times, which he decidedly had not. The pony at home stood at a third of this monster’s size. The horse’s nostrils flared for a moment, and then she lowered her head and opened her mouth to accept the bit. Savaric slipped the bridle over her head and tightened the buckles.
“Where’s her saddle?” he said, stroking Fiona’s head.
>
“No need for that,” the man said gruffly. “Wait here.” He turned away and left the stable.
Savaric stepped out of the stall and pulled the door closed. He wondered what was going on. Had he put the bridle on right? He peeked over the door at Fiona munching hay contentedly. The bridle looked like it lay on her head correctly. He put his back to the wall of the stall and slid to the floor. As he stared morosely at the floor he wondered: Did he make a mistake coming here? Why did the man leave so suddenly? What was wrong? He waited for at least half an hour before the man came back.
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Tristan, sir.”
“Well, you have a job, Tristan.”
“Thank you, sir. I…”
“The pay is lodging and food and three pence a week. You sleep in the back there.” The man hurried away toward the back of the stable again. “Take the bridle off Fiona and rub her down. She actually just came back in.”
“Yes, sir. Sir?”
The man turned back to look at him. “What?”
“What might your name be?”
“Henry, groom,” he said, and continued on his way.
Savaric watched as Henry stalked off, then turned his attention toward Fiona. He saw some soft cloths and brushes stacked nearby and set to work getting the dust and sweat off the huge horse. Fiona ignored him and just contentedly munched the hay in the trough. As he moved around the horse, he grew more and more comfortable, realizing that despite the size difference, horses and ponies were essentially the same.
As he repeated the familiar movements of brushing the horse, his thoughts soon wandered to the events of the day before. He winced a bit as he stretched the skin surrounding the cut on his chest from his fall in the field. He pictured the curious look on Elias’s face as he told him that Nana was just someone he had talked to. He then thought about the dreadful sight of Elias sitting on a big black horse as he was stolen away from the campsite. He suddenly stopped the grooming mid-stroke. Big black horse! Could this be the very horse? He had wanted to find the man who kidnapped Elias by finding his horse. Was it possible that he had found it already? Savaric came back to reality from a nip from Fiona. He had rather absentmindedly been repeatedly rubbing one tender spot on her flank, and now it irritated her.
The Secret Key of Pythagorum Page 6