‘And they can’t go wandering about the country in their fancy city uniforms, can they? They’re bound to wear more rough and ready clothes when they’re out in the field,’ he offered.
‘Rough and ready!’ Marna echoed with a snort. ‘You and me are rough and ready…’ Farnor glanced down at his clothes uncomfortably. ‘They look more like beggars than soldiers. They should have some kind of uniform. And what about Saddre? And hauling the tithe all over the valley?’
Gryss scowled. He never could handle this girl, and she was the very devil when she started.
‘Saddre’s just an army clerk,’ he said crossly. ‘Nils-son told us that.’
Marna’s lip curled.
‘And I’ve no idea why they’ve had the tithe taken to the castle,’ Gryss went on, struggling unsuccessfully to keep the desperation from his voice. ‘They said it was the law and that there might be inspectors…’
‘Examiners,’ Marna corrected.
‘Examiners, then,’ Gryss growled, ‘coming to check up on them.’
Marna’s expression indicated that she was con-firmed in her suspicions rather than unburdened of them by Gryss’s explanation.
‘And if they were coming to collect a tithe why didn’t they bring any carts, for heaven’s sake?’ she added, in what was intended to be a final blow, until another occurred to her. ‘And why didn’t they have produce from any other villages with them?’
Gryss gave a small sigh of defeat. Marna’s questions merely served to clarify ill-formed thoughts of his own. He had been too concerned with the forgotten niceties of procedures, and with his hopes that these men would quietly move on, to stand back and look at what was happening – or so he pleaded to himself in mitigation.
Or perhaps he was just getting too old!
‘I can’t answer any of your questions, Marna,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know who could. I certainly can’t ask them of the Captain.’
He stepped over the broken gate and set off down the narrow lane. It was darker than it had been, the hint of rain to come that had hung in the bright morning had become a threat as they had pursued their examination of Rannick’s cottage. Now the sky was grey, and a distinct dampness pervaded the air.
As they walked along the lane, the sound of inter-mittent raindrops striking the surrounding foliage became evident. Marna led the way, followed by Gryss. Farnor watched them both as they wended their way through the weeds and grasses tangled across the path.
A raindrop struck his hand, sharp and clear in its coldness.
He wished his thoughts were as clear. It did not help that Gryss, the senior village elder, was openly uncer-tain, all too human. And Marna’s biting bluntness, as ever, held no comfort. Her questions added their uncontrolled momentum to his thoughts about Rannick and the gatherers, and the creature that had killed the sheep and now, seemingly, a horse, and which he had actually touched in some way.
Despite all that had happened since the hunt, the memory of that touch persisted; foul, clinging… and growing.
Farnor found he was hunching up his shoulders after the manner of Gryss. He straightened up and made them relax, but it took some effort.
Somewhere there was an end to this confusion, surely? An end to this hurt. The word came unbidden and surprised him. Hurt? Who was being hurt?
We all are, he realized. Both the creature and the gatherers were intrusions from outside, and both brought disruption and anxiety in their wake. And what was anxiety if it wasn’t a hurt? It marred the present and clouded the future. Yet it came to him with this revelation that what was truly disturbing him was the thought, hovering like a tiny, distant light at the fringes of his mind, that he could help in some way if he could but see it.
He paused. There was a certainty about this that set it aside from any general, vague wishing everything was all right again. But it was elusive, also, and though it remained with him it refused to make itself further known.
He looked at the retreating figures of Marna and Gryss, and frowned. They seemed different. As if the confusion and the hurt that they, like he, bore were wrapped about them like a cloying mist. Part of him reached out to clear the way for them and allow them to walk unhindered.
Both of them stopped and turned round.
‘Sorry?’ Marna said.
‘Did you say something?’ Gryss said at the same time.
Farnor suddenly felt a little dizzy, but he managed to avoid staggering by crouching down and fiddling with his shoe.
‘No,’ he said. ‘My shoelace snagged a bramble.’
Marna reached up to her face as if to brush away a stray hair and Gryss shook his head slightly. Then a gust of wind stirred the trees and threw a light splatter of newly hoarded raindrops on to them and they set off again, briskly.
There was an odd companionship in their common flight from the rain and, to Farnor, it seemed that they had passed some unseen boundary.
‘I think they’re nothing more than bandits,’ Marna said, as prosaically as if she were simply just passing the time of day. ‘I think they came here by accident and…’
‘Shush,’ Gryss said urgently, moving his hand up and down as if to beat down her enthusiasm as he would a boisterous pup. They had come to the end of the pathway and he glanced along the lane as they joined it. ‘Don’t say things like that too loudly,’ he said.
But Marna was barely listening, she had formed the words and they were too potent to remain unspoken. She did lower her voice a little, however.
‘I think they’re bandits,’ she said again. ‘I think they found us by accident and when they realized we thought they were gatherers they decided to make the most of it. I’ll wager they’re not checking our tithe, they’re eating it.’
Gryss grimaced. He did not want to hear this. ‘I’m not saying you’re right or wrong,’ he said. ‘I can’t pretend to be happy about these people, but, please, please don’t say such things.’
Marna turned surprised eyes on him. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.
‘Think, Marna,’ Gryss said, a touch wearily, and shaking her arm a little. ‘Think. If they’re really gatherers, then you’re defaming the King’s servants and who knows what kind of an offence that might be? And if they’re not, if they’re bandits as you call them, you’re telling them we know who they are and what will they do then? Probably drop any pretence at being a legal force, and that might put all of us in danger.’
Marna’s brow furrowed. ‘I didn’t think,’ she said, after a long pause.
‘You certainly didn’t,’ Gryss replied, though he added immediately, by way of consolation, ‘Not that you’re alone in that.’ He looked fretful. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about your… ideas?’
Marna shook her head.
‘Good,’ Gryss said, in some relief. ‘Don’t.’ He turned to Farnor. ‘We must keep discussion like this between the three of us. If you hear anyone else talking the same, just listen and take note, but say nothing. Do you understand?’
Both Marna and Farnor nodded, then they spoke simultaneously. ‘But we’ve got to do something.’
Concern filled Gryss’s face. ‘Yes, we have,’ he said. ‘But not until we know a lot more than at present.’
‘I could go downland and over the hill to the next village.’ Marna’s suggestion came out with a purpose-fulness that indicated that it was no new thought.
Gryss’s eyes widened in horror. He levelled a stern finger at her. ‘You just stay where you are, young woman,’ he said. ‘For one thing, that’s a good few days’ walk for someone who knows the way, and for another, the last thing we need now is someone like you doing wild-headed tricks like that and creating a great stir in the village.’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Marna said earnestly.
‘Not even your father, I presume,’ Gryss retorted sharply.
Marna looked flustered.
‘No, you hadn’t thought about that either, had you?’ Gryss went on. ‘You do nothing, either of you. Nothing at all. Except keep your eyes and ears open and let me know whatever you see and hear.’
The rain suddenly began to fall more heavily, put-ting an end to the conversation, and sending the three of them scurrying back to Gryss’s cottage.