David Gemmell: Wolf in Shadow

'You are a bitter man, Mr Shannow.'

'Indeed I am. But I am content with what I am and I do not compromise my principles. Now you, Mr Burry, are a man of God. Yet you come to this house to defend murderers, and you align yourself with the ungodly. Fletcher killed Fray Taybard's husband. His men are a pack of cut-throats. And even now, Mr Burry, you sit here as the Judas goat and death is waiting as we speak.'

'What do you mean? You are speaking nonsense.'

'Am I indeed?'

'Explain yourself.'

Shannow shook his head and smiled. ‘There are three men hiding in the trees to the north. Did they come with you?'

'No, Mr Shannow, they did not, but you must realize that a sum of fifty Barta coins will be paid to anyone who brings in the body of a known Brigand.'

'I should have taken the corpses to Rivervale,' said Shannow. 'Both Miles and Pope were known murderers; they killed a travelling family in Sertace two years ago, and they also rode with Daniel Cade when he was raiding the south-west.'

'I do not believe, you Mr Shannow.'

'It is better for your conscience that you do not, Mr Burry.'

The meal was eaten in silence and Burry left soon after. Eric said nothing as the saint rode away but went to his room, shutting the door behind him.

'I am worried about him,' said Donna as she and Shannow cleared away the dishes and plates.

'He fears me, Donna. I do not blame him.'

'He is not eating, and his dreams are bad.'

'I think your friend Burry is right and I should be moving. But I fear for you — when I am gone, Fletcher will return.'

'Then do not go, Jon. Stay with us.'

'I do not think you understand the danger. I am not a man any longer, I am a walking bag of Barta coins for any who feel they can collect on me. Even now there are three men in the hills building their nerve to come for me.'

'I do not want you to go,' she said.

He reached out and lightly touched her cheek. 'I want only what you want, but I know what must happen.'

He left her then and walked to Eric's room. He tapped on the door, but there was no reply; he tapped again.

'Yes?'

'It is Jon Shannow. May I come in?'

A pause. Then, 'All right.'

Eric was lying on his bed facing the door. He looked up at the tall figure and saw that Shannow was wearing his father's shirt; he had not noticed that before.

'May I sit down, Eric?'

'You can do what you like. I can't stop you,' said the boy miserably.

Shannow pulled up a chair and reversed it. 'Do you wan to talk about it?'

'About what?'

'I don't know, Eric. I only know that you are troubled Do you want to talk about your father? Or Fletcher? O me?'

'I expect Mother wishes I wasn't here,' said the boy sitting up and hugging his knees. 'Then she could be with you all the time.'

'She has not said that to me.'

'Mr Burry doesn't like you and I don't like you either.'

'Sometimes I don't like myself,' said Shannow. That keeps me in the majority.'

'Everything was all right until you came,' said Eric, tears starting as he bit his lip and looked away. 'Mother and me were fine. She slept in here and I didn't have bad dreams. And Mr Fletcher was my friend — and everything was fine.'

‘I’ll be gone soon,' Shannow told him softly, and the truth of the words hit him like a blow. The pool settles, and the ripples fade, and everything returns to the way it was.

'It won't be the same,' said Eric, and Shannow could offer no argument.

'You are very wise, Eric. Life changes — and not always for the better. It is the mark of a man how he copes with that fact. I think you will cope well, for you are strong; stronger than you think.'

'But I won't be able to stop them taking our house.'

'No.'

'And Mr Fletcher will force mother to live with him?'

'Yes,' said Shannow, swallowing hard and keeping the awful images from his mind.

'I think you had better stay for a little while, Mr Shannow,' said Eric.

'I think perhaps I had. It would be nice if we could be friends, Eric.'

'I don't want to be your friend.'

'Why?'

'Because you took my mother away from me, and now I am all alone.'

'You are not alone, but I cannot convince you of that, even though I probably know more about loneliness than any man alive. I have never had a friend, Eric. When I was your age, my father and mother were killed. I was raised for some time by a neighbour called Claude Vurrow; then he too was killed and since then I have been alone. People do not like me. I am the Jerusalem Man, the Shadow, the Brigand-slayer. Wherever I am I will be hated and hunted — or used by "better"

men. That is loneliness, Eric — sitting with a frightened child, and not being able to reach out and convince even him — that is loneliness.

'When I die, Eric, no one will mourn for me. It will be as if I never was. Would you like to be that lonely, boy?'

Eric said nothing and Shannow left the room.

The three men watched Shannow ride from the farmhouse heading east towards the forests of pine. Swiftly they saddled their ponies and rode after him.

Jerrik took the lead, for he was the man with the long rifle, a muzzle-loading flintlock a mere thirty-five years old. It was a fine gun which had seen three owners murdered for owning it.

Jerrik had acquired it as settlement for a gambling debt two years before, and had then used it to kill the former owner who was tracking him to steal it back. It seemed poetic, somehow, though Jerrik could not verbalize the reason.

Behind him rode Pearson and Swallow, men Jerrik could rely on… so long as all three were poor.

The trio had arrived only recently in Rivervale, but had swiftly come under Bard's watchful eye.

He had recommended them to Fletcher, and this task was their entry to the Committee.

'Hunt down and kill the Jerusalem Man.' The long rifle could handle that, given a fixed target, and Swallow was an expert crossbowman. Pearson was more of a knife expert, but he could hurl a blade with uncanny accuracy. Jerrik was confident that the deed could be completed without tears.

'Do you think he's leaving the area?' asked Swallow. Jerrik showed his contempt at the question by ignoring it but Pearson grinned, showing broken teeth.

'No saddlebags,' he said.

'Why don't we wait and hit him when he comes back?' asked Swallow.

'What if he comes back at night?' answered Jerrik.

Swallow lapsed into silence. Younger than the others, he felt a need to be heard with respect, yet every time he spoke he left himself open to mockery. Pearson slapped the blond youngster on the shoulder and grinned at him. He knew what the lad was thinking, as he knew also the cause of his problem. Swallow was too stupid to know that he was stupid. But Pearson liked him and they were well-matched in many ways. Both disliked the company of women, both enjoyed the power that came from a lack of conscience and the god-like joy of holding a life in their hands before snuffing it out. The only difference lay in the fact that Swallow enjoyed killing men, whereas Pearson found the torture of women to be an exquisite pleasure.

Jerrik was unlike them in that regard. He neither enjoyed nor abhorred killing. It was merely a task — like weeding, or felling trees, or skinning rabbits; something to be done swiftly. Watching Pearson and Swallow at their work only bored him, and the screams always kept him awake.

Jerrik was approaching fifty and felt it was tune to settle down and raise children; he had his eye on a farm in Rivervale, and the young widow who owned it. With the Barta coins he expected for the Jerusalem Man he would have some woollen clothes made, and pay court to the widow. She would have to treat him seriously, as a Committee man.

The trio followed Shannow's tracks high into the pine forest and it was coming to dusk when they spotted his camp-fire.