The Short Knife Page 3

  ‘You know the fields from here to London are grown-over with bramble. The loose pigs have gone back wild,’ he said. He paused. His thought lost. He leered and his tongue was slug-wet in his mouth. ‘I like pig meat when I can get it.’

  I looked away. We needed to get out of here, Haf and Tad and me. We needed to get up and leave.

  Getting them drunk was stone-stupid.

  We should get up and run on our two legs.

  My heart beat angry in my chest.

  I lurched up. I reached for the short knife at my waist as though it were my sword.

  Algar clamped his hand around my wrist. Laughed. ‘What are you going to do with that, I wonder? What can that sorry little blade do? Core apples?’

  He was right, the blade was no bigger than my thumb.

  He let go of my wrist. It throbbed where he had held it.

  His fingers trailed the blade he had at his side. Short and stocky in its scabbard. He gripped the hilt, but didn’t draw it. ‘Do you know why we’re called Saxon?’ he asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘It’s for the blades we carry – the sax. Blades used for cutting meat or cutting men. It makes no odds.’

  ‘Fetch more wood, Mai,’ Haf blurted. ‘It’s getting cold enough to straighten thorns.’

  It wasn’t. If anything, it was stuffy, fetid. But at her words, Algar moved his hand from his blade.

  The short wall at the back of the hall was stacked with logs. Weeks and weeks of summer and autumn work by Tad had piled them high. I went and picked up my armful of logs slowly. Flakes of bark came away under my finger-touch. They were good, dry logs that would burn pine-scented.

  ‘Tad, what should we do?’ I hissed as I passed his bed.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Tad whispered. ‘All will be well. The plague will pass as it passed over the Israelites. Iesu is watching. Amen.’

  Praying. That’s what he was doing.

  I could do that too. I could follow his lead. I leaped to it, muttering over and over as I crossed the hall, sending prayers to Iesu the baby, the Father, the Ghost.

  At the fire, amber tongues licked the dark bark as the first log caught light. Fresh waves of heat spread. I smelled sweat stewing wetly. Beads formed on brows, fresh stains spread over backs.

  Before I could step out of the firelight, Algar reached for me and pulled me back to sitting. He lunged for Haf too. He wanted us both to sit, thigh to thigh, beside him. Haf pulled back as though burned. He growled and lunged again.

  He gripped her arm. Red meat on honey. Bear paws on bare wrist.

  Tad shouted then. ‘Don’t touch her!’

  Algar laughed.

  The sound struck my heart cold. There was pity in the laugh. Algar knew that Tad was more thunder than strikes. He had lost already, and the fight not even begun. There were three men in his hall and he could do nothing to stop whatever storm was coming.

  Algar laughed and laughed.

  I couldn’t breathe. The air was thick with smoke, the fire banked too high. My heart was full and fuller with each breath.

  Haf tried to pull her arm free, but Algar stood and pulled her to him.

  His mouth was on hers.

  His arms around her staff-straight back.

  I stood.

  I heard Tad rise too, curses in his mouth.

  I joined the cursing.

  Haf pushed Algar.

  He buckled, hit the settle. His knees folded and he landed hard on the wood. ‘Scheisse,’ he spat. ‘Hündin!’

  Shot through with anger, he lifted the earthenware cider jar from the floor, hurled it at Haf. It thudded into her arm, fell, and shattered against the hearthstones.

  Black pieces broken blink quick,

  Then blue burning flames biting,

  Fire dancing in the rushes.

  I gawped at the fire that spread beyond the stones.

  ‘Put it out!’ Haf acted first. The burning spirit spilled from the jar had set the floor straw aflame. Haf stamped on the red tongues. But as her leather soles squashed one... two more sparked alight.

  I heard crackling. The stems of rushes curling and breaking. Smoke spread.

  I jumped and stomped too. The one called Nyle shouted as burning embers floated in the air. He was up. Yelling. Saxon words. Cursing.

  There was more smoke now. Thickening the air. I tasted it, felt it scratch at my throat. More than rushes burned. Roadpack sacking had caught. Butterflies of flame floated upwards to the roof.

  ‘Water!’ I heard Tad cry.

  But the men didn’t listen. I heard, felt, sensed them moving. Blue smoke filled the room. I ducked to find cleaner air. The hall door opened, fresh air fanned flames.

  Then, I heard the terrible sound of thatch alight. With eyes closed it might be the sound of rain on leaves, or blown sand hitting rocks. But with eyes open, it was clear as the sun on the hill that the hall had caught fire.

  Red,

  Yellow,

  Blue tongues dancing in and out of the rafters, tasting the beams and the boughs, devouring them. Smoke billowed now, like grey wool rolling in all directions.

  Crash. Something heavy fell.

  I heard screaming.

  Get out, get out. My body struggled against the smoke.

  Where was the door? Heat rolled in all directions.

  Small hands grabbed mine. Haf. ‘Help me find Tad?’

  I nodded, throat too torn to speak. The fire had spread too fast. Animal fierce. Hunting.

  Haf led. The heat was impossible, the air had become hot walls, stopping our movement. My eyes streamed. The crackling of fire gave way to thuds and bangs: thatch and thick twigs fell to the ground, burning rain.

  Something huge fell then, roaring as it broke. The ribs of the roof snapping. I heard Tad cry out.

  Haf gripped me, pulled hard.

  I saw him first. Tad, lying still on the ground. His chest bloomed red poppies. The edges of his shirt smouldered.

  ‘Tad! Tad!’

  ‘Mai, help! Lift his legs. Lift, I said!’

  I tried, I tried. He was so heavy.

  ‘Do it!’

  I screamed and pulled and got him up from the floor. Haf held his shoulders. We struggled, through ash and the very breath of Hell, with his weight borne between us.

  4

  Summer solstice, AD455,

  well before dawn.

  There are fires burning at the edge of the village tonight. The smoke from them is gaggingly sweet. I couldn’t look at the shapes burning between the logs as I ran down the rabbit path to this barn. Not even now, after all I’ve seen in all the months since Algar lit those first flames.

  I shut my mind to what is happening beyond the leather door. I’ve chosen to stay here. Any chance I had to flee is long gone, leaving me as empty as the day after market.

  ‘Sara,’ I whisper at the sack curtain. ‘Is the baby coming? Is anything happening?’

  ‘Everything and nothing,’ she says. ‘That’s the way it is.’

  5

  Late autumn, AD454

  ‘Lift his head! Off the ground!’ Haf yelled like murder to mind how I carried Tad. We staggered together, one beast with many limbs, into the yard. I saw the Saxons in the corner of my eye, staggering from the fire. I’d have sent them to their judgement in that instant if I could, but I had Tad to think about. The night was bright with the light of the flames. Our unnatural shadow stretched across the dirt. I could feel the heat on my back. The sound was worse, though. The fire was so loud, so angry. Its hunger roared as it ate, chewing through thick beams as though they were twigs and bark.

  And Tad was so heavy.

  ‘Get him to the byre,’ Haf told me.

  We laid him inside, glad that he moaned – dead men were silent.

  ‘Fetch water. To cool the wound. I’ll fetch willow bark. There’s some in the barn, I think.’

  I ran then. Once I knew what to do, I was eager to act. The well was beyond the byre, nearer to the road. The sight of Tad lying still with the red poppy bloom of his wound was branded on my eyes. I could see it as I let the bucket drop into the water. It was there as I drew it sloshing back. Was it too late? Had he come to the end of his song? I unhooked the bucket, waddled back with the water.

  I washed away dirt and burned fabric from his chest. The skin beneath was bald pink in patches, deep red in others. Bubbles of yellow liquid had formed on his belly.

  ‘Tad? Can you hear me?’

  Slowly, his eyes opened. He saw me.

  ‘Tad, can you speak?’

  ‘Sore.’ His voice was reed-thin. His throat must be as parched as mine. I soaked the rag I held and twisted it above his lips. His tongue licked them dry.

  ‘Haf’s gone to find something for the pain,’ I told him.

  His eyes closed again. We stayed like that, my hand in his, until he fell into restless sleep.

  Haf was gone all that time.

  Perhaps she wasn’t coming back?

  The thought struck lightning quick. Haf was gone and had left me on my own with Tad. Black, black thoughts twisted like snakes in my stomach. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She would never leave us. She’d never leave me. Something must have happened.

  ‘Haf?’ I whispered into the night. But the sound was too weak. ‘Haf?’ I let go of Tad and stood. Panic beat in my chest.

  Where was she?

  ‘I’m going to look for Haf,’ I told Tad, urgent. ‘I’ll be back in moments. Moments. I promise.’

  I raced towards the barn, arcing wide around our burning hall. My steps took me into far-flung shadows.

  That’s where I found her. I almost tripped over her before I saw her shape on the ground, lyi
ng still.

  ‘Haf? Haf?’ I fell to my knees, dirt and stones grazing my skin, but I hardly felt it. ‘Haf! What’s wrong?’

  She pushed me away. Hard. With both hands.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘Get back.’ She held her hand up, to stop me from speaking. Her voice was flat and empty. No feeling at all.

  As she turned her face towards me, moonlight and firelight showed up the dark mark of bruises, her swollen lip.

  Someone had hit her.

  ‘Algar?’ I asked.

  She flinched at the sound of his name.

  Anger bloomed in me again. I stood and looked about for any sign of him or his men.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ she said in that same flat voice. ‘They took what they wanted and ran to the road. The barn’s empty.’

  I had to see.

  The cloven doorway was cave-dark. I went in. It was pitch black beyond the unnatural glow in the doorway. Once I had taken three paces I had to grope my way forward. My stiffening fingers trailed through dry dirt, finding shallow pits where wooden buckets and barrels once stood. Now they were fallen, empty, rolled like game pins. The smell of newly uncovered earth rose, covering all else. I found dried apples, forgotten and fallen. One jar was still unopened. They hadn’t had the time or the light to clear every last shred. But what was left was meagre. I scooped my finds into the front fold of my tunic and stood.

  The store was gone. The house, going. And Tad was in more pain than I could bear.

  6

  Summer solstice, AD455,

  before dawn

  Sara pulls back the sackcloth that hides my sister from me. She hasn’t made any sound for far too long.

  ‘Mai,’ Sara snaps, ‘I need you. Get up.’

  I hare-spring to my feet, knocking the stump-stool to its side. I’ve been lost in my own tale. My face reddens. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘She’s cramping but there’s no sign of the baby. Raspberry leaves will help. Go and fetch some.’

  ‘Outside?’ I glance fearfully at the leather doorway.

  ‘Well, I don’t see anything growing in here but fools, do you?’ Her tone is kinder than her words. Rough pity lines her brow. ‘You don’t have to go far. Rowan has some dried in her hall. Or you can get it fresh from the hide-acre. Fresh is better.’

  I nod. I don’t want to go into any of the big halls tonight. I want no Saxon staring at me, wondering where I’ve been or what I’ve done in the colours of the night. To see the guilt on my face.

  ‘I’ll go to the hide-acre.’

  ‘Be quick,’ she tells me.

  I right the stool and stare at the low embers. There’s more fire outside than I’m ready for.

  ‘Mai,’ Sara snaps. In the summer dark I can see her face plainly. Her mouth is drawn tight. Whatever she’s thinking, she has no time to tell me even the dry bones of the tale. ‘Hurry,’ is all she says.

  ‘I don’t want to see what’s happening out there.’

  ‘I know. Still. You must go.’

  I wrap my arms around Sara and hold her with fierce love, just for one heartbeat, then I do as she says.

  I’m out. Leather flipping and flapping in the night air.

  I taste burning.

  The midnight, midsummer air is thick and wet. I feel ash slick against my skin. I breathe, fish-mouthed, once, twice. The village is quiet, no blessed being to be seen. They aren’t sleeping, I know that. They are all in the woods, in hiding. Except the big men, the brave men, who are out there rounding up whoever they find. For one moment, my heart beats for those running like hares through heather to get away from the men. Please, Iesu, don’t let them be caught.

  I small-sly creep along the path, from the barn. The woods are behind me, and the stream. All I can hear is the crackle of fire at the head of the village. I keep low to the good earth. My tunic is mud brown, grey in the dark. I’m glad of it. The river sludge colour will make it harder to be seen. I cover my nose to block the smell. I try not to think what I’m smelling.

  It is like roasting boar.

  My mind sees cloth burning, long bones, hair and beards lit like tinder.

  I keep away. Take the long path. Stick to shadows.

  The hide-acre is up the hill, beyond the big halls. Out of the stream valley. I pull my hair to cover my face. Skin will shine in moonbeams.

  I stop when I hear people shouting. Drop to my haunches. Press my spine into the wickerwork fence nearby. Curl my arms tight about me.

  But the shouts move away.

  I crawl forward. I want to run home, hole up in the darkness and never come out. But my sister is there, in pain. Dying, maybe. I push myself to standing. Walk faster.

  The hide-acre is full of shadow, bush and branch bent into beasts. The children who normally throw stones at the crows are gone.

  I hurry. Keep my head down. Mouse-quick and unseen. The low fence is meant for keeping dogs out, not people, and I step over the wattle easily. I am tall now, taller than Haf. My heart is full and heavy. Is this the end of our last night together?

  I notice, as I lift my skirt that I can see more brown than grey. The sky is no longer black. It’s deep blue, softening to milky yellow through the trees. The sun will arc soon.

  I have to be quicker. I run to the right furrow and the raspberry bushes growing there.

  The fruits are hard, green lumps. But it’s the leaves I want. I tug and rip at the shoots and stems too. I don’t know how much Sara needs so I tear the row of thin plants, shredding them. I hope no other woman comes to birth for many days, I have taken all the medicine. I stuff it into the folds of my sleeves.

  God is good and forever is long. I cross myself and leave the hide-acre as fast as I can.

  I head back to give Sara what she needs.

  7

  Late autumn, AD454

  We all three curled up together in one of the stalls of the byre. The two chickens and the rooster were sleeping sound there too, knowing less of the danger than moles know of sunshine. But I kept my short knife in my hand, clutched tight, through the night. I fell into wary fox-sleep.

  Sometime in the spine of the night, I heard Haf climb up to the rafters. The cross, her small treasures, she must be fetching them. I thought I heard her crying, but it might have been my dreams.

  The cold woke me.

  It was still dark, but I could feel the moon was low and the sun not too far below the tree-line.

  Tad lay sleeping still. Haf stood at the open door staring out. She had let in the dawn air.

  ‘Tad, Tad,’ I whispered.

  ‘Don’t wake him, Mai,’ Haf snapped. ‘Not until we have to.’

  But his eyes were already open. ‘Are you girls already fighting teeth to teeth? It’s too early to argue.’

  ‘Tad, how do you feel?’

  He tried to answer, but coughed instead, wincing at the pain.

  ‘Let me check the wound,’ I told him. ‘Does it hurt?’

  No answer.

  The red gash was crusting to brown. The worst of the dirt had washed away with well water, but the skin looked tight and pink around the wound.

  ‘Oh, Tad.’

  Haf gripped my arm and part-lifted, part-dragged me out of the byre. Once we were away from Tad she leaned her face in close and said, ‘Scavengers will come soon. They’ll see the smoke once the sun’s up. Ditch dunmen from the woods. We should leave.’

  Haf pushed back her hair. I saw she was wearing bruise bracelets at her wrists.

  ‘Where will we go?’

  There weren’t many choices. Saxons spread across the east. Algar – the thought of his name sent me half-sensed – had said the land was full of them. I thought of something else he had said. ‘The Britons are in the hills. He –’ I didn’t want to say his name to Haf – ‘he said so.’

  ‘There’s over the river too. If we can get across, the Britons of Gwent might take us in.’

  ‘We can’t cross,’ I said. ‘Tad says it’s as wide as the sea.’ He’d told me of mud banks that sucked men down to their deaths, water wider than any man could swim that ran cunning and slippery, changing its course with its mood. And pirates sailing up and down, stealing slaves away to Spain and further.

  ‘He’s just been herding stories for you. We can cross. Rivers aren’t seas.’

  ‘Sure certain?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know, Mai! I don’t know everything.’