Chapter 5

As the first feeble rays of light stabbed the dark blue sky the next morning, John felt himself being shaken awake. He gripped the hand on his shoulder with the four remaining fingers on his left hand, and ran the three on his right over the mantle-piece in search of the meat hook.

“Father? What are you doing? Do you want me to stoke up the fire and heat more water?” Luke frowned down on his father as he struggled to stand.

“Sorry, Luke. Thought you were C-...someone else for a minute there. You do that, son, and I’ll get breakfast for Louise and Jacob.” As he left the room, John watched his son preparing the fire and hanging the big cauldron from the bar across the grate. He hardly knew how Luke had grown up so quickly. In just four years he had gone from a serious, dark haired boy to a long-limbed, good-looking young man who was only two weeks off his eighteenth birthday. He had heard the whispers in Elshaw that Luke and Kyra Keeps were getting very close, and the rumours made him smile – Luke could do a lot worse than the Keeps girl; she was slender, pretty, and knew how to run an efficient household. Yes, they’d do well together.

He slipped quietly down the stairs to where he had left the twins, coiled on the chair. He tapped them on the shoulder and, satisfied they were half-way to waking up, went into the kitchen to make their breakfast.

Luke was still upstairs with Emily, carefully building the fire to boil the water when Griffin arrived for the second poultice change.

“Morning, John. How’s she sounding this morning?”

“Her breathing seems a little easier, thank you Griffin. Luke’s up there boiling the water for you.”

“Oh, good; he’s a fine boy, John.”

“I know; I’m very lucky.”

Griffin clattered quickly up the stairs to tend to Emily and her poultice. As he came through the door, Luke turned from his position by the bed, where he was applying yet another hot compress to his sister’s forehead.

“Griffin! I’m glad you’re here. The water should be just about boiling now.” As he spoke, the water began to bubble vigorously, threatening to upset itself over the fire. Griffin lifted it onto the stone hearth, and added his herbs and extracts. He was just smearing the resulting paste onto Emily’s back, when there was a loud rapping on the front door the floor below. Luke jumped up from his kneeling position between the bed and window, and ran down to see who was disturbing the peace.

He arrived just as his father wrenched the door open. Standing framed in the doorway was a man. He was fairly tall, slimly but strongly built, with shoulder-length hair which must have once been black but which was now threaded with dark grey strands, and hard dark eyes.

“Cruthen,” John breathed. “What do you want here? Miranda’s been dead this past four year. What do you want to accomplish? Torture her children? Me? Or torture yourself with what you could have had, if you’d treated her right?”

“John Miller. I should have known you’d rather spar with words than swords. Do you even still own a sword? No, I didn’t think so. What did Miranda see in you, eh? A grouchy miller’s son who’d already lost fingers to the grindstones. How many’ve you got left, eh?” he sneered menacingly. “what, just seven? And that’s in total. What a poor showing! I came here for a reason, Miller. You and your scant provision as a husband killed her. I’m surprised your offspring are still alive. Not got them working in the mill yet?”

“I hope they will never work the mill, Cruthen.”

“Ah, a father’s last wish?” his mouth twisted in derision, “you’d better hope I finish you quickly, Miller. I’d bet you can’t duel to save your life, or your children’s.”

“You want to duel me, Cruthen? You’ve sunk to new lows over the years, haven’t you? We hear from the Roma travellers, you see. We hear what goes on in Fœna, and Gilhœd, and even in Kædrid‘s beloved Charack. Slavery was abolished for a reason, Cruthen.”

“You think I support the lily-livered king? Don’t act stupid, Miller; it doesn’t suit you. I want to…but I digress. Are you going to fight me, Miller? Or will you make your son do it for you. I can see him there – he looks like her; all dark hair and pale skin. I wonder if he bleeds like a mortal. She certainly did, in the end.”
“Cruthen, you go too far! –”

“- Father, he’s not going to go until you give in. You’re in no fit state to fight. I’ll do it.”

“But Luke! You’ve never fought – not with swords. He’ll run you through as easily as you’d kill a deer!”

“Actually, father…Grayson has been teaching me swordplay these last two summers.”

“Grayson Smith teaching my son to fight? But –”

“I’ll have a better chance than you, father.”

“No, I can’t allow it! You’re my son; I can’t let you play with your life like that!”

“Father, can you hear Griffin calling?”

“No. I’ll go and check.” If John had any misgivings about leaving Luke, they all came to fruition as he turned his back and heard the eerie scraping of metal on stiff leather as a sword was drawn. Cruthen threw Luke a blade; he stood impassively as Luke stuck out a hand and snatched it out of the air, settling into a low crouch and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Cruthen struck like a snake, his sword arm swinging easily through the air, only to be blocked at every turn by Luke’s blade or guard.

They whirled through every combination a pair of bodies and blades could, the early morning light flashing on the blades as they crashed together, more often than not being halted mere centimetres from taut skin. As swordsmen, Cruthen and Luke were evenly matched, despite Cruthen’s vastly superior experience. They tired at a similar rate, failing to evade blows and placing the blades at awkward angles to parry the other. They each scored hits on the other; Luke had received a nasty gash to the ribs when Cruthen feinted to his left and struck right, but had broken even by ripping a slice from Cruthen’s right shoulder and bicep. In a highly impractical move, Luke batted Cruthen’s sword aside, and found himself pressing the point of his own blade to Cruthen’s throat.

“Surrender?”

“F-fine. Just get that sword away from me.”

“No,” he pressed it deeper into Cruthen’s neck, drawing a bead of blood. “I want you to swear that you will never come here again, no matter whose orders you’re disobeying, no matter the consequences. You will never come near my family again, understood?” Cruthen struggled weakly as the tip dug deeper into the flesh at the base of his neck.

“Yes, I understand, I swear, I’ll never come back. Just let me go!” Luke removed the sword from Cruthen’s throat. “Keep the blade. I don’t need it.” Cruthen struggled to sheath his sword, and hobbled over to the bag and cloak he had dropped when he first arrived, dragged the cloak up over his injured arm and picked up the bag, before limping away without a second glance.

Luke turned back towards the house, pressing a hand to his side, feeling hot blood soak through his shirt and drip over his fingers. His father ran from the doorway and slipped an arm round him.

“You stupid boy! What were you trying to achieve, fighting Cruthen like that?! -”

“I won, father…he’s sworn to…sworn to stay away-y from here…”

“You need help, Luke.” John shifted his grip, and lifted his son bodily into the air, just as he fainted. He carried him upstairs and set him on the second bed in the girl’s room.

“Griffin – pause in your treatment of Emily; bind Luke’s side for me?”

“Bind…?”

“He just duelled Cruthen.”

“Cruthen?” Griffin bustled over to his bag and withdrew a roll of linen bandages and a needle and thread. He cut away Luke’s shirt from his side, and stitched his side as best he could. The gash stretched from six inches below Luke’s right armpit to the base of his ribs, and had torn the muscle over his ribcage. Having sewn the muscle and skin back together, Griffin concocted another poultice and smeared it over the wound, and, padding it first with a linen pad, bound his chest firmly.

“Let me take the lad into the village – he can stay with me for as long as it takes for him to recover. It’s a bad idea to have him here with Emily still being infectious and consumptive – the lad’d soon catch it.”

“Fine, take him. Have him stay with you, but you will be here much of the time, changing Emily’s poultices and such, won’t you?”

“Yes, but I have the perfect lass in mind to nurse him.” With that, Griffin slung his bag into a corner, lifted Luke as easily as if he was a baby, and carried him downstairs and out of the house.

He carried him swiftly down the lane and onto the main street leading to Elshaw, carrying on his speedy pace as he neared the village. He passed his own house, and went on to the Keeps’ Inn. Going to the back of the building, he knocked on a door not many knew existed, and was answered by Kyra’s mother, Matilda.

“Griffin? What can I…who’s that?”

“Matilda, lass, is Kyra in?”

“Well, yes…I’ll just fetch…her.” Tearing horrified eyes from the limp body in Griffin’s arms, Matilda ran into the house, screeching for her daughter. Within minutes, Kyra had appeared at the door, eyes wide with apprehension. As she slowly recognized the body Griffin was carrying, she stifled a moan with her hand and struggled not to cry.

“It’s all right, lass, he’s not dead. Would you help me care for him? The little lass up at the mill’s come down with her mammy’s fate, and I can’t care for them both the whole time.” Kyra nodded slowly, and reached behind the door for her cloak. She stepped out of the house, and, stroking a stray hair from Luke’s face, fell into step beside Griffin. Her mother stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other pressed to her mouth.

The little trio trooped through the village, back to Griffin’s little house. He led the way into the narrow hall and up the stairs. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their musky fragrances permeating the air.

Griffin pushed a door open on the upper storey, and placed Luke on top of the bedcovers. He removed the remainder of Luke’s shirt to access the bandages. He untied the end and unwound the long linen strip, pressing the pad over the long gash in Luke’s side, before trying to assess the rest of the damage wrought by the cold bite of Cruthen’s blade. Kyra had dropped her cloak in a corner by the door, and stood on the far side of the room, her back pressed against the wall and her eyes fixed on a sprig of lavender tied to a joist in the ceiling.

“Come here, lass. I’m sure he won’t mind you helping me. Just press this here pad down, gentle-like, on this wound for me.” She stepped up to the side of the bed, pulling her hair back with a ribbon so it was out of her face, and pressed the pad gently to Luke’s side. His eyes flickered and he let out a slight moan. She gasped and took a step back, but maintained the pressure on the linen pad.

“Eh, that’s right, lass. It’s okay, he’s just waking up, is all. None of these other scratches are serious – yet. I’ll mix you the first poultice – there’s not much too it – and leave you the herbs out. That side’ll need changing now, and then every six hours, and the bandages every twelve. When you change his side, wash all the old poultice off and start anew – don’t worry too much if it weeps a bit when you wash it, it’ll soon dry up.” As Griffin spoke, Luke’s eyes opened and flicked from face to face, trying to work out where he was. “It’s all right, lad, you’re at my house in the village. Young Kyra here’s going to be helping me look after you while I’m up tending young Emily up at the mill, all right? I’ve to go now, so I’ll just mix that poultice for you, Kyra, and then I’ll be on my way.” Luke’s eyes had latched onto Kyra’s as soon as Griffin had mentioned her name, and as Griffin turned away, he pressed his left hand to both of hers.

Griffin smiled as he turned away – if he wasn’t mistaken, there was romance in the air, and he was now surplus to requirements. He mixed the poultice as quickly as possible, and left them to themselves.

Kyra removed her hands from Luke’s side, pressed his to it instead, and went over to the poultice pot, bowl of clean water and linen towel set by the fire. She brought it over to the bedside and gently peeled the linen pad off, wincing in sympathy with Luke as the threads caught on the stitches. As she revealed the ten-inch gash, she gasped, and frowned at Luke.

“What on earth have you been doing to get your body in such a state? It can’t be easy to rip your side like that.” He tried to laugh, but winced as the effort stretched the stitches.

“I was duelling -”

“- Duelling?”

“Yes. From what I gathered, the man was an old suitor of my mother’s. She’d left him for father, and now he was back to take his revenge for mother’s death – although how he could blame father I have no idea – and he wanted to fight father.” Luke paused for breath and smiled to see Kyra’s focussed look as she tried to understand. “Old Grayson from the forge has been teaching me swordplay over the past two summers, so I volunteered – I had more of a chance than father – he can’t hold anything that requires more finesse than a sack of grain. And, well, we fought, and I won. But not before getting this for my trouble -” he gestured at his side “- but I gave as good as I got – I ripped open his shoulder and upper arm.” He looked a little sheepish. “I’m not proud of what I did – but I only did it because my family was at risk.” He sought her eyes anxiously.

“I don’t think any the worse of you, Luke. It was so brave!” her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you’d risk your life for your family like that...”

“I had to. Are you going to clean that or are we just going to sit here looking at it?” he smiled at her teasingly. She started, and dipped the towel into the hot water. Gently wiping away the caked-on remnants of poultice from the stitches, she tutted at Luke’s wriggling and muttering.

“Oh, for -. Luke. I have to get this off.”

“Yes, but that hurts!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather it became infected?” she employed a sarcastic tone, and watched with satisfaction as he conceded defeat and allowed her to go on cleaning his wound.

He studied her face as she prised bits of flaked herb from the skin around the gash – her delicately shaped lips were pressed together in concentration, and her brow was furrowed as she frowned at the task in hand. He smiled, and then winced as she prodded an especially sore patch.

“Sorry.” She glanced at his face. “Nearly done.” He grimaced as she put the cloth back into the water and drew the poultice towards her.

Dipping her slender fingers into the thick paste, she scooped up a small amount, and went round to the other side of the bed to apply it to the smaller wounds first. As she gently patted the herby mix onto his skin with her fingertips, she felt the tension rising in the room. She struggled to ignore it and carried on applying the poultice to his cuts. Having covered the multitudes of smaller lacerations on the remainder of his chest, she returned to the long slash in his side. She smoothed the salve onto the stitched area and the slightly inflamed skin surrounding it. Grabbing a clean linen pad from the mantle, she pressed it to his side, and asked him to sit up. Starting from the top of his chest, she wound the long linen strip around his chest, from armpit to waist, and then tied off the end. She sighed, and perched on the edge of the bed. Luke leant back against the wall, watching her as she pulled on the ribbon constraining her reddish-brown curls.

As she released the knot, they dropped to the base of her back, settling in ringlets across her shoulders, and releasing a fresh scent into the room to mingle with that of the herbs. He reached out a hand, and wrapped a stray ringlet around his finger. She laid a hand on his knee and looked at him. He looked back, unsmiling. She dipped her head, and he let go of the curl, tucking the finger under her chin and raising her head so he could study her face. He leant closer, sucking in a breath as he pulled his side, and kissed her on the nose. She wrinkled it, smiling at him, and pressed a hand to the side of his face. Neither of them had said a thing; neither of them had needed to. Luke broke the heavy silence.

“Kyra...in two weeks I reach eighteen.” She let the statement hang, willing him to carry on – they had grown up together, were very close, and their birthdays were a mere two weeks apart; according to society’s rules a girl could become betrothed a month before her eighteenth birthday. From that day it was exactly four weeks until her eighteenth. “Father says I should be looking for a girl to marry and raise a family with. I don’t think I need to look very far, do I?” She gazed uncertainly at him. “What I mean to say is, will you – when I’m old enough to officially ask for your hand – will you...marry me?”

“Oh, Luke! Yes! I mean, I shall have to see what my parents think, but if they will take my opinion into consideration they’ll have to agree.” She smiled, a look of happiness transforming her features from beautiful to stunning. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to ask that.”

“And you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to ask you.” They sat on the bed, staring at each other. Luke slid a hand to the back of Kyra’s head, and kissed her gently on the mouth. The door slammed downstairs, startling them, and Griffin’s earthy tones echoed through the wood-and-stone house.

“Kyra? Luke?”

“We’re still here.” They smiled at each other, revelling in their secret. Griffin’s heavy steps thudded dully on the stairs as he made his way up to the room. He pushed the door open and walked in.

“How’s the pain, Luke, lad?”

“Not too bad, thanks Griffin. I’ll let you know if it gets any worse.” There was a sense of happiness in the room, and Griffin squinted from one to the other.

“What’ve you two been up to, then?”

“We haven’t done anything!”

“Hm. And I was born yesterday. Kyra, lass, you wouldn’t be smiling like that if something hadn’t happened.” He frowned at them. “If you two have been carrying on in my house, I’ll get the blame if you end up with a rounding womb before you marry. And if there’s no blood on the wedding night, I’ll get the blame for that too!” They blushed dramatically.

“We haven’t done anything! I swear.” Luke protested valiantly, “I...can I tell you this in confidence, Griffin?”

“Aye, lad, I’d say you can.”

“I’ve asked Kyra to, well, marry me when we’re both of age. Father’s been saying it’s time to look for a girl, but I only had to look as far as the village to find her.”

“You love-struck fools.” Griffin rolled his eyes but smiled broadly. “You’ll just have to hope to Haisheth and Hindri that her parents agree with you, aye, and your father too, Luke, lad.” Both Luke and Kyra grimaced at each other, then smiled – they both knew their parents had already supported the match.

Chapter 4

As darkness fell in Elshaw, Cathryn was sat on the floor of her room, with her back pressed to the door. Earlier she had scouted around the house when she was sure everyone else was down in the bar, and found the family had a small set of rooms on the second floor – above the guest rooms. She had nosed into each of the bedrooms, and worked out which belonged to her target. This was easy to work out; it was the one with large bags scattered across the floor. So here she sat, waiting for the family to go to bed. She had heard them go up to their rooms several hours ago, and now, from the creaking of the age-old floorboards, she thought they might finally be heading to bed. She waited a further hour after the creaking had ceased before taking up her dagger and a small phial of colourless liquid and creeping from her room.

She had earlier dropped her bundle of belongings from her window into the shadow below, and planned to leave before she was caught.

She hurried as quietly up the old stairs, sticking as close as possible to the wall where they were best supported. Counting the doors under her breath, she stole along the corridor to the right room. She placed her hand on the door knob and pressed her ear to the wood. Muffled snoring emerged from the other side. Her eyes lit up, and she silently turned the handle. She tip-toed a few steps into the room, and closed the door behind her. She edged slowly closer to the bed, loosening the stopper of the phial. A slight scent of almonds arose as she pulled it out. She tripped over an uneven floorboard, pitching the poison over the bare arm of the man lying in the bed, dropped the dagger with a clatter, and she landed on one knee with a loud thump. She hastened to get up again, and ran for the window. Forcing it open, she perched on the sill, hoping there was another way out, but faced with a very angry man waving a hunting knife or a twenty-five-foot drop, she chose the drop. She landed lightly and stood, pressing her back against the wall. She looked wildly all round her, and realised she was the wrong side of the building for her bag. She took three steps forward, and noticed a large dog ploughing towards her, towing a large man and several furious women with him. She whisked around, but saw a similar thing heading in her direction from the other side.

“Put down your weapons and put your hands against the wall.” The local regulatory force rounded the corner, their short capes, tunics and leggings flapping in the slight night-time breeze. The dogs were pulled back from where they were worrying her legs, her hands were bound behind her back, and her ankles tied together with a length of rope free between her feet. Three burly men dragged her away from the building and towards a safe house on the outskirts of the village.

“This one’ll be going up to Gilhœd in the morning. We have a cart leaving with the conscripts for King Kædrid’s new force. She’ll be safe enough there. We’ll send a warder with her for good measure.” Cathryn grimaced. Gilhœd was known for its filthy prisons, savage warders and unfair trials.

As she was dragged off by the three soldiers, a further three were up in the room, studying what evidence remained. She was going down, and she knew it.

Chapter 3

Swinging his cloak around his shoulders, Griffin peered at Luke in the blue light cast by the gas lamps.
“Ach, don’t worry lad – it’ll most probably be a slight cough.” Luke smiled appreciatively at him, and they turned right, heading for the river and the mill.

They hurried through the village, past the commercial buildings and into the housing. People were on the street and heading in the opposite direction – towards the warmth and company in Keeps’ Inn – and many called “hello” across the street to Griffin as he passed.

Arriving at the crossroads where the main street met the bridge over the Morgan, the path to the temple, and the path leading to the mill, they paused for breath, before turning left down the over-hung lane towards the creaking of the water-wheel as it turned.

Luke ran the final few steps to the front door, and, pushing it open, ushered Griffin into the kitchen. He strode into the living room, his actions becoming jerky with worry as he realised no-one was around. Poking his head into the stairwell, he hollered up the stairs;
“FATHER?!” A loud shushing ensued from upstairs, and his other sister – Louise – ran quietly down the stairs towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she began to cry. He led her back into the kitchen, and made her sit down.
“Louise, what’s wrong?”
“E-Emily-y has a cough...father won’t l-let us anywhere n-near her...”
“Has he said why?” Luke’s voice was close to cracking with tension, and he knelt before his sister, looking into her tear-filled eyes.
“H-he won’t tell us...h-he wanted you to get G-Griffin.”
“Well, it’s just as well I did then, isn’t it? Hmm? Come on, wash your face and we’ll take Griffin up to see Emily and Father, okay?” He ushered his sister over to the full water-skin hanging over the sink, and, turning away, allowed his face to fall into lines of worry. He looked at Griffin who shrugged and looked equally worried.

When his sister had dried her face on the piece of linen hung next to the water-skin, he slipped his arm round her, and together they led Griffin up the wooden stairs to the upper storey of the house, and into the girl’s bedroom.
“Out! Get out!” His father rushed at them the instant they stepped over the threshold, then smiled awkwardly at Griffin, but waved Louise out.
“Go and sit with Jacob, Louise. I’ll be out in a minute, okay?” Luke said as he hugged his sister and pushed her back out of the room. “What’s going on, father?”
“I don’t know. One day she was fine, a little flushed, but nothing out of the ordinary – you know what she’s like – and the next she was coughing up...blood.”
“Blood? Has she got...? You know...” Luke’s face dropped. “But she...CAN’T have...can she?” He looked appealingly at Griffin.
“I’m it does sound a lot like it, I’m afraid, lad. Can I see her?” Griffin edged around John, and knelt beside the bed. “Hello, Emily, lass. Can I just have a listen of your chest, please?” He produced a small wooden ear-horn from his bag and pressed it to her back and chest, frowning as he concentrated. “All right, lass, sit up for me, eh?” He propped her against the wall, and examined her colouring, before pushing a pillow behind her back and tucking the quilt round her. “John, I’m sorry, lad. I think its consumption. She probably inherited a weakness of the chest from her mother. I’ll do what I can. How long has she been ill?”
“Two, three days? Not long. Not really.”
“A poultice might still work. No matter how cold it gets, we have to keep the windows open, and a big fire in here to drive the disease out. Can you stoke up a big fire in the grate and boil me a cauldron of water please, Luke, lad. And John, go and tell your others. I think this is something they need to know.” As he spoke, Griffin was rolling up his sleeves, and pulling little sacks of herbs from his bag.

Luke knelt before the fire, the basket of logs to his right, and the iron poker in his left hand. He loaded the logs into the grate without noticing what he was doing, prodding them savagely with the poker to build a big fire, and, using a meat hook salvaged from the mantle, hung a heavy iron cauldron full of water over it. He continued stoking the fire until the water had come to a rolling boil, and then he shuffled out of the way to allow Griffin to add his herbs and plant extracts to the water.
“Luke, lad, fetch a smaller cauldron, and heat it gently for me, will you? We need a hot compress – bring some clean linen scraps too.” He was busy mixing the water and herbs into a thick paste, which he spread on Emily’s chest and back, wrapping linen bandages around the poultice to prevent it from sliding around.

Luke dashed downstairs, fetched a small cauldron, filled it with water and, more slowly, ran back up to his sister. While heating the water, he prayed. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed before, to all the goddesses - gods were inappropriate for his needs at that moment - , but especially Halil, goddess of health, and Haisheth, goddess of family. When it had heated, but not enough to scald, he moved the cauldron away from the grate, and dipped pads of linen scraps into the almost painful heat, wrung one out and left the rest hanging on the edge, and crept over to kneel at his sister’s bedside. He pressed his pad to her forehead and wiped the sweat from her face with his tunic sleeve. He murmured quietly to her, trying to keep her calm and as happy as possible.

He turned, some hours later, to change the fifth now-cold compress for a fresh hot one, and saw his father looking at him sadly.
“I’m sorry you have to do this, Luke.” He crept closer and sat on the floor beside his son, “your ma should be here, doing this. In fact, this shouldn’t have happened. You should be here the whole year round, not off hunting in the cold months and doing dangerous work in the warm ones. Right now you should be looking forward to your rites in two weeks, to finding yourself a girl, a trade and settling down. But instead you’re here, looking after your sisters and brother, and your old man. I’m supposed to be able to support my own brood, but money doesn’t go very far when there’s no-one to count it, to keep track of incomings and outgoings – your ma was the one who had the numbers and letters. I just fumble through, scraping a living from grinding grain and making you work –“
“– Don’t worry about it, father. I’ve gained a lot of skills for when I do finally get a chance to settle down, I’ve gained a lot of experience and the respect of everyone in the village, I know how to raise a family – you’ve done a marvellous job on me and the others. Ma – may she rest in peace – taught us our letters and numbers, and humility and empathy, but you taught us courage, and strength of mind and body, and how to look out for each other. And when I do leave, it’ll be easier for you anyway. Jake and Lou will be fourteen – you can waive some of their clauses too – and Emily,” he paused, debating the sense of going on, but carried on anyway, “will be the only one left who can’t do anything work-wise, and I’m sure even she could get light work with Uncle Max at the wax-works in Elshaw. It’ll all be fine.”
Balancing the compress on Emily’s forehead, Luke leant forward and gingerly hugged his father, before turning back to the job in hand, and wiped the hot compress down over her throat and upper chest, and then back to her forehead again.
“Father – what’s the time?” John glanced at the bare mantle, and then peered out of the window to judge the time from the position of the stars.
“About eleven, Luke. Why?”
“I asked Griffin to come back at midnight. The poultice will have had about six hours to start to work by then, and he said he’ll need to change the poultice every six hours in the first twenty-four, and then every twelve until it’s had its full effect.”
“Ah, you’re a good boy, Luke. You’ll make a fine man.”
John left the room, and went to find the others. He found them huddled in the living area by the fire place, wrapped in a large woollen blanket and snoozing – each propping the other up in their sleep. He lifted them gently, and placed them in the large chair he had had the village carpenter make for them; on the cushions his late wife – Miranda – had made from an old patchwork quilt and stuffed with sheep’s wool.

Midnight came and went, along with Griffin, who announced Emily’s breathing seemed a little clearer and reapplied the poultice. John held a silent vigil at her bedside, having made Luke retire once Griffin had left.

Chapter 2

Cathryn sighed heavily from her perch at the top of one of the tall fir trees which adorned the Lorenberg Ridge as she waited for the hunter to pass under her tree. He was moving slowly, but that was only to be expected – he was carrying a large pack and two carcasses – but even so, she shivered with impatience as he made his way slowly up the path towards Elshaw.

Eventually he reached her tree, and paused to get his breath back, looking around to work out where he was. Cathryn dropped silently from her branch, landing in the centre of the path just in front of the weary hunter. He started, and looked for a way out, but he knew he couldn’t risk going back – the amount of time he had before needing to be home was rapidly waning – and so he had to go on. He dropped his pack and the carcasses behind him and stood facing her.
“Who’re you?” he narrowed his eyes and frowned at her, “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. I need your help.”
“Help? You just stopped me on the way home to my family, are refusing to tell me who you are and yet you want my help?”
“Umm, yes. Well put.”
“Forget it. I need to get home. Father will be worrying, and I have to get to the butcher before he closes his shop.”
“Ok, ok, I’m Cathryn, all right? Come on, I’ll walk with you. I need to explain.”
“Yes, you do.” Luke hefted his pack back onto his shoulders, and set off at a slow pace, trying to stop the carcasses from sliding off the top. “You’d better start talking, lady; else we’ll run out of time.”
“I’m trying to find my father’s murderer. I think he’s here, and you’re my way in.”
“You’re a bit blunt; still, the answer’s no. There’s too much at stake.”
“Aw, come on! I need your help –“
“You don’t even know my name; and even if you did, I can’t help.”
“What is it then?” She frowned at him.
“Luke.”
“Even if you won’t help me, at least give me a place to stay.” He had stopped and was standing in the middle of the path, glaring at her.
“You want to stay with me, at my home, with my father and three younger siblings. You want to put them at risk for your hare-brained scheme?”
“No! Of course not, Luke, I just need a place to stay for a night, and then I’ll be on my way. I’ll find another way of avenging my father.”
“If it’s just for one night, why not see if Keeps’ inn has room?”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No. It was just an idea.”
“Actually, it was quite a good idea. Brilliant – you’re a genius!”
“I...I am?”
“Yes! Of course, why didn’t I think of that?!”
“Think of what?”
“Posing as a guest!”
“Posing? If you stay the night you’ll be a guest.”
“Yes, but a guest who kills a member of the family who runs the establishment isn’t normally recognised as a guest.”
“I suppose...not – hang on; kill a member of the family?” They had started walking again, and Luke cast a nervous glance at the rapidly darkening sky and then at Cathryn.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I need to get a move-on. The Roma market is due in town next week, and we need to have as much money as possible to trade with them.”
“So if they’re due next week...?”
“I need to sell these carcasses to the butcher.”
“Oh. Can I walk with you into the village? I’ve never been that far before.”
“Fine.” He stared determinedly ahead and sped his plodding pace up.
They walked in silence for three quarters of an hour, before arriving at the first buildings on the outskirts of the village. The noxious fumes from the tanners’ vats drifted across the path, causing Cathryn to balk slightly and cover her nose with her sleeve. Luke was used to the smell – not only had he lived by the tanners all his life, he had also worked there - and in the forge in Elshaw, and also with the fishermen on the Morgan. Over the past four summers he had worked, acquiring skills, and had earned a reputation as an advanced hunter too – he hunted for two of every six weeks during the autumn and winter. All this was necessary, as Luke’s mother had died four years ago.

Luke studied Cathryn out of the corner of his eye. She cut an imposing figure, despite only being about five feet, four inches tall – give or take an inch – and of a very wiry build. Her black hair was cropped short, and her pointed features were brought into sharp relief in the dim light. He thought she might be considered attractive, but compared with some of the girls he had grown up with, some of the girls his age in the village, she was no beauty.

They headed further into the village – the lamp-lighter was just going about his rounds, lighting the gas lamps on street corners and above shop signs – towards Keeps’ Inn. Luke’s destination, the butchers, was opposite the inn, and just as they arrived outside, Mat, the butcher, stepped through the door.
“Mat! Wait! I have two deer for you!” Luke shouted in sheer desperation, “please, delay your quaffing for a quarter hour and take the blasted things off me!” He smiled thinly and dropped his pack, fumbling with the knots tying the carcasses to the top. The butcher waited patiently, holding the door ajar with his foot, and preceded Luke into the shop. He hopped behind the counter and took the limp carcasses from him.
“A fine catch here, Luke. How fares the hunting this season?”
“Not well, I’m afraid, Mat. The wet spring and hot summer has let the woods grow wild – they fight against the stalker badly. I was lucky to get these two – I got them in the last half-hour of hunting today.”
“So late? You’d best hurry home with this money, lad. I hear all is not well – not to worry you, of course – but word is young Emily’s come down with something.”
“What? I need to pay a quick visit to Keeps’, but then I’ll go straight home – thanks, Mat.” Luke took the handful of silver and bronze coins the butcher was offering, and turned to leave. “I’ll be back in six weeks with the next lot.” Mat always gave generously to Luke and his family – he knew how little money was to be had at any time of the year. And so it had been for the past four years.
“You do that, lad. Stay safe, won’t you?”
“Aye; and you.” Luke hurried out of the door, and caught Cathryn by the elbow, catching up his pack with his free hand. “Come on if you’re staying at Keeps’ – I can get you in, but then I have to go home.” Cathryn looked at his face, taut with worry.
“What’s happened?”
“Apparently my baby sister’s ill.”
“I’m sure she’ll pull through.”
“Hmm.” He pushed the door open, and they stepped into the humid atmosphere of the pub. Leading Cathryn to the bar, he peered towards the fire, in search of Griffin, the village healer. To his relief, Griffin’s immense beard was to be seen wagging as he regaled the pub’s occupants with stories.
“Kyra!” Luke called along the bar to the slender daughter of the publican. She turned and flashed a smile at him, indicating she would be along in a minute. He admired her long auburn curls and narrow waist for a second, then whisked around and squeezed over to where Griffin was talking, by the fire.

Wincing as the heat being belched out by the wood fire touched his numb features, Luke tapped Griffin on the shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry, I don’t want to intrude – Griffin, have you been called out to the mill while I’ve been away?” Luke’s pale and worried face was lent a healthy glow from the burning branches. Griffin looked up.
“Nay, lad. Why?”
“Mat told me Emily’s ill.”
“Young Emily? I hadn’t heard that. I’ll come with you when you leave, lad, better to be safe than sorry, eh? You pop back to your business, and fetch me when you leave.”
“Thank you, Griffin. I don’t know what father’d do...”
“Don’t worry so, lad. I’ll see her right.” Clasping Griffin on the shoulder, Luke turned and headed back to the bar. On his arrival, Kyra handed the serving towel back to her mother, and came over.
“What can I get you, Luke?” He leant on the bar, inclining his head towards her.
“You know I can’t drink, Kyra, but my...ah...friend – well, acquaintance really – needs a room for the night. I don’t suppose you have one free?”
“We do, yes; a single room?”
“Yes – look, I’ve got to go home...” he tailed off looking miserable.
“What’s wrong, Luke?” Kyra leant across the bar and placed her hand on his.
“Emily. Mat told me she’s ill – I’m taking Griffin up to the mill to check her over.”
“Oh, Luke...I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so – it’d tear father apart to lose another of his girls.” Kyra hummed in sympathy, and then looked at Cathryn.
“So this room’s for you then, is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Do you need breakfast too?”
“No, thanks. I’ll have to be on my way early – I have someone waiting for me at home.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” Reaching into one of the cubby holes lining the wall behind her, Kyra produced a key on a wooden tag. “If you head up the stairs, yours is the fifth room on the right. Do you want to pay now or in the morning?”
“I’ll pay now, if that’s all right.”
“Ten shillings please.” While Cathryn fussed in the pouch slung at her waist for the money, Kyra and Luke started talking quietly about everything and nothing. She startled them by loudly dropping the correct money onto the bar beside them. “Oh! Um, just to let you know, two shillings of that is a guarantee against damage to furniture – you can claim it back tomorrow if you want -” started Kyra, but was interrupted as Cathryn started towards the stairs.
“It’s fine – keep it. See you, Luke.”
“Oh, bye, Cathryn. Um...Kyra, I have to go. I’ll be in again. Tomorrow, probably.”
“I’ll see you soon, Luke.” They clasped hands across the bar, and then Luke turned and got the attention of Griffin, who begged himself free of his listeners, picked up his scuffed leather bag and joined him at the door.

Chapter 1

The first hunt of the season was always hard. This year especially – the woods had become tangled and vicious in the spring and summer months, and the deer hid easily from Luke as he crept along narrow sheep paths. The dull roar from the river Morgan drowned out all but the loudest sounds, but Luke had learnt not to rely on his ears when hunting anyway.

It was the end of the second week of the first hunt of the season for Luke – he had unwillingly embraced the mantle of joint-breadwinner with his father since his mother had died, leaving him a widower and father of four children, of which Luke was the eldest. The youngest child, a girl – Emily – was only 8, and the twins – Jacob and Louise – were thirteen. Luke was aged 17, just a year off manhood himself.

Luke’s father, John, ran the village flour mill, grinding the grain grown by the farmers to be sold to the baker – or back to the farmers at a lower rate. The meat from Luke’s hunting during the colder months was sold to the village butcher, Mat.

He slipped silently between the trees, bow drawn tight, arrow notched and the fletching tickling his ear. The doe he was aiming for was on the edge of the group as they settled to graze. This was his last opportunity to earn a profit from the hunt before returning to the mill for four weeks – he had to make at least one kill or risk his siblings dying during the winter months.

Just as he took aim, a flurry of birds in the trees overhead startled the peacefully grazing deer, and shook Luke’s concentration – he loosed the arrow and it whistled over the heads of the staring deer, causing them to freeze, looking for the source of the noise. He quietly notched a further two arrows, and loosed them in quick succession – catching two does straight in the chest, and causing the rest to scatter.

He stepped forward, quickly cut the throats of the unfortunate deer, and, slinging them over his shoulders, he hiked back along the narrow paths to his camp. On reaching his camp, he rolled his bedding and pushed it to the bottom of his pack, followed by the mess tin he used for cooking, his flint and steel, the hide quiver he kept his bow and arrows in, and his sapling-poled tent.

Tying the limp deer to the top of his pack, he lifted it onto his back, and set out for home.

It was a half-day trek back to the village from the Lorenberg Ridge – the forested mountain pass Luke hunted on – and he knew he had to be at least on the outskirts of the village by nightfall.