The Widow and the King

The Widow and the King by John Dickinson Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: The Widow and the King by John Dickinson Read Free Book Online
Authors: John Dickinson
Ambrose. None of the hillmen had hair on their face like that, nor, so far as he could remember, did Uncle Adam.
    And his eyebrows slanted darkly, even when they were lifted in surprise.
    ‘Ho! Someone does live here after all,’ said the man.
    His accent was strange. Where had he come from?
    His clothes were good – much better than the goatwool tunics or rough mantles Ambrose was used to – yet they were stained and needed mending. He carried a pack over one shoulder. His staff was freshly cut. Ambrose knew there was no tree in this valley the man could have got it from. He must have walked a long way. Altogether he had a wild, mysterious air. Ambrose was impressed.
    ‘… I live here,’ he said, recovering. ‘So does my mother.’
    ‘Your mother? Anyone else?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Anyone come here – in the last month, say?’
    ‘No one ever comes. Not for as long as I can remember,’ Ambrose said.
    The man dropped his pack heavily to the ground and looked at him sideways. Ambrose gaped back. Behind him, in the gate-tunnel, the crowd of goats waited.
    ‘And how long is that?’ asked the man.
    Ambrose could not answer.
    ‘How old are you then?’ said the man.
    ‘I'll be thirteen this winter. Um. Do you – do you want some water?’
    ‘Thirteen?’ The man raised his brows again. ‘Good. Well, you're tall for your age, anyway. But then I was born to a line of runts. And, yes thank you – it's been a thirsty climb.’
    Ambrose remembered that all the bowls and pails would be in the kitchen, and that Mother would be in the kitchen, too. He didn't want to have to go in to her again.But the man reached into his pack and drew out a leather bottle, which he held out to Ambrose. Ambrose took it. It was empty.
    ‘Wait here,’ he said, and ducked hastily back inside the doorway. The goats were still there, looking at him expectantly. He tried to pull the door shut behind him, to block them from going out, but it stuck on the stones as it always did. He was about to try again when he realized that the stranger would probably think it rude to have the door slammed in his face. Maybe he thought Ambrose had been rude already. But there was no time to think about that. The man wanted water.
    He scattered the goats back into the yard, slipped past the inner goat-barrier and walked softly over to the fountain. The door to the kitchen was open, but Mother did not call from within. He did not call either. Nothing like this sudden arrival had ever happened before. He wanted to keep it to himself for as long as he could. He waited anxiously while the thin stream of water filled the bottle, and then hurried back to the gate, thrilled by the chance of being able to talk to the man again.
You're tall for your age
. True, Mother sometimes said the same. But it had never sounded so rich with praise before.
    The door was still ajar. He could see the light cracking from top to bottom of the outer arch. A couple of goats were back at the tunnel, looking interestedly at the opening. If he had left it another few moments they would already have made their way outside. He slipped past them and squeezed noiselessly through the gap.
    The man had sat down with his back to the arch, intent on something in his hands. For a moment he didnot seem to realize Ambrose had returned. Then he looked up.
    The thing in his hands was a book. The man closed it with a snap.
    A book!
    ‘Can I see that?’ said Ambrose, eager for anything new.
    ‘It's mine,’ said the man, thrusting it back into his sack. As it disappeared Ambrose glimpsed a shape upon its cover: a blank disc with a mark upon the left-hand side.
    ‘Is that a moon on it?’ he said. ‘My father's sign?’
    ‘What? Your father?’ The man looked hard at him. Slowly, his hands drew the cords on his pack closed and knotted them firmly. ‘Who is your father then?’
    ‘He died when I was a baby.’
    The man's mouth drew into a wry grin.
    ‘Lucky, aren't you? Wish mine had. Is that my

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