“and then I’ll come and help you as I can.”
Concern gave way to resignation in her eyes. Perhaps she was used to the stubbornness of a husband and two sons. She laid a hand on Kane’s and then turned back to her family. Kane’s bag was in the wagon, and proved to contain the few belongings the robbers had left him. He found a cloth and made his way across the ground strewn with leaves to the river.
He came to the edge not far from Samuel, who was waiting to lead the horses away once they had drunk their fill. He was aware of Kane but did not glance at him. “You tend them well,” Kane said. “No task is unimportant if it does good.”
He stopped short of assuring the boy that his father and his brother would be proud of his attentiveness. They might well take it for granted, Edward in particular, and in any event it was hardly Kane’s place to offer the opinion. “What is your name, boy?” he said.
He wanted to prevent him from realising that Kane hadheard Edward say it like a rebuke. Samuel affected not to hear, gazing hard at the endless transformations of the ripples on the stones. “You need not fear me,” Kane said. “Tell me your name.”
The boy only lowered his head as if he meant to emulate the horses at the water. Kane heard soft footsteps on the leafy earth, and saw that Meredith had interrupted her task to come over to him. She had brought colour into the wintry glade with a red shawl draped over her shoulders. Kane remembered the glimpse of red the wagon had afforded him as it left him behind, how many days ago? The shawl put him in mind of a favour given at a tournament – an offer of a lady’s colours that he had failed to accept – although it was rather a token of rebelliousness, a hint of resistance to her austere Puritan life. “Your younger brother has lost his tongue, I think,” Kane said.
“He’s just shy of strangers.” Meredith shook her head in mock reproof, dislodging a lock of glossy black hair from beneath the white cap. “Remember your manners, Samuel.”
As Samuel raised his head and risked a sidelong glance at their companion, Meredith offered Kane a bunch of herbs that she had picked. “Marjoram for your bruises,” she murmured.
“You are skilled in the ancient ways, then,” said Kane.
“My father says that every natural thing has been put into the world for us. It is our task to learn the ways God means us to use them.”
Kane had not meant to accuse her of practicing magic, but he could not know how strict the prohibitions against the old arts had become during his time at the monastery. “Thank you,” he said and accepted the herbs. “For all your care.”
He was conscious that Samuel was watching him and Meredith. The boy’s attention seemed to hold them in an awkward tableau. “Well,” Kane said, “perhaps you have other... I mean to say, I need...”
“Of course, you came to wash.” For a moment a tinge of the colour of the shawl showed in Meredith’s cheeks. “I should be at my tasks,” she said.
As she started back to her mother Kane wondered how intimately she might have had to minister to him in his fever. He laid the bunch of herbs on the grass beside the river and pulled his shirt over his head. The garment was torn and stained brown with dried blood. He plunged his hands into the racing water and splashed handfuls over himself. The river was carrying the essence of an even colder place, but after the first violent shiver the icy chill began to invigorate him. He was bathing his face when he noticed the boy staring at him. “Speak to me, Samuel,” he said.
“What are those?” Samuel said with a bluntness characteristic of his age, and pointed at him.
“The marks of a robbery. I would not bear them,” Kane said, “if I had accepted Master Crowthorn’s invitation. Your family is a protection to you, Samuel.”
“Not those,” the boy said impatiently and pointed harder. “All that.”
Kane finished wiping himself dry
Concern gave way to resignation in her eyes. Perhaps she was used to the stubbornness of a husband and two sons. She laid a hand on Kane’s and then turned back to her family. Kane’s bag was in the wagon, and proved to contain the few belongings the robbers had left him. He found a cloth and made his way across the ground strewn with leaves to the river.
He came to the edge not far from Samuel, who was waiting to lead the horses away once they had drunk their fill. He was aware of Kane but did not glance at him. “You tend them well,” Kane said. “No task is unimportant if it does good.”
He stopped short of assuring the boy that his father and his brother would be proud of his attentiveness. They might well take it for granted, Edward in particular, and in any event it was hardly Kane’s place to offer the opinion. “What is your name, boy?” he said.
He wanted to prevent him from realising that Kane hadheard Edward say it like a rebuke. Samuel affected not to hear, gazing hard at the endless transformations of the ripples on the stones. “You need not fear me,” Kane said. “Tell me your name.”
The boy only lowered his head as if he meant to emulate the horses at the water. Kane heard soft footsteps on the leafy earth, and saw that Meredith had interrupted her task to come over to him. She had brought colour into the wintry glade with a red shawl draped over her shoulders. Kane remembered the glimpse of red the wagon had afforded him as it left him behind, how many days ago? The shawl put him in mind of a favour given at a tournament – an offer of a lady’s colours that he had failed to accept – although it was rather a token of rebelliousness, a hint of resistance to her austere Puritan life. “Your younger brother has lost his tongue, I think,” Kane said.
“He’s just shy of strangers.” Meredith shook her head in mock reproof, dislodging a lock of glossy black hair from beneath the white cap. “Remember your manners, Samuel.”
As Samuel raised his head and risked a sidelong glance at their companion, Meredith offered Kane a bunch of herbs that she had picked. “Marjoram for your bruises,” she murmured.
“You are skilled in the ancient ways, then,” said Kane.
“My father says that every natural thing has been put into the world for us. It is our task to learn the ways God means us to use them.”
Kane had not meant to accuse her of practicing magic, but he could not know how strict the prohibitions against the old arts had become during his time at the monastery. “Thank you,” he said and accepted the herbs. “For all your care.”
He was conscious that Samuel was watching him and Meredith. The boy’s attention seemed to hold them in an awkward tableau. “Well,” Kane said, “perhaps you have other... I mean to say, I need...”
“Of course, you came to wash.” For a moment a tinge of the colour of the shawl showed in Meredith’s cheeks. “I should be at my tasks,” she said.
As she started back to her mother Kane wondered how intimately she might have had to minister to him in his fever. He laid the bunch of herbs on the grass beside the river and pulled his shirt over his head. The garment was torn and stained brown with dried blood. He plunged his hands into the racing water and splashed handfuls over himself. The river was carrying the essence of an even colder place, but after the first violent shiver the icy chill began to invigorate him. He was bathing his face when he noticed the boy staring at him. “Speak to me, Samuel,” he said.
“What are those?” Samuel said with a bluntness characteristic of his age, and pointed at him.
“The marks of a robbery. I would not bear them,” Kane said, “if I had accepted Master Crowthorn’s invitation. Your family is a protection to you, Samuel.”
“Not those,” the boy said impatiently and pointed harder. “All that.”
Kane finished wiping himself dry
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