The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

Blowing rainwater from the tip of his nose, Ben agreed. “Aye, my stomach’s been growling worse than you, mate. See up ahead there, top of that slope a few fields away? It looks like woodland to me. Shall we give it a try?”

Ned raised his head and squinted into the rain. “Why not? At least we’ll get some decent shelter under the trees. I’m not fond of this country, it’s too quiet altogether. Come on, all we’re doing is getting wetter sitting here.”

The sound of water squelching and splashing from the grass and earth beneath their feet was muffled by the downfall as they ran across the eerily silent landscape. It was tough going for tired limbs as they made their way uphill. Breathless and saturated, Ben and Ned finally arrived beneath the shelter of the trees on a thickly wooded hilltop. A variety of white beam, juneberry, elm, beech and various conifers grew in profusion to provide a fairly dry covering overhead. The two friends sat with their backs against a broad elm on the fringe, gazing out over the dismal countryside.

A shudder passed through Ben as he rubbed his hands up and down both arms. “Huh, what I wouldn’t give for a cheery old fire, that rain has chilled my bones!”

Ned settled down, chin on paws. “A good old fire, eh? I’ll let you know if I come across one. Maybe it’ll brighten up by midnoon and we’ll take a proper look around. Meanwhile, I’m tired. Let’s take a nap for an hour or two.”

Ben lay down by the dog’s side. As they watched the rain drifting down out in the open, weariness overcame the pair, and, eyelids drooping, they dropped into slumber.

Ben was not aware of how long he had slept. He woke shivering to the feel of Ned’s rough tongue licking his hand. It was almost dark.

The boy complained, rubbing his eyes. “What did you wake me for, mate? I was having a nice sleep there. Nice but cold. Brrrr!”

The Labrador’s mental message reached him. “That good old fire you were going on about, it’s not too far from here.”

Ben stood up, peering into the thick, darkening woodlands. “Where? I can’t see it.”

Ned pointed with his nose, like a hunting dog. “Over that way somewhere. I can’t see it either, but I can smell it. Let’s go easy now, we don’t know what sort of person lit the fire. Follow me, but quietly, Ben, quietly.”

Ben trailed in his dog’s path, through bush and foliage and round the gnarled trunks of big, ancient trees. Ned halted after a while, sheltering himself behind an oak. “There it is—told you I could smell fire.”

Ben stood on tiptoe to get a clear view of the distant light. He could make out a small pedlar’s cart, its shafts resting on the ground in a small clearing. The two friends crept forward until both could see properly. A man was sleeping by the fire, and there was no sign of a horse or donkey to pull the cart. A girl in her midteens was sitting chained to a cartwheel, a scarf bound round her mouth as a gag.

Unwittingly, Ben trod on a dry twig. It snapped underfoot. The man, a big fat fellow, grunted in his sleep and rolled over onto his back. He began snoring loudly, but the girl saw them. She locked eyes with Ben.

The boy held a finger to his lips, hearing Ned’s thought. “Not much use telling her to be quiet—she’s got no choice with that gag on. Look, her eyes are moving up and down. She’s nodding toward something. Let’s get a bit closer!”

A wooden club with a leather-bound handle lay close by the sleeping man. Ben knew immediately that the girl’s eyes were signalling him to use the club on the man. He looked at Ned. “What shall we do?”

The dog’s thoughts were not in the least hesitant. “That’s a pretty girl the fat rogue’s keeping prisoner. Wallop him with the club, Ben. That way we’ll be able to free her, and he’ll get a sound night’s sleep. Go on!”

Bent almost double, the boy inched forward into the firelight. The girl was urging him on, nodding her head furiously. Ben was unsure what force it would take to stun the big fat man, but he lifted the club and gave the fellow’s head a sharp rap. The man sat bolt upright, one hand rubbing his head, the other shooting out to grab the boy’s leg as he roared angrily. “You little murderer, what the h—”

Ben swung the club overarm, closing his eyes as he heard the loud bonk it made on the man’s skull. Ned trotted into the firelight, nodding his approval. “That’s more like it, mate. Get that gag out of the maid’s mouth!”

Throwing down the club, Ben swiftly knelt and undid the scarf. The girl was indeed pretty—almond-skinned, doe-eyed and slender with a mass of black curls framing her face. Ben was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice.

“That lard barrel has the key to these shackles on a string around his neck. Get them here before he wakes up. Quick!”

Lifting the man’s head, Ben pulled the string over it and took the key, then undid the lock that held her wrists chained to the metal wheel rim. No sooner was she free than the girl bounded over, grabbed the club and whacked it down hard twice on the unconscious man’s ankle. He moaned softly. She raised the club high, her voice harsh.

“Here, I’ll give you something to whine about!”

Ben caught her arm and wrenched the club from her. “What are you trying to do, kill him?”

Taking several long, burning branches from the fire, the girl bound them together like a torch. “Hah! That’d be no bad thing, he deserves killin’. Let’s get out of here!”

Grabbing a small bag from the cart, she tossed it to Ben. “Here, you carry the food!”

Ned ran hard on her heels, exchanging thoughts. “She’s a fierce one, mate, I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of her. See the way she swung that club!”

“Maybe she did it with good reason, Ned. Anyhow, at least we’ve got food and the means to make a fire. I wish she’d slow down. Whew! That girl can certainly run!”

It was quite a while before the girl stopped running. She chose a spot deep in the woods, surrounded by trees and backed by an outcropping of several tall rocks. “Get wood for a fire before this torch burns down to nothing!”

Wordlessly, Ben and Ned foraged around for dry wood. As she built the fire, the girl took the branches of dead pine that Ned was carrying in his mouth.

She beckoned Ben to sit beside her and stroked Ned. “This is a good clever dog, I like him. What’s his name?”

The boy began opening the bag she had taken from the cart. “I’m Ben, and he’s called Ned. What’s your name?”

She snatched the bag from him. “Karayna, but they call me Karay.” She took a small stale loaf of wheat bread from the bag. Breaking it into three equal pieces, she handed one to Ben, threw the other to Ned, and began tearing at her own portion.

Ben watched her face in the firelight—she was indeed very nice-looking. “You were pretty hard on the man, Karay. Why?”

She rubbed at her wrist where the chain had chafed it. “Huh, that miserable gut bucket! We were in prison together, at Leon, but we broke out and stole the cart. Since then he’s used me like a horse, making me pull the cart and get his food for him. He chained me to the cart every night, said he was going to sell me in the mountains on the Spanish border. Don’t worry about that fat worm anymore—he won’t find it so easy to get along with a broken ankle. Nobody treats me like that and gets away with it!”

Ben chewed on the hard bread thoughtfully. “What were you both doing in prison?”

Karay elbowed him smartly in the ribs. “That’s no business of yours. But, if y’must know, I was a singer and he was a clown. We went from town to town, entertaining on market days. He’d mingle with the crowd while I sang, and I’d do the same when he was doing his act.”