The Buried Giant

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  “I’ve watched you, boy,” old Steffa had said. “You have something rare. One day you’ll find someone to teach you the skills to match your warrior’s soul. Then you’ll be one to fear indeed. You’ll not be one to hide in a barn while mere wolves stroll unhindered about the village.”

  Now it was all coming to pass. The warrior had chosen him, and they were to go together to fulfil an errand. But what was their task? Wistan had not made it clear, saying only that his king, far away in the fenland, was even now waiting to hear of its conclusion. And why travel with these two elderly Britons who required rest at each turn of the road?

  Edwin gazed down at them. They were now discussing something earnestly with the warrior. The old woman had given up trying to talk him down, and all three were now watching the soldiers on the bridge from behind the cover of two giant pines. From his own vantage point, Edwin could see the rider had remounted and was gesticulating into the air. Then the three soldiers appeared to move away from him, and the rider turned his horse and set off at a gallop away from the bridge, back down the mountain.

  Edwin had wondered earlier why the warrior had been so reluctant to stay on the main mountain road, insisting on the steep cut up the valleyside; now it was obvious he had wished to avoid riders such as the one they had just seen. But there now seemed no way to proceed with their journey without going down onto the road and crossing the bridge past the waterfall, and the soldiers were still there. Had Wistan been able to see from down where he was that the rider had departed? Edwin wanted to alert him to this development, but felt he should not shout from the tree in case the soldiers somehow caught the sound. He would have to climb down and tell Wistan. Perhaps, while there had been four potential opponents, the warrior had been hesitant about a confrontation, but now with only three at the bridge, he would consider the odds in his favour. Had it just been Edwin and the warrior, they would surely have gone down to face the soldiers long ago, but the presence of the elderly couple must have made Wistan cautious. No doubt Wistan had brought them along for a good reason, and they had so far been kind to Edwin, but they were frustrating companions all the same.

  He remembered again his aunt’s contorted features. She had started to shriek a curse at him, but none of that mattered any more. For he was with the warrior now, and he was travelling, just like his real mother. Who was to say they might not come across her? She would be so proud to see him standing there, side by side with the warrior. And the men with her would tremble.

  Chapter Five

  After a punishing climb for much of the morning, the party had found its way obstructed by a fast-flowing river. So they had made a partial descent through shrouded woodlands in search of the main mountain road, along which, they reasoned, there would surely be a bridge across the water.

  They had been right about the bridge, but on spotting the soldiers there, had decided to rest amidst the pine trees until the men had gone. For at first the soldiers had not appeared to be stationed there, but merely refreshing themselves and their horses at the waterfall. But time had passed and the soldiers had shown no signs of moving on. They would take turns getting onto their bellies, reaching down from the bridge and splashing themselves; or sit with their backs against the timber rails, playing dice. Then a fourth man had arrived on horseback, bringing the men to their feet, and had issued instructions to them.

  Though they did not have as good a view as Edwin’s high in his tree, Axl, Beatrice and the warrior had observed well enough all that had passed from behind their cover of greenery, and once the horseman had ridden off again, exchanged questioning looks.

  “They may remain a long time yet,” Wistan said. “And you’re both anxious to reach the monastery.”

  “It’s desirable we do so by nightfall, sir,” said Axl. “We hear the she-dragon Querig roams that country, and only fools would be abroad there in the dark. What manner of soldiers do you suppose them to be?”

  “Not easy at this distance, sir, and I’ve little knowledge of local dress. But I’d suppose them Britons, and ones loyal to Lord Brennus. Perhaps Mistress Beatrice will correct me.”

  “It’s far for my old eyes,” Beatrice said, “but I’d suppose you right, Master Wistan. They have the dark uniforms I’ve often seen on Lord Brennus’s men.”

  “We’ve nothing to hide from them,” Axl said. “If we explain ourselves, they’ll let us go by in peace.”

  “I’m sure that’s so,” the warrior said, then fell silent for a moment, gazing down at the bridge. The soldiers had seated themselves again and seemed to be resuming their game. “Even so,” he went on, “if we’re to cross the bridge under their gazes, let me propose this much. Master Axl, you and Mistress Beatrice will lead the way and talk wisely to the men. The boy can bring the mare behind you, and I’ll walk beside him, my jaw slack like a fool’s, my eyes wandering loosely. You must tell the soldiers I’m a mute and a half-wit, and the boy and I are brothers lent you in place of debts owed you. I’ll hide this sword and belt deep in the horse’s pack. Should they find it, you must claim it as your own.”

  “Is such a play really necessary, Master Wistan?” Beatrice asked. “These soldiers may often show coarse manners, but we’ve met many before without incident.”

  “No doubt, mistress. But men with arms, far from their commanders, aren’t easy to trust. And here I am, a stranger who they may think good sport to mock and challenge. So let’s call the boy down off the tree and do as I propose.”

  They emerged from the woods still some way from the bridge, but the soldiers saw them immediately and rose to their feet.

  “Master Wistan,” Beatrice said quietly, “I fear this will not go well. There remains something about you that proclaims you a warrior, no matter what foolish look you wear.”

  “I’m no skilled player, mistress. If you can help improve my disguise, I’d hear it gladly.”

  “It’s your stride, sir,” Beatrice said. “You have a warrior’s way of walking. Take instead small steps followed by a large one, the way you might stumble any moment.”

  “That’s good advice, thank you, mistress. Now I should say no more, or they may see I’m no mute. Master Axl, talk us wisely past these fellows.”

  As they came closer to the bridge, the noise of the water rushing down the rocks and under the feet of the three awaiting soldiers grew more intense, and to Axl had something ominous about it. He led the way, listening to the horse’s steps behind him on the mossy ground, and brought them to a halt when they were within hailing distance of the men.

  They wore no chainmail or helmets, but their identical dark tunics, with straps crossing from right shoulder to left hip, declared clearly their trade. Their swords were for now sheathed, though two of them were waiting with hands on the hilts. One was small, stocky and muscular; the other, a youth not much older than Edwin, was also short in stature. Both had closely cropped hair. In contrast, the third soldier was tall, with long grey hair, carefully groomed, that touched his shoulders and was held back by a dark string encircling his skull. Not only his appearance, but his manner differed noticeably from that of his companions; for while the latter were standing stiffly to bar the way across the bridge, he had remained several paces behind, leaning languidly against one of the bridge posts, arms folded before him as though listening to a tale beside a night fire.

  The stocky soldier took a step towards them, so it was to him Axl addressed his words. “Good day, sirs. We mean no harm and wish only to proceed in peace.”

  The stocky soldier gave no reply. Uncertainty was crossing his face, and he glared at Axl with a mixture of panic and contempt. He cast a glance back to the young soldier behind him, then finding nothing to enlighten him, returned his gaze to Axl.

  It occurred to Axl there had been some confusion: that the soldiers had been expecting another party altogether, and had yet to realise their mistake. So he said: “We’re just simple farmers, sir, on our way to our son’s village.”

  The stocky sold
ier, now collecting himself, replied to Axl in an unnecessarily loud voice. “Who are these you travel with, farmer? Saxons by the look of them.”

  “Two brothers just come under our care who we must do our best to train. Though as you see, one’s still a child, and the other a slow-witted mute, so the relief they bring us may be slender.”

  As Axl said this, the tall grey-haired soldier, as though suddenly reminded of something, took his weight from the bridge post, his head tilting in concentration. Meanwhile, the stocky soldier was staring angrily beyond both Axl and Beatrice. Then, his hand still on the hilt of his sword, he strode past to scrutinise the others. Edwin was holding the mare, and watched the oncoming soldier with expressionless eyes. Wistan, though, was giggling loudly to himself, his eyes roving, mouth wide open.

  The stocky soldier looked from one to the other as though for a clue. Then his frustration seemed to get the better of him. Grabbing Wistan’s hair, he tugged it in a rage. “No one cut your hair, Saxon?” he shouted into the warrior’s ear, then tugged again as though to bring Wistan to his knees. Wistan stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet, letting out pitiful whimpers.

  “He doesn’t speak, sir,” Beatrice said. “As you see, he’s simple. He doesn’t mind rough treatment, but he’s known for a temper we’ve yet to tame.”

  As his wife spoke, a small movement made Axl turn back to the soldiers still on the bridge. He saw then that the tall grey-haired man had raised an arm; his fingers all but formed a pointing shape before softening and collapsing in an aimless gesture. Finally he let his arm fall altogether, though his eyes went on watching with disapproval. Observing this, Axl suddenly had the feeling he understood, even recognised, what the grey-haired soldier had just gone through: an angry reprimand had all but shaped itself on his lips, but he had remembered in time that he lacked any formal authority over his stocky colleague. Axl was sure he had once had an almost identical experience himself somewhere, but he forced away the thought, and said in a conciliatory tone:

  “You must be busy with your duties, gentlemen, and we’re sorry to distract you. If you’d let us pass, we’ll soon be out of your way.”

  But the stocky soldier was still tormenting Wistan. “He’d be unwise to lose his temper with me!” he bellowed. “Let him do so and taste his price!”

  Then finally he let go of Wistan and strode back to take up his position again on the bridge. He said nothing, looking like an angry man who had completely forgotten why he was angry.

  The noise of the rushing water seemed only to add to the tense mood, and Axl wondered how the soldiers would react were he to turn and lead the party back towards the woods. But just at that moment, the grey-haired soldier came forward until he was level with the other two and spoke for the first time.

  “This bridge has a few planks broken, uncle. Maybe that’s why we’re standing here, to warn good people like yourselves to cross with care or be down the mountainside tumbling with the tide.” “That’s kind of you, sir. We’ll go then with caution.”

  “Your horse there, uncle. I thought I saw it limping coming towards us.”

  “She has a hurt foot, sir, but we hope it’s no serious thing, though we don’t mount her, as you see.”

  “Those boards are rotted with the spray, and that’s why we’re here, though my comrades think there was some further errand must have brought us. So I’ll ask you, uncle, if you and your good wife have seen any strangers on your travels.”

  “We’re strangers here ourselves, sir,” Beatrice said, “so wouldn’t quickly know another. Though on two days’ journey we’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Noticing Beatrice, the grey-haired soldier’s eyes seemed to soften and smile. “A long walk for a woman of your years to make to a son’s village, mistress. Wouldn’t you rather be living there with him where he can see to your comforts each day, instead of having you walk like this, unsheltered from the road’s dangers?”

  “I wish it right enough, sir, and when we see him, my husband and I will talk to him of it. But then it’s a long time since we saw him and we can’t help wonder how he’ll receive us.”

  The grey-haired soldier went on regarding her gently. “It may be, mistress,” he said, “you’ve not a thing to worry about. I’m myself far from my mother and father, and not seen them in a long while. Perhaps harsh words were said once, who knows? But if they came to find me tomorrow, having walked hard distances as you’re doing now, do you doubt I’d receive them with my heart breaking with joy? I don’t know the kind of man your son is, mistress, but I’d wager he’s not so different to me, and there’ll be happy tears no sooner than he first sees you.”

  “You’re kind to say so, sir,” said Beatrice. “I suppose you’re right, and my husband and I have often said as much, but it’s a comfort to hear it said, and from a son far from home at that.”

  “Go on your journey in peace, mistress. And if by chance you come upon my own mother and father on the road, coming the other way, speak gently to them and tell them to press on, for their journey won’t be a wasted one.” The grey-haired soldier stood aside to let them pass. “And please remember the unsteady boards. Uncle, you’d best lead that mare over yourself. It’s no task for children or God’s fools.”

  The stocky soldier, who had been watching with a disgruntled air, seemed nevertheless to yield to the natural authority of his colleague. Turning his back to them all, he leaned sulkily over the rail to look at the water. The young soldier hesitated, then came to stand beside the grey-haired man, and they both nodded politely as Axl, thanking them a last time, led the mare over the bridge, shielding her eyes from the drop.

  Once the soldiers and the bridge were no longer in sight, Wistan stopped and suggested they leave the main road to follow a narrow path rising up into the woods.

  “I’ve always had an instinct for my way through a forest,” he said. “And I feel sure this path will allow us to cut a large corner. Besides, we’ll be much safer away from a road such as this, well travelled by soldiers and bandits.”

  For a while after that, it was the warrior who led the party, beating back brambles and bushes with a stick he had found. Edwin, holding the mare by her muzzle, often whispering to her, followed closely behind, so that by the time Axl and Beatrice came in their wake, the path had been made much easier. Even so, the short cut—if short cut it was—became increasingly arduous: the trees deepened around them, tangled roots and thistles obliging them to attend to each step. As was the custom, they conversed little as they went, but at one point, when Axl and Beatrice had fallen some way behind, Beatrice called back: “Are you still there, Axl?”

  “Still here, princess.” Indeed, Axl was just a few paces behind. “Don’t worry, these woods aren’t known for special dangers, and a good way from the Great Plain.”

  “I was just thinking, Axl. Our warrior’s not a bad player at that. His disguise might have had me fooled, and never letting up with it, even with that brute tugging his hair.”

  “He performed it well, right enough.”

  “I was thinking, Axl. It’ll be a long time we’re away from our own village. Don’t you think it a wonder they let us go when there’s still a lot of planting to do, and fences and gates to be mended? Do you suppose they’ll be complaining of our absence when we’re needed?”

  “They’ll be missing us, no doubt, princess. But we’re not away long, and the pastor understands our wishing to see our own son.”

  “I hope that’s right, Axl. I wouldn’t want them saying we’re gone just when they have most need of us.”

  “There’ll always be some to say so, but the better of them will understand our need, and would want the same in our place.”

  For a while they continued without talking. Then Beatrice said again: “Are you still there, Axl?”

  “Still here, princess.”

  “It wasn’t right of them. To take away our candle.”

  “Who cares about that now, princess? And the summer co
ming.”

  “I was remembering about it, Axl. And I was thinking maybe it’s because of our lack of a candle I first took this pain I now have.”

  “What’s that you’re saying, princess? How can that be?”

  “I’m thinking it was maybe the darkness did it.”

  “Go carefully through that blackthorn there. It’s not a spot to take a fall.”

  “I’ll be careful, Axl, and you do the same.”

  “How can it be the darkness gave you the pain, princess?”

  “Do you remember, Axl, there was talk last winter of a sprite seen near our village? We never saw it ourselves, but they said it was one fond of the dark. In all those hours we had of darkness, I’m thinking it might sometimes have been with us without our knowing, in our very chamber, and brought me this trouble.”

  “We would have known had it been with us, princess, dark or not. Even in thick blackness, we would have heard it move or give a sigh.”

  “Now I think of it, Axl, I think there were times last winter I woke in the night, you fast asleep beside me, and I was sure it was a strange noise in the room roused me.”

  “Likely a mouse or some creature, princess.”

  “It wasn’t that kind of sound, and it was more than once I thought I heard it. And now I’m thinking of it, it was around the same time the pain first came.”

  “Well, if it was the sprite, what of it, princess? Your pain’s nothing more than a tiny trouble, the work of a creature more playful than evil, the same way some wicked child once left that rat’s head in Mistress Enid’s weaving basket just to see her run about in fright.”