Thimblewinter (15 page)

I can’t recall why we didn’t kill him on sight, what stopped us firing, but I think it was Rowena who first saw who our pursuer was. It was the surviving brother. He seemed in a daze and shied like a horse when he saw us. I thought he was going to run back down the cut, but then he collapsed down beside us, panting and sobbing. Until, that is, Rowena hauled and kicked him upright and propelled him up the track in front of us.

I found a path up and out of the cutting, but we emerged a way further down than we had come in. I had had to pick a place where we could climb up without slipping back down, so I had picked a spot where a net of exposed tree roots formed a lop-sided staircase. We had heard other footfalls and voices behind us, so we travelled as swiftly as we could, Rowena pushing the brother on with a degree of savagery I hadn’t seen her use before.

When we emerged from the cutting, the snow was falling so heavily it was like a blizzard and, a couple of times, I thought I had lost the way, but then I caught a glimpse of one of the watch fires on the wall and headed us towards it, hoping that I had not been misled and I wasn’t taking us back to the enemy’s lines.

I think it was the snow that saved us, for the pursuit could not have been far behind. As it turned out, only a handful of the captives got back to the village, but the corporal had been as good as his word and he was waiting for us just beyond the palisade, signalling with a torch to bring us in as we faltered again in the snow. He brought us through the ditch and then into the light of the nearest watch-fire.

I was so chilled by then that I was no longer paying much heed to what was going on around me. I know the Constable came, soon after we arrived, and the Sergeant. The surviving brother hung his head and said nothing.

“Is this all that’s left of the delegation?” The Sergeant asked, but no-one answered.

Later on, I found out the truth of the matter; that a party of villagers had decided, with the aid of the two brothers, to take Great Coat at his word and sue for peace, for themselves at least. What the upshot of this would have been, we had no way of knowing, as only a few of them got back and they weren’t amenable to talking. It was treachery, Cal said later, they were selling us out. Though I remember my Aunt made no comment.

As I stood there, as the fear and excitement of the night fell from me, and as the cold set in and made me shiver, I felt a great weariness suddenly come over me. I could not control my body, could not master the shaking that wracked me.

The Sergeant took a long serious look at me, and then he wrapped a blanket around me and said:

“This girl’s on the verge of hypothermia, someone needs to get her in the warm. Now!”

I could see Rachel at the edge of the crowd and also saw that she was angry; her face was flushed and her eyes flashed. She launched a diatribe at all around and Rowena was getting the brunt of it. The Constable was trying to stand between the two women. Strange to say, but Rowena wasn’t standing up to her, instead she was conciliatory and careful in what she said. She didn’t apologise as such, but she was either too cold or too tired to rise to the occasion, or knew that she had somewhat overstepped the mark in taking me with her.

I did not know much more as Rachel then broke off arguing and got me home, where sleep soon took me.

By the next morning the snow had stopped falling, but it had drifted deep in places and I, along with others of the youngsters, was set to clearing paths and doorways. Parties of older men and women were trying to clear the ditch of snow and to keep the palisade clear of ice, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the enemy camp. But the winged skull people seemed to be having problems of their own, keeping warm and keeping fed, and it seemed, for a while, as if the snow had brought with it an uneasy truce.

I lacked spirit for the work I was doing, because I knew that it had been the design of the village elders to keep us away from the Capel, where they were meeting together with those of the villagers who weren’t about other tasks.

Cal and Rachel had left early, just after breakfast, both quiet and subdued. No-one had told me anything, but I had guessed that it was something to do with the events of the night before. Nes and Rowena and the two soldiers were taking no part in it, because they were still about the place, though I’d seen the Sergeant earlier making his way to the Capel door.

Mid-morning I took a meal to Mrs. Sharma, who was still lying abed with sickness, and as I passed I heard raised voices coming from behind the Capel doors. I asked Mrs. Sharma about it and she sighed, as it too weary and ill to want to speak of it, but at last she said:

“It’s a trial of sorts. A lot of people feel that they were betrayed last night, that Edgar and Cyril and the others were going to sell them out and make a deal to save the few and sacrifice the many.”

I suppose I was naive, but I had thought that it was all over, all done the night before. Neither Cyril nor Edgar had made it back and I doubted that anyone knew exactly who had been involved in it all, who exactly had gone out with the brothers and who had stayed put, but were still part of their scheme. I said as much to Mrs. Sharma.

“People are frightened,” she replied, “they need to feel safe again, that it won’t happen another time. They want someone to blame.”

As I made my way back, they were bringing the surviving brother out. His hands were bound behind his back and the men who escorted him, all villagers, walked past me without even a glance. The Sergeant had come to the Capel door and was watching the procession as it made its way out towards the palisade at the south side of the village; the quietest part of the wall, farthest away from the enemy camp. His face was hard to read, as always, but he did not look too happy. A short time later, there was a volley of shots and I stopped work, thinking an attack was coming, but then I realised what it was.

Around noon, I took my soup with Nes, who was on guard in one of the gate towers. She was still suffering from the cold and was in something of a bad mood, but grudgingly she told me more about the matter.

“They needed someone to blame,” she said, echoing Mrs. Sharma, “and it was easier to blame someone from outside. It was a lesson really, a warning to the others. What they could expect if they did it again. So they needed a scapegoat.”

The Sergeant, she said – and this was a surprise to me, for I had never thought him merciful - had argued against the execution, had said it was pointless and that we had few enough men as it was. But the Constable had gone with the majority. I asked about Cal and Rachel, but she wouldn’t say anymore, so I guessed where they had been in the affair. I had not thought before then that I would take the Sergeant’s side in anything, especially when my family stood on the other.

“So that’s it,” Nes said, “that’s what we can expect if it all goes wrong. It’s always easiest to blame the other, rather than yourself”.

And I could see, as she said this - though her face was almost as unreadable as it usually was - by the way her gaze suddenly wavered and she looked away, that too often in her life she had been the other.

As I walked back through the village, somewhat guilty that I was late returning to my allotted duty, I noticed that there was a change in the mood of the people I encountered on the way. People had left their tasks and climbed the palisade and there was a sense of carnival or celebration in the air.

Passing by one of the guard posts on the palisade, I recognised one of the young men on guard as Alex, who I remembered from the school-room. He was older than I and somewhat mean, but I called up to him to ask what was happening. He replied, after a pause, as if it was all a great effort:

“They are packing up! They’re going!”

And one of the older men with him, who I sort of recognised said:

“We’ve won! We’ve beaten them!”

This cry seemed to run along the walls like a Chinese whisper and be echoed all along the lanes and alleys of the place.

The Constable came running and with him the various elders, assembling near the gatehouse. I myself climbed up to the parapet, nearly slipping on the icy step, and looking out of one of the loopholes, I could see a flurry of activity in the enemy camp. It did look like they were packing up; all sorts of vehicles, carts and various draught animals, including it seemed humans, were being assembled and loaded.

I climbed down from the wall and hurried along the street. I wanted to find Cal or Rachel, or Nes - Rowena even - anyone who could answer all the questions that raced through my head. Could it be true? Were they going to leave us in peace? I felt joy and elation at first, but later there was a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realised what this all meant. Nes would leave, I was sure of it. She would go and with her would go that window on the outside world, that window of life that she brought to me, like a fresh wind blowing off the mountain onto a humid summer meadow.

I think something changed in me then. I suddenly saw the world around me, my world, the village and the valley, in an altered light. As a child I had known nothing else and now, knowing other things, I could no longer own to being a child. It was confusing and strange and I was full of uncertainty, but I was also sure of one thing at least, though that thing surprised me. I didn’t want to lose Nes.

My grandmother had once read me a phrase from the Christian Bible about being a child and speaking as a child, then growing up and abandoning childish ways, and that’s what I felt at that moment. Clear and bright as the crystals of snow, though also a puzzle to me.

Unconsciously, as I walked, my steps slowed; as if I really didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do. I was so alone with my thoughts that the words that suddenly came startled me:

“I hope you’re feeling better today.”

I stopped dead in surprise and noticed, all of a sudden, that I had just walked past the Sergeant, sitting on a wall smoking.

“This stuff is terrible,” he said, indicating the cigarette. “I don’t what you people put in it. I wonder if anyone, anywhere in the world, has got any good tobacco.”

He threw down the butt, but didn’t make any move to leave. The surprise had struck me dumb. He had never said more than a few words to me before, so this sudden glut of speech shocked me and also, if I must admit it, rendered me shy.

“So no ill effects, after your night time adventure. You looked blue when you got back and they were so busy arguing, your aunt and that mad bint, that I thought you were going to drop on the spot.”

Not used to smiling, his face looked unnaturally creased, as if his granite mask was cracking.

“I don’t know if Rowena should have taken you out on that little trip, but, all in all, though she’s the proverbial loose cannon, some good came of it.”

Unbidden, my voice returned and I found myself saying:

“Is it true they are packing up, Sergeant?”

He seemed to consider his answer for such a long time, that I thought he had ended the conversation on this abrupt note. But then he replied:

“I doubt it very much. There’s more snow on the way.” He gestured vaguely northward with his hand. “ Where are they going to go in this?”

I told him about what was happening outside; the kit being loaded on carts, the people and animals moving about.

He shrugged and said:

“They are probably withdrawing to a stronger position. Perhaps they are worried about a surprise attack after your little escapade last night.” He said this with a degree of sarcasm in his voice.

“Or they are deliberately trying to trick your lot. Put you off your guard.”

I don’t know if we would have continued our conversation, strange as it was, but then the Constable came along, trailed by the village elders. The Constable nodded at me, but I ignored him; still thinking about man they had killed, the sailor whose name I never knew. They were all fired up to talk to the Sergeant about the events in the enemy camp and I was shooed away so they could have their conference in private.

I had been, I think, on my way to see Nes, but my Aunt Rachel waylaid me on the street and all but hauled me off to help her in the hospital.

“They’re all so full of it, that they’ve left me short-handed,” she said, referring to the weird and wonderful sense of joy, which was infusing people. They were all out gabbling on the streets, all so many idle hands, my aunt said. So I helped her for the rest of the afternoon.

I asked Rachel a few times what she thought, but she shook her head and wouldn’t discuss it.

“Let’s just hope we have been delivered,” she said, but I could tell, by her voice, that she was unwilling to believe it.

By late afternoon, the Sergeant, aided by the Constable, had worked hard to try to instil some caution in people. From what happened afterwards, I can see that he wasn’t totally successful. Some of the young men, supposed to be on wall-duty, had got hold of some sort of liquor - apple brandy or the like - and the two other soldiers, Dai and May, were  put in charge of sobering-up duty; having little effect until May had the idea of taking the  weapons off anyone found drunk.

This public humiliation had a somewhat sobering effect and, along with harsh words from the Sergeant and the Constable, helped to restore some remnants of discipline. But the villagers weren’t soldiers and they didn’t intend to play the game longer than was strictly necessary.

In the evening I walked home with my aunt as the snow fell again, coming on heavy as the night wore on. Cal came back from his work, filthy dirty and exhausted, unaffected by the joy and celebration of the day.

“ I hope they have gone,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as he warmed himself by the fire, “we’ve got precious little left to fight with now; no more mines, no more Molotovs. We’re running low on fuel and gunpowder. We’ll be down to throwing snowballs at them.”

Unspoken though it was, I felt their need to be alone. So I took myself away to find Nes, who had, by now, switched her sleeping quarters to the storeroom above the old shop, where she would burn whatever she could find amongst the debris downstairs to make the room feel tropical.

Rachel had told me that she was off duty, so I knew I would find her there and, when I arrived, I saw that she had little use for words. She also had little enough energy left, after the long hours of sentry duty on that cold tower, so I helped her get her boots off and brought her warm water to wash in, small comfort that it could offer.

Weary though she was, she smiled at me, when I helped her with the wash-cloth and helped her dry herself. My hands felt clumsy and rough against the softness of her skin. She lay down as soon as she was finished and pulled the blankets over her and said nothing when I lay down beside her. I think she needed comfort as much as I did, needed someone to hold onto. Her hair and skin smelt sweet and again I marvelled at how she kept herself this way in these damp, coal-smoked winter houses.

As I lay beside her, I could see the snow falling through a gap in the curtains, laying its soft heavy blanket on the valley and it gave me a sweet sense of peace for once, hearing Nes breathing beside me and feeling her warmth. False it all was, though.