“How extraordinary,” said Guthrum.
“Eventually, of course, all such behaviour was quelled, and I haven’t heard those voices since. Not until last night, that is.”
“What do you think’s got into them?”
“I don’t know,” said Tostig. “Perhaps this desolate country has made them despondent and they’ve sought solace in the customs of their forebears. It’s only natural, I suppose; they’ve nothing else, have they?”
“Maybe we should start keeping a closer eye on our hapless charges.”
“I think you’re right, Guthrum. The last thing we want is for them to lose heart and falter at this stage in our journey. Also, I wonder if we shouldn’t begin tethering them again at night.”
“For their own safety?”
“Indeed.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Curiously enough,” continued Tostig. “At quite an early juncture Thegn mentioned that the mules might become troublesome as we neared our goal. ‘They might create problems for us’ were his precise words. I remember dismissing the idea out of hand, but now it appears he may have had a point. Evidently his worries were far from groundless and actually served to display a good deal of common sense in the boy. It seems I learn something new about him every day.”
Tostig and Guthrum had ascended a steep bluff that rose a hundred feet above the plain. It was almost noon and the wind had lulled. Below them they could see their three companions: Snaebjorn was preparing a light meal while Thorsson did his calculations and Thegn attended to the mules. These were standing roped together in a line, passively awaiting their feed. To the south a faint trail disappeared into the gloom. To the north lay further emptiness.
“A fine view,” said Tostig.
“Or not much of one,” replied Guthrum. “Depending on your outlook.”
“I suppose this absence of wind is little more than a brief hiatus?”
“So says Thorsson.”
“More gales imminent?”
“Apparently.”
“No promise of a few warm zephyrs to ease our way?”
“No.”
“Pity.”
They gazed into the distance for a while longer. Then, having seen enough, they returned to join the others. Tostig went straight over to Thegn.
“How are the mules’ appetites?” he enquired.
“Interesting you should ask,” said Thegn. “They’re feeding well enough but they’re certainly taking their time over it. Quite a solemn affair, actually. One would almost think it was the last meal they ever expected to get.”
Some of the mules had now ceased eating and were looking across at the two men.
“They were singing in the night,” Thegn added.
“You needn’t concern yourself with that,” said Tostig, nodding towards a particular mule. “See the one at the front there? Am I correct in thinking it generally leads the column when we’re on the march?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Well, from now on make sure it receives an extra quantity of mash each day. Not too much, you understand: just enough to cause the rest of them to be jealous. With luck, it should take their minds off feeling sorry for themselves.”
“Right you are, sir.”
“As for the separate question of our own rations, I’m afraid each of us will be getting by on short measures for a day or two until the deficit is made up.” Tostig glanced at the dwindling supplies before smiling grimly to himself. “And all for the sake of a little green ink.”
As Thegn resumed his duties, Tostig consulted Thorsson about their estimated position. Thorsson mentioned that the bluff would be the first noteworthy addition to the map for quite some while. It was the only landmark for miles around, and he suggested it should be given an official name. Tostig liked the idea but could think of none suitable, so at lunchtime he threw it open to the others.
“What about ‘Observation Point’?” offered Guthrum.
“But we hardly observed a thing,” said Tostig. “The horizon was obscured.”
“All right then: ‘Obscurity Point’.”
“Too vague.”
Guthrum puffed out his cheeks and gazed up at the looming bluff; but he said no more.
“I propose calling it ‘Solitude Point’,” said Thorsson.
“Not bad,” said Tostig. “How about you, Snaebjorn? What do you think?”
“Solitude Bluff.”
“An interesting variation. Why, all of a sudden we seem to have the makings of a parlour game on our hands. Come on, Thegn: your turn.”
“We could simply name it after whoever saw it first.”
“And who was that?”
Nobody answered.
“Come, come,” said Tostig. “Let us not be coy. Surely one of us is able to claim the first sighting?”
For a full minute he looked from face to face, but still there were no takers.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said at length, “I must confess such reticence makes me feel very proud indeed. Any one of you could have put yourself forward, but instead you each allowed your companions the chance. This speaks volumes about the comradeship that has developed between us all; furthermore, it provides the answer to the question under debate: Thorsson, next time you’re working on the map you can mark this place as ‘Modesty Bluff’.”
“Yes, sir.”
The issue being settled, they quickly completed their meal and prepared to continue the journey. A bleak afternoon was in store. Even as they departed the wind returned, streaming in from the north and bearing with it fine flecks of swirling dust: something they had not encountered before. There was mounting disquiet as it got into their eyes and throats, causing untold delays and raising doubts about the adequacy of the water supply.
“It is imperative that we find a river or spring soon,” said Tostig, when they retired that evening. “Otherwise thirst will become a major problem.”
“The mules seem to be suffering the most,” said Guthrum. “Their pace has slowed significantly.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s caused by the weather.”
“Really?”
“No, Guthrum, I’m afraid they’re displaying all the signs of self-willed torpor. It’s a condition Younghusband identified years ago. As a matter of fact, he published a pamphlet on the subject. Basically his argument is that in times of hardship the mules tend to channel all their energies into their emotions, rather than any sort of physical activity. You’re aware, of course, how strong they can be when they choose?”
“Indeed,” said Guthrum.
“So just imagine all that strength expressed in a show of sorrow. We heard it in the wailing that went on the other night: a crying out, I presume, for some god or other to come and help them. Well, we know there’s no such thing as any god: we can only be saved by our own exertions, and the same applies for the mules, whether they like it or not.”
“What are we going to do then?”
“Simply plod on, Guthrum. We’ve already tried cajoling them with a regime of unfair feeding, but Thegn tells me their leader steadfastly refused the extra quantity on offer. Very well then: we’ll have to employ other methods. I’m reluctant to be harsh, but if necessary we’ll get behind them and drive them with sticks for the last few miles!”
§
Early next morning, Snaebjorn looked in through the flap of the supply tent where Thegn lay curled.
“Are you asleep?” he asked.
“Not now, no,” answered Thegn.
“Well, may I ask you something?”
“If you wish. Squeeze in.”
Snaebjorn entered and sat down on a wooden box. A layer of dust covered his clothing.
“Still the same out there then?” Thegn enquired.