Surely…?
He growled irritably and tried yet again to dispel this variable and shifting mist that was the future. Right now, both he and his uneasy stomach would have to be satisfied with food.
After a wilfully leisurely breakfast he set off for Yakob’s with the intention of establishing further the story that the castle was locked and that he had been thrown from his horse when it was startled. He found, however, that Yakob was well acquainted with the tale. Garren, too busy to attend to the matter himself had sent Pieter with a simple outline of events to the inn and to Yakob and Harlen. As a result, Yakob was also in possession of several intriguing details which Gryss had not only not told to Garren, but which had not actually happened.
‘It trampled on you, I hear,’ was one such.
It took Gryss some time to extract from the message that had reached Yakob the version that he required him to hear. Yakob looked almost disappointed; Gryss’s tale was quite prosaic in comparison to that which Garren’s too youthful messenger had brought.
‘Just a tumble, then?’ he summarized finally, through pursed lips. ‘I thought that young Pieter was a bit excited.’
Leaving Yakob, Gryss headed towards Harlen’s house. Doubtless he would hear the same tale when he arrived there, although, he mused, Harlen’s being somewhat farther on it could be even more extravagant by then. He had a fleeting impression of a fabulous bird whose drab plumage grew ever more ornate and colourful as it moved further and further from its humble nest.
‘Whimsy, whimsy,’ he muttered to himself. A sure sign of aging faculties.
But it transpired that Harlen had brought down the bird in full flight.
‘He’s gone downland to collect some willow rods,’ Marna told him as she took his wet cape. ‘He’ll probably be gone for some time.’ Her face was amused. ‘He was going to come up and measure you for a coffin at first,’ she went on. ‘It took him quite a time to get Garren’s proper message out of young Pieter.’ She pointed Gryss towards a chair.
‘Trampled underfoot and fallen off a cliff, I sup-pose,’ he said, sitting down. The chair creaked, but it was more like a welcome than a protest, and Gryss half closed his eyes in a small ecstasy as Harlen’s chair pressed comfort upon him.
‘More or less,’ Marna agreed, laughing. ‘I should imagine that by the time Pieter’s finished, there’ll be quite a crowd of mourners at your cottage. He’s so sweet. And so serious.’
She laughed again. Gryss felt as though the room had suddenly filled with light.
‘Perhaps he’s going to be a Teller,’ he said, chuckling himself.
‘What possessed Garren to send him with the tale?’ Marna asked.
‘He’s got a lot to do, with Farnor hurt,’ Gryss replied. ‘And I doubt he realized Pieter had such a vivid imagination.’
Marna ran her hands through her hair and shifted it here and there until it looked exactly the same as it had before. ‘So, no daring assault on the castle today?’ she said mockingly. Though, as Gryss caught her eye, he sensed a sharpness at the heart of the inquiry.
Gryss shook his head and leaned forward and Marna’s mockery faded as if it had never been.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, uncertainly.
Gryss looked at her. Should he tell her what had happened, or should he not? Would telling her be for her benefit or his own; lightening his own concerns by sharing them? What could she do other than feel the pain and distress of being able to do nothing?
But the choice was not wholly his. As she herself had said, she was like a mole in a trap; she had walked in and could go only forward. And with what she already knew she was likely to give little more credence to the tale that Gryss had had put about than if it were just another of young Pieter’s childish ramblings. And she had the strength and the resilience – the word came again – to support the truth where a falsehood from someone she had placed her trust in might well crush her.
He took her hands and, as simply and concisely as he could, he told her what had happened at the castle, together with his own thoughts about what… who… might be causing it.
She withdrew her left hand to nurse her right upper arm as he told of the gate closing to trap Farnor, but otherwise she remained motionless and silent.
Though patently shocked and bewildered by the tale, she asked no questions about why and how when he had finished, but struck to the heart of the matter.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.
He offered her his only conclusion.
‘Watch and wait. And hope that Jeorg reaches the capital safely.’
‘And Farnor?’ she said, with unexpected indignation.
‘Oh, his arm’ll be sore for some time, but he’ll be able to use it well enough in a few days,’ Gryss said, reassuringly.
Her face clouded. ‘Not his arm,’ she protested fiercely, omitting to add, ‘You silly man,’ though it rang clearly through her intonation. ‘All these… things… that are happening to him. He probably thinks he’s going insane.’
That’s why it was right to tell you, Gryss thought almost exultantly. You’re his generation. You under-stand him. That alone would sustain Farnor in his trial. The vision of their youthful strength and courage guided by his knowledge and experience rose before him.
And with it a black thought bubbled up from deep inside him: it’s always the old that guide the young to war.
It struck him with an impact like that of a clenched fist. He felt himself gaping.
‘What’s the matter?’ Marna asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a tithe gatherer.’
Her inadvertent use of the old village saw, with its now dark irony, made Gryss smile involuntarily. It released him from the chilling spell of the awful thought.
‘Nothing,’ he answered. ‘Just a bit of reaction, probably, thinking about it all again.’
Marna seemed unhappy with the explanation, but Gryss ploughed on. ‘Farnor’s well enough,’ he said. ‘As far as I know, he’s told me everything, and he tells me how he feels about things. I think while he’s doing that he’ll be all right. And you knowing as well, Marna, and being his friend will help him also, even though none of us knows what’s really happening. Go and see him today if you can. Just a social call, as it were. Following on Pieter’s florid tales.’
Marna nodded. Her mouth twisted into a slightly bitter smile. ‘And I suppose all Pieter’s nonsense will keep people’s minds off Jeorg being missing,’ she said. Gryss started. He had not expected such a calculated observation.
Then Marna half rose from her chair. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she said. ‘Running.’
Scarcely had she spoken than the front door of the cottage was flung open.
‘Marna!’ a voice called urgently. It was Harlen. His footsteps paused briefly in the hallway, then he burst into the room. His face was anxious and flushed and in his hand he held Marna’s cape which he proffered to her.
‘What’s the matter?’ Marna asked in alarm, as she stepped forward to greet him. Harlen looked at her then at Gryss, surprise and relief mingling with his concern.
‘Marna, go to Yakob’s now and wait,’ he said breath-lessly, thrusting the cape into her arms and ushering her to the door. ‘Gryss, come with me.’
He had pushed them both from the cottage before either had a chance to speak.
‘Father!’ Marna protested ferociously, wrenching her arm free from his grasp.
Sensing that a spontaneous and irrelevant family quarrel was about to intrude on what was obviously urgent news, Gryss entered the fray, laying gently restraining hands on the arms of the two potential antagonists.
‘Put your cape on, Marna,’ he said, as quietly and calmly as he could. Then, to her father, ‘What’s happened, Harlen?’
Harlen looked anxiously at his daughter who glow-ered at him in reply, still young enough to be indignant at his cavalier handling of her, not least because it had been in front of Gryss.
‘Let her hear,’ Gryss intervened again. ‘She’s no child any more. And nothing happens here but what we all hear about it within the day. Spit your news out, for pity’s sake.’