The Angel's Command (41 page)

The bear pressed his nose against her forehead. “Mmmmmmmm.” He lowered his head until it was resting in her lap.

Arnela rummaged about and produced an old file. “I've filed many a misshapen hoof straight with this.”

With extreme care, Karay packed the inside of the collar with warm damp moss. Ben could hear her teeth grinding as she muttered with barely controlled rage and fury, “This collar is spiked on both sides. Filthy Razan scum! How could they do this to a human being? I'm glad they're all dead. Glad!”

Arnela slid her hand under the collar and filed away at the green-encrusted copper rivet that held it together. It did not take the sturdy goatherd long. With a single heave of both hands, she bent the iron collar straight and flung it from her. “Go on, Karay, let's see what our bear looks like!”

The girl's nimble fingers felt the row of tough rawhide stitches joining the head to the body. She wiped away with a fresh cloth soaked in semihot water. Dried blood and matted fur parted enough for her to see what she was doing properly. Stitch by stitch the sinewy yarn parted until she had worked right around the neck with Arnela's knife. Shielding the head beneath by placing her hand under the hide at the back of the nape, she sliced neatly upward toward the top of the skull. All this time her patient lay quite still, never uttering a single sound. Arnela had to help her to lift the bear's head skin free—the original bone was still inside the muzzle. It was indeed a real man!

He sat in silence, tears brimming out of his deep brown eyes. His hair—long, greasy and black as a raven's wing—had moulded itself to his head. He had a broken nose, and his skin was like pale wax. A beard of whiskers grew from high on his cheekbones, almost masking his lips. Around his neck were the scratches and scars left by the collar spikes. His teeth were yellowed and stained but in good shape. It was hard to tell, but he looked to be around twenty or so years of age. His eyes never once left Karay's face.

Ned shook his head in amazement. “Well, now I've seen everything!”

Ben agreed with the thought as he turned to Dominic. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking, mate? Look at that face!”

Dominic had studied many faces before, and now his eyes roved over the features. “It's a good face, Ben, a strong one. By the size of it, I'd say there is a very big man inside that bearskin. I've seen faces like that in artwork in great churches and cathedrals—the faces of saints who have suffered greatly.”

Karay was hardly aware of Arnela taking the knife from her. The goatherd slit the skin at the wrists, freeing the young man's hands.

Karay whispered to him. “Who are you, can you speak, my friend?”

He touched his throat and made a low noise. “ 'Damuuuh!”

Dominic and Ben whooped together. “Adamo!”

A smile like the rising sun lit up Arnela's face. “The little boy from years ago, I knew it! I knew it all along, Adamo, it had to be you!”

Adamo looked at the big woman—he almost smiled. A grunt of recognition passed his lips. Then Karay took charge. “Why don't you all go and see if the road is open through the woodlands. Adamo can't return to his uncle in Veron looking like this. I'll help him to clean up. Arnela, could you put a fresh edge on your blade and leave it with me?”

The big woman understood. She stropped her knife vigorously on a leather strap, issuing orders. “Ben, you'll find some herbal ointment I made in that little box on the ledge. It's as good as any soap. Dom, heat more water. Here's an old hair slide, Karay, that'll make do for a comb. Come on, Ned, we'll go and scout the path out. You lads can follow us!”

They surveyed the landscape in the bright morning sunshine from the elevated view of a high snowbank created by the enormous landslide. Distant hills appeared fresh and green with the lilac haze of heather patchworking them. Stream water glinted along newly diverted courses. Down in the valleys, larks ascended, trilling in the clear air.

Ben listened to his dog's thoughts. “What a day! It makes life worthwhile. I'm glad our angel saved us from the
Flying Dutchman.
Our friend the old comte and a lot of folk in these regions are going to be very happy, now that we've found Adamo and got rid of the Razan plague!”

Ben agreed mentally. “Aye, Ned, the mission is completed now. It makes me sad to think we'll have to move on, but we could not afford to be seen here years from now, with everyone growing older and us forever the same age.”

Dominic looked at his friend's clouded blue eyes. “What's the matter, Ben? You look sad all of a sudden.”

Ben had no chance to answer. Ned knocked him flat in the snow. Sprawling on the boy's chest, the black Labrador licked Ben's face furiously as he berated him mentally. “Haha, O mournful moping master, the clever Ned banishes all miseries. I'll soon lick a smile back on your face!”

Arnela and Dominic burst out laughing at the sight of Ben trying to wrestle Ned off and pleading with him. “Yurgh! Gerroff, y'great sloppy hound! Look, I'm smiling, I'm happy! Let me up, please!”

Arnela lifted the dog from her friend. “What's all this about?”

Ben struggled upright, dusting the snow from himself. “Dominic started it, marm. Ned was just trying to put a smile on my face. Back, Ned, back! See, I'm happy again!”

The big woman tucked Ned under her arm as though he were a goat, and she set off back to the cave. “Come on, you two. Let's see how our Adamo is looking now.”

Karay was sitting outside the cave, enjoying the morning sun with Adamo. She waved as they came scrunching through the snow. “Just take a peep at this handsome fellow!”

The young man's cheeks coloured slightly. He gave a shy smile. Karay had given Adamo a wash, shave and haircut.

Arnela gasped. “Surely this isn't the scraggy old bear we rescued from the Razan? He's got skin like a peach, and look at the length of those eyelashes. Any maiden would give a bag of gold to have eyelashes like that. Karay, I think you'd better hide Adamo from the ladies of Veron when he gets back!”

The girl took Adamo's wide, powerful hand in hers. “I'll fight them if they even glance his way! But he's not quite ready for public appearances yet. We haven't any decent clothing to fit him! He's a big fellow, almost taller than you, Arnela, and broader across the shoulders. Underneath that cloak of yours, which I borrowed for him, Adamo still has on the bearskin. So he's still half man, half bear, eh, friend?”

Ben had only seen Adamo bent and shuffling in his role as a bear. He was taken aback when the young man stood up straight. Karay was right: Adamo was a big fellow. He stayed solemn for a moment, his soft brown eyes looking from one of them to the other. Then he gave an enormous grin and spread both arms wide. The cloak parted, revealing him clad in the bear hide from foot to neck. He danced comically to and fro, kicking up the wide, floppy pads that encased his feet and waving his fur-coated arms round and round. Ned's delighted barks mingled with the helpless laughter of the onlookers. Adamo performed an awkward bow and said a single word, though he had difficulty in getting it out. “F . . . frrr . . . free!”

28

COMTE VINCENTE BREGON OF VERON sat in his gazebo at the centre of his beautiful walled garden. Though it was mid-afternoon, he was still clad in his nightshirt and dressing gown. He looked old and haggard. A small garden beetle trundled slowly over his sandalled foot, a magpie was strutting boldly about on the open windowsill. They were ignored by the old man, who stared unhappily at the fading blooms bordering the gravel path. His mind was elsewhere. The magpie spotted the beetle. It was about to descend on the insect and snatch it, when it was disturbed by footsteps. The bird flew off, giving the beetle an unknowing extension to its short life.

Mathilde, the equally old but energetic cook, bustled into the gazebo, sniffing irately as she placed a tray of food and drink on an ornamental table beside her master. “Still sitting here like a scarecrow, eh?”

Wiping the sleeve of his gown across both eyes, the comte replied wearily, “Go away and leave me alone, woman.”

However, Mathilde was not about to go away. She persisted, “Can ye hear the market fair outside? I can. Why don't you put on some decent clothing and get out there? 'Twill do you good. Summer's almost gone, and you sit out here from dawn to dusk, day after day, like some old cracked statue.”

He sighed, staring down at the beetle, which was laboriously crawling from his big toenail to the floor. “Give your tongue a rest, Mathilde. 'Tis my own business how I conduct my life. Go back to your kitchens.”

Mathilde stubbornly tapped the tray and continued her tirade. “You'll become an old skeleton, eat something! You never touched the nice breakfast I served you this morning, so I've brought you chicken broth with barley and leeks. Look, fresh bread, cream cheese and a glass of milk laced with brandy. Taste it, that's all I ask, just take a little bit.”

The comte turned his lined face from her stern gaze. “Take it away, I'm not hungry. Please, give it to one of the servants. I have no appetite for food or drink.”

The faithful Mathilde knelt by his side, her voice softening. “What is it, Vincente, what ails you?”

Again he wiped the sleeve across his eyes. “I'm an old fool—worse, an unthinking old fool. On a silly impulse I sent three young people and a dog to their deaths!”

Mathilde stood up brusquely, her attitude hardening. “Oh, 'tis that again, is it? Well, let me tell you, sir, 'twas not your doing—they volunteered themselves to go. Hmph! Gypsies and vagabonds, little wonder they never came back. If you ask me, they've probably joined up with the Razan. They're creatures of a kind, all of them!”

The comte's eyes flared briefly, his voice sharpening as he pointed a finger toward the big house. “Go, you bad-mouthed old fishwife. Go!”

She bustled off in a huff, muttering aloud, “Well, I've done my duty to the Bregons. Soon we'll have a dead comte on our hands, one who starved himself into his grave. What'll become of Veron then, eh? Those Razan'll march straight in and take over the entire place. Mark my words!”

The comte spoke, not so much to answer her, merely ruminating to himself. “Why does God choose fools to rule? I was deluding myself that Adamo would be still alive after all these years. That pretty young girl, those good young boys and their dog, their lives are lost now, all because of a stupid old man's desires. Oh Lord, forgive me for what I've done!”

Garath, the comte's blacksmith and stable master, trudged up the three steps into the gazebo. Placing a strong arm under the older man's elbow, he gently eased him into a standing position. “Time for you to go inside now, sir. Shall I send someone out to bring your food in also? That soup still looks hot, you may fancy it later.”

Shaking his head, the comte allowed himself to be led off. “Do what you wish with the food. Take me to my bedchamber, Garath, I feel tired.”

 
It was the last day of the market fair, and a few people were leaving early owing to the long journey home they would have to take. Seated in a two-wheeled cart drawn by a lumbering ox, a farmer, together with his wife and teenage daughter, made their way to the gate in Veron's walls. The cart was held up at the gateway. It could not proceed because of an argument that was going on between two fresh-faced, newly appointed guards and five other people. The farmer sat patiently, holding the ox reins, whilst the dispute outside the gate carried on.

Karay's voice rang out. “Five centimes? That's daylight robbery! It was only two centimes apiece and one for the dog last time we came here! Go and get the comte, he'll be glad to let us through for free!”

The tallest of the two guards, who was little more than a runaway farmboy, laughed at the girl's claim. “Hoho, personal friends of the comte, are we? Listen, girl, we may be new t'this job, but we ain't soft in the head. Entrance fees to the fair have risen, how d'you suppose the sergeant can make up our wages, eh?”

Arnela's voice replied with a dangerous edge to it. “You keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, or you'll feel the back of my hand. Where is your sergeant? Go and fetch him—he'll certainly know what to do!”

The smaller guard was even younger than his comrade but was polite and serious. “Marm, the sergeant's having his meal in the big house kitchen. You'll have to wait until he comes back here, neither of us is allowed to leave his post. If you pay us the entrance fee, then I'm sure he'll be glad to sort out the difference with you later. Sorry, but 'tis more than our job's worth to let you in free, you understand, marm?”

Karay's voice chimed in. “So, then, how much d'you want?”