by Sam Burnell
Richard released his wrist and sat up, his arms shaking with the effort.
Jack sat next to Richard, hesitated for a moment only, then, placing an arm around Richard’s shoulders, he pulled him close. “You idiot.” Jack had expected Richard to pull away, and was surprised when he didn’t, his head resting on Jack’s shoulder.
“God forgive me,” was all Richard said.
“I can’t speak for the almighty, but I do,” Jack replied, realising that his brother needed him. He felt strangely content.
“Just get us there, Jack. I need a little time.”
Jack tightened the hold around Richard’s shoulders. “I will get us there.”
†
Jack hated being hungry. It had been the curse of his childhood, where discipline revolved around food and the denial of it. He could never, however, recall an incident when good behaviour had been rewarded with a surfeit of it. Jack looked sideways at his brother, wondering for the second time that afternoon if he had ever suffered hunger. He doubted it. Richard might have missed a few meals here and there, but he doubted very much he had ever had to fight just to stay alive.
They’d travelled now for seven days and progress was painfully slow. It was too hot to travel during the heat of the day. They were forced instead to move south early in the morning and then again when the sun lowered in the sky. But each night had come too early and a waning moon provided little light to show the way. Once, Richard had fallen from his horse after accidentally forcing it to step from the path, the beast losing its footing and bringing them both down.
That Andrew was ahead of them was a thought that Jack dwelt on less and less. Instead his attention was now focused on something far more basic, far more immediate, but which might prove an equally hard battle to win. Food.
Lizbet was feeling it, he could tell from her expression. If his brother was, he kept the thought from his face. The situation was serious. If they did not stop and find themselves more than just the few berries they were taking from passing trees, then within a few days none of them would be in a fit state to continue the journey.
Jack moved closer to his brother and squeezed his arm. “We need to find some food. Soon.”
Richard appeared to hear him and nodded, but Jack was not so sure he understood. “Richard, we can’t keep going for more than a day or so unless we find something to eat.”
Richard met his eyes then. “The next village, we can buy something there.”
“With what?” exclaimed Jack.
Richard didn’t answer him. He just turned his head forwards and continued to walk doggedly forward, leading the horse behind him. It was then that Jack realised that Richard was still not engaged with what was happening around him. When he’d plied him with aqua vitae they had shared some words, but as soon as the effects of the cheap spirit had worn off he became withdrawn once more, more so than he had been before.
“We need to stop. Why are you not listening?” Jack took hold of Richard’s arm and forced him to a halt.
Richard turned dark eyes on Jack, but Jack, swearing, realised he still didn’t have his brother’s attention. Wherever his thoughts were, they were not dwelling on their current plight.
An hour later they finally stopped, although Jack was not too sure that it was an improvement in their circumstances. A thin covering of wood provided some shelter from the sun for the horses, and Jack was sure they were far enough away from the main track to not attract any attention.
Richard was still not overly communicative and Jack was unsure how long it would take to get to Venice. They were already way behind Andrew. There was no chance now that they would be able to catch him before he arrived at the Venetian capital. All they could hope was that he would still be there when they finally arrived. Three of them and two mounts was not ideal, the horses moving at little more than a walk. Jack recognised the signs of hunger and fatigue on all their faces.
What little they had left between them they could not trade. Jack recognised he’d be a fool if he swapped the ring on his hand for bread and meat in one of the small farms they passed. He knew he needed to keep as much as possible for when they arrived in Venice, where sleeping on the streets would not be an option. They would need to hire a room.
Lizbet, calling to him from the tree line, told him she had found a stream concealed by a belt of trees and was going to fill the water bottle. Jack, acknowledging her shout, continued to carefully split the thin strips of bark he’d pulled from a tree, making them into narrow enough lengths to begin crafting snares. Although looking around him, at the sun bleached arid Italian landscape, he was not sure that he was going to be able to catch anything. Jack, engrossed in his task, had prepared enough cord to make three snares, when he realised that Lizbet had not come back.
Grumbling under his breath, Jack pushed the cord into his belt, told Richard to watch the horses and set off in the direction she had gone.
†
Richard’s reverie where he sat near the horses was broken by the sound of Lizbet’s shrill laughter and Jack’s annoyed voice in counterpart. Rising, he set off to find them. There was a steep bank in the forest floor and clambering up it, Richard found as he crested it that it dropped away vertically on the other side and beneath him there was a stream and Lizbet and Jack.
Jack was knee deep in the water; Lizbet on her hands and knees on the bank was pointing and directing him. The drop was too steep to go down and Richard was forced to take a longer route to join them. When he arrived, his brother was still in the stream. He’d obviously fallen into the water and was soaked from head to foot. As Richard watched, Jack reached into the water, lifted out a large rock, and then turning, dropped it with a sploosh into the water.
“What are you doing?” The look on Richard’s face was one of pure incredulity.
“What does it look like?” came the acid reply from Jack.
“I’m not sure. Tell me?” Richard said, moving closer to the bank.
“Look, there’s fish, down there. Can you see them?” Lizbet’s raised voice was excited as she pointed over the edge of the bank into the pool.
Richard’s eyes followed her finger. In the pool were a number of sizeable fish, coiling and twisting in the water. As Richard watched, Jack hoisted another sizeable rock, lugged it behind him, and dropped it back into the water. Richard realised what he was doing. Jack was building a dam to contain the fish. The pond was small and the water was coursing over the top of the wall of stones. The gaps between them were too small for the fish to make an escape.
“Get in here and help me,” Jack called.
Richard obediently stripped to his shirt and hose and was knee deep in the pond a moment later.
Lizbet, a rock ready in her hand, on her knees shouted down at them. “There, that big one. Get it.”
The pond was small, and they could even feel the fish brush past their legs, but their repeated efforts to plunge grasping hands into the water were failing to bring a fish to the surface. It was Jack who eventually dropped to his knees in the water and waited patiently until the fish swam too close to his submerged hands. He hooked a fish out of the water but with Richard’s clumsy help, he lost hold of it, cursing. They watched it twist free of their grasp and plunge back into the pond.
Lizbet berated them from the bank. “You useless pair of bastards.”
“Get your backside down here, woman, and you try, if you think you can do better,” Jack shot back at her.
“Shut up moaning and get on with it.” Lizbet continued to offer helpful instructions “There! Behind you!”
Jack ignored her and kneeling in the small pond, side by side with his brother, waited until the fish brought themselves close enough. It was Richard this time who hooked one from the water, and between them they managed to throw it to the bank. Lizbet delivered the rock to the fish’s head, ending its squirming quest for escape.
Lizbet, her hands still holding the dead fish on the grass, called down to them, “Come
on lads, two more like this and we’ll have a meal.”
They had two more landed onto the grass soon after. Jack hefted a rock from the pond to the bank and on it he quickly gutted the fish. Lizbet had taken herself back over the ridge and into the trees to collect firewood. Jack still had the blood-covered knife in his hands when he heard Lizbet screaming. He was on his feet in a moment, his brother at his shoulder.
Lizbet, still shrieking, an arm whirling round her head, the other clutching the wood, crested the bank.
“Get away from me!” Lizbet screeched.
Jack had taken two quick steps towards her before he realised what was happening, the tension suddenly leaving his body. “Christ, woman! It’s only a wasp.”
Lizbet leapt past him, letting out another shriek. “Have you seen the size of it? Get it away from me.”
“Just leave it be and it’ll leave you alone.” Jack pulled the wood from her arms.
“I hate them.” Lizbet was looking around nervously. The wasp, it seemed, had for the moment disappeared.
“It probably doesn’t like you much either,” Jack muttered, turning his attention to lighting a fire.
The summer sun had dried the wood to a crisp. One of their remaining possessions was a small tinderbox and he had the fire started quickly, the spark catching easily and the glowing ember soon turned from smoke to a hot flame as he added kindling.
Lizbet soon had the fish roasting over the flames, skewered on some of the longer sticks she had brought.. They ate in silence. Jack savoured every mouthful. Picking the last of the fish from the bones, he was wondering whether they could quickly catch more. Richard had already lain back on the grass next to the dying flames, one arm over his eyes to keep the light from them. Jack settled back, his head in a patch of shade from one of the trees on the bank. Closing his eyes, he realised he was more tired than he had thought. He would catch some more fish in a while. It was just good not to feel hungry.
“While you laze there, I’ll get the water skin and fill it, I suppose,” Lizbet grumbled.
Jack heard Lizbet stand up, but kept his eyes shut. “Aye, you do that.” He suppressed a grin as he heard Lizbet cursing and making her way back up the bank to where the horses were to get the water skin.
Jack was never sure how long he had been asleep. He supposed it couldn’t have been long when Lizbet’s piercing scream ended his slumber.
Sitting up, suddenly awakened, Richard said, “Another wasp?”
Jack smiled, and was about to agree when he heard her scream again. “That’s not a wasp.”
They both heard her next cry for help. As both men scrambled to their feet, Lizbet crested the bank and ran screaming towards them. In close pursuit were three men.
Jack ripped the wooden scabbard from the blade as Lizbet made it down the bank, only an arm’s distance from her pursuers. The men dug their heels in, coming to a crashing halt at the sight of the blade in Jack’s hand. There might have been three of them, but none were armed with anything but a knife, and the sword was a formidable threat.
The man in the middle, his arms wide, prevented his companions from moving forward. Grinning broadly, his eyes never leaving Jack’s face, he took a precautionary step backwards. “We just thought the woman was lost,” he offered in heavily accented Italian.
It was Jack who spoke, the sword in one hand and his other hand wrapped tightly round Lizbet’s wrist as he pulled her quickly behind him. “Thank you for your concern, our sister is a constant worry to us.”
The man’s face creased into sun-burnt wrinkles. His eyes switched for a moment from the steel in Jack’s hand to his face. His own hand was open now in a gesture of supplication as he stepped back two more paces, the men on either side matching him.
Smiling the Italian said, “We are pleased she is safe.”
The three of them took more slow cautious steps backward before they turned to walk up the bank to the crest. Jack and Richard stood immobile and watched them as they disappeared over the rise. Only then did Jack release his tight hold on Lizbet’s wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Lizbet wailed, rubbing the skin where Jack’s fingers had left an imprint.
Jack sheathed the aged sword in the wooden scabbard, and put his arm around her shoulders. “It could have been worse, it could have been a wasp.”
“Don’t, Jack.” Lizbet hit him on the chest with her small balled fist. “I was just unhooking the water skin when they saw me.”
“Christ!” Jack exclaimed.
The brothers looked at each other at the same moment.
“The horses!” screamed Lizbet. She set off to keep up with Jack as he launched himself at the bank in pointless pursuit. By the time they crested the rise they could see that the two tethered horses were gone. Lizbet made to run down the bank and Jack’s hand stopped her.
“We’ll never catch them, lass,” Jack said, his voice bitter.
“It seems our fall from grace is complete,” Richard said, meeting Jack’s eyes.
Jack swallowed hard, rubbing a rough callused hand over his face. They’d lost not just the horses, there had been two cloaks rolled behind the saddles and the water skin was gone from the branches. He wanted to scream.
Lizbet wrapped her arm around his. “Jack, I’m so sorry, if they hadn’t seen me.”
“It’s my fault, it’s my fault. I should never have let you out of my sight,” Jack replied, anguish in his voice. Then, “Where’s Richard?”
His brother had gone back up the bank and back down to the stream. When they got back, they found him standing looking down into the pond.
“I was wrong, it seems,” Richard said wearily. “There was a little further yet to fall.”
The pressure from the water had forced away the central stone from the dam and the fish, no longer trapped in the pond, had made an escape.
Chapter 3
A Poor Acquisition
If progress had been slow before, now it was bitterly painful. Without the horses, poor beasts that they had been, they were reduced to covering at most ten miles a day. If their situation had looked dire, now it was verging on the desperate. Avoiding towns was something they could no longer do, they needed to trade what little they had left, and the small villages were no place to do that.
“We find the next town, and we sell the rings,” Jack had declared, and before Richard could say a word he’d added, “We have no choice.”
After that they had walked on in silence. On the third day, when the heat of the sun was starting to lessen, they found a destination. In the distance they could see a walled town, although it seemed to get little closer as the afternoon wore on. It was early evening before they finally arrived, dusty, foot sore and hungry.
As they neared the town, the smell of cooking and the noise of cheering and music drifted across the dry plain towards them.
“This is good, it looks like the town is having a fiesta. They’ll not notice a few more people on a night like tonight,” Jack said quickly as they approached.
The smells from the cooking fires and the aroma of roasted meat were causing loud complaints from all of their stomachs. The town’s population had moved outside of the walls for the evening’s entertainment. Two large fires were set up and above them were roasting pigs. Near the flames was a vendor selling hot bowls of pottage and nearby, for a coin, you could purchase bread from a basket. Ale sellers, with stoppered casks and earthenware cups, had ranged themselves near the food, and there were two women selling small, round, sweet-smelling buns peppered with fruit.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Lizbet complained, as they neared the food stalls.
Jack leant his head close to hers. “Soon you’ll have your fill, girl. I promise.”
Jack had seen something else beyond the food sellers that had claimed his attention. Raucous shouts rang out from a crowd of men gathered in a group and he pressed forward to find out what it was they were betting on.
The crowd were ranged in a rough circl
e around two combatants who were trading blows with their fists. The pair looked badly matched. One was huge bear of a man with the build of a wrestler, his arms thick with corded muscle, and his sweating grim-set face was balanced upon a broad wide neck. His opponent, half his size, was lithe and fast, making his blows repeatedly and with a speed the big man could not match. As soon as the smaller man had delivered a punch to his opponent’s flesh, he darted quickly back out of the way of the retaliatory swings. If the big man could make just one of his meaty fists connect, no-one expected the smaller man to continue to fight.
Suddenly, Jack felt nails bite into the skin of his arm. Lizbet’s voice close to his ear hissed, “No, Jack. You’ll not win.”
“I’d rather be knocked out flat on my back, than continue to feel like this.” Jack pulled his arm roughly away from her and turned back to watch the fight.
The smaller faster man continued to taunt the bigger. From the comments that met Jack’s ears, it was obvious that they knew each other well. This fight was not only providing entertainment for those gathered to watch, it was also settling a score between them.
Lizbet, freeing her long hair from the plait it had been kept in, was quickly pulling a bone comb through the long brown tresses, tugging at the knots and tangles that had lodged there from rough sleeping and neglect.
The hand that grasped her wrist nearly made her drop the comb. “You I can stop,” Jack growled in her ear as he pulled her towards him. He knew exactly what she was proposing to do. Lizbet, twisting, tried to wrench her arm free, but the grip was like iron, and she yelped as his fingers pressed her flesh to the bone.
“Stop trying to pull away and I’ll stop hurting you.” Jack dragged her close to him for a moment.
Lizbet stopped struggling and the tight, painful grip relaxed, but he did not let her go. Jack was still watching the bout before him closely. The smaller man had landed a blow that had brought blood to the other man’s nose along with a delighted shout from the crowd. It also delivered him the opening he needed. Joining his hands together, he brought them up hard under the other’s jaw, rocking his head back. The blow broke three of the other man’s teeth as the balled fists cracked him under the jaw. Blood spilled from between his lips, pouring from the gash his shattered teeth had cut in his tongue. A kick to his exposed groin took the remaining strength from his knees and he crumpled to the ground in the middle of the circle of cheering onlookers.