Roger Taylor - Farnor

He signalled the end of the exchange and Dessane left with the two men. After they had gone, Nilsson looked round the room sourly. The memories were still there, stirred up and hovering like the dust. Making visible what had lain unseen for a long time.

The following day Gryss arrived bringing more food, though not as much as on the first journey.

He saw none of the sick, however. ‘They’re all fine now,’ Nilsson assured him as he signalled his men to begin unloading the cart. ‘It was as you said: fatigue, hunger. It’s been a bad journey. The rest and your food has put everyone back on their feet. And we’ve managed to find better quarters for everyone. The place is in remarkably good order.’

Gryss pressed. ‘Are you sure? It’s no hardship to look at them now I’m here.’

Nilsson waved his concerns aside. ‘These are sol-diers, Gryss. They learned long ago that if they didn’t recover quickly they died. Illness, exhaustion, what you will, is a luxury they can’t afford.’

Gryss found himself torn. He had no great desire to keep visiting these people, as, indeed, not only were none of them truly sick but almost without exception they seemed to exude a quality which made it difficult for him to raise any feeling of the true goodwill towards them that was essential if he was to heal. It distressed him. They distressed him.

On the other hand, he did not wholly believe Nils-son. Despite the Captain’s flashes of pleasant, even charming, behaviour, there was a cold menace about him that cut through the old healer. And more than a few of the men he had examined bore signs of physical brutality about their persons.

Still, he thought resignedly, there was nothing he could do if he wasn’t asked. Like Nilsson, he must look to his own, and their ends would best be served by getting rid of these unwanted newcomers as soon as possible.

‘Whatever you say, Captain,’ he replied. ‘If you need any further help, you can always send for me.’ He looked towards his now empty cart and then back at Nilsson. ‘Incidentally, while I’m here can you tell me what we need to do about the tithe-gathering ceremony? It’s been so long since there’s been one that no one knows anything about it.’

‘The tithe ceremony,’ Nilsson echoed, nodding his head slowly and purposefully while he tried to think what to say. Inspiration came. Taking on as sage an expression as he could, he said, ‘In a… garrisoned region… like this, albeit abandoned for the time being, the practice… indeed, the requirement… is that the tithe be brought to the garrison headquarters for checking, prior to being taken to the capital.’

Gryss frowned. ‘That’s a deal of trouble – bringing everything all the way up here when you have to go back past where it’s being stored on your way home.’

Nilsson shrugged. He was warming to his idea. ‘It’s not something I’ve any authority over, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ve realized by now that many things have changed of late, and I would be answerable to my superiors if one of the… King’s examiners… were suddenly to appear and find me blatantly ignoring the procedures that the King himself has authorized.’

Gryss pulled a wry face. He was about to say that hardly anyone ever came to the valley, but the very fact that Nilsson and his men were there destroyed that as an effective argument. He could offer to have people sent downland to act as look-outs, but he was far from certain as to how Nilsson might react to such a sugges-tion with its hint of collusion. Besides, whatever the final reckoning of the tithe there would be a lot of produce to be loaded, and who was to say that one of these… examiners… might not suddenly arrive at full gallop? More than a few certainties had disappeared with the arrival of these gatherers.

‘Very well,’ he conceded with a sigh. ‘If that’s the way it has to be then I suppose that’s the way it has to be. But it does seem to be remarkably foolish in this instance.’

Nilsson agreed. ‘I’ll mention it when I get back,’ he said, continuing his extemporization. ‘Perhaps they’ll allow some other arrangement next year.’

Gryss gave a resigned nod of acknowledgement and turned to matters practical. ‘When shall we start bringing the produce up, then?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to be present when the barn is opened?’

Nilsson faltered. He did not want to leave this place with its strong walls and gate, other than to move northwards and away from this country for ever. But having stumbled upon this unexpected supply of free food it would be madness to jeopardize it for what must be, in reality, a small risk.

‘Oh yes,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s most important.’ He paused as if considering many tasks ahead. ‘I’ll be along tomorrow. Three hours after daybreak.’

‘Should there be anyone special from the village?’ Gryss persisted.

Nilsson shrugged. ‘Anyone,’ he said simply. ‘Provid-ing one of them has the key.’ He smiled, but he was becoming increasingly anxious to end this business before he said something that might expose him. He changed the direction of the conversation abruptly. ‘Tell me, Gryss, what lies to the north of here?’

‘As far as I know, the Great Forest,’ Gryss said.

‘As far as you know?’ Nilsson queried.

‘I haven’t actually visited the place myself,’ Gryss replied. ‘In fact, no one’s ever been further up the valley than the castle. There’s no cause to, is there?’

‘Then how can you know what’s up there?’ Nilsson asked, an exasperated edge creeping into his voice.

Gryss laughed. ‘I can’t, I suppose, if you put it like that,’ he said. ‘But the existence of the Great Forest has been accepted by countless generations of families here, and I’ve no special reason to doubt it. Don’t forget that most people here haven’t seen the capital, or for that matter even any of the nearer towns and villages, but that doesn’t mean they don’t believe in them.’

Nilsson seemed to be disconcerted by this powerful innocence. To help him, Gryss pointed. ‘Certainly if you go to that crag over there, you’ll see the valley’s solid with trees further along.’

Nilsson still looked bemused by Gryss’s unashamed ignorance. ‘We’ll have to look for ourselves, then,’ he said after a moment, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

Gryss watched him. Farnor had told him of the simi-lar conversation he had had with Dessane the previous day. Why should tithe gatherers be so interested in the land to the north? Once again the most disturbing of the thoughts that had been stirred up in the wake of the new arrivals swirled into his mind. He could do no other than blurt it out.

‘Is there… trouble… to the north?’ he asked softly, as if his voice might ring out from the castle and inform the whole valley. ‘Something we need to know about? A foreign enemy gathering for an invasion?’

The question further discomposed Nilsson. This old man was a peculiar mixture of country oaf and sharp-minded politician. He was almost impossible to read and thus unpredictable and dangerous. Who knew what information he might be picking up from the most seemingly casual conversation? Nilsson reminded himself that whatever else Gryss might be, he was the head man of this village and doubtless not without skill in manipulating people. It would be unwise to take him for granted. He resolved to keep him at arm’s length for the remainder of his stay.

Starting now.

‘No,’ he said, with great sincerity, ‘there’s nothing to concern you. I told you before, many things have changed lately and we’ve simply been given the task of reporting on the state of the borders as well as… gathering… the tithe as we move around the country.’ He laid a hand on Gryss’s shoulder and gently turned him back towards his cart.