Jack Whyte - The Singing Sword

A very short time later, I stopped about fifteen paces in front of the carpenter's hut, just at the edge of a screen of bushes and saplings that surrounded the clearing in which the dwelling stood. Holding my torch high with my right hand, I signalled with my left to arrest the six young soldiers I had commandeered and brought with me. They had been playing dice in the barracks by the villa. I had already told them what was involved here as we walked, and that I was unsure of what we might find awaiting us. At first glance, however, we could see nothing sinister. The hut was a sturdy one, as one might expect the home of a carpenter to be. It was dark and peaceful, and smoke from a damped-down fire wisped gently through the hole left for it at the peak of the roof. The building had two crude windows, both covered with thick wooden shutters, and a heavy, latched door that looked as though it would be barred on the inside. I wondered what lay behind it as I stood there looking at it for long moments. Finally one of the soldiers cleared his throat tentatively and I interpreted it correctly as a signal either to do something or let them get back to their interrupted game. I spoke to the decurion in charge.

"You stay here with your men and wait. Keep them here for the time being, among the bushes and out of sight from the hut. I'm going to go in alone. It doesn't seem like there's any danger, but you can never really be sure of these things. There can be few situations more lethal than a bad domestic disturbance. Wait until I call you in, and when I do, if I do, come fast and be prepared to subdue this man and take him prisoner. You understand me? Take him prisoner. No matter what happens, or how violent he gets, I want him alive. Is that clear?"

He nodded, and I stepped from concealment and walked towards the hut, stopping again only when I was directly in front of the door. This time I listened for noises from inside, but I heard nothing. I drew a deep breath, shifted my torch to my left hand and pounded on the door. I heard an immediate babble of voices inside, all female, and then a rough, explosive male voice telling them all to be quiet, whereupon there was immediate silence. I knocked again, feeling a surprising and profound relief at knowing the women were alive, at least, and realizing only then that I had been dreading to find a charnel-house resembling the Villa Titens on the day of Dom's final madness. Then I heard movement inside and a clatter and cursing as someone knocked over something heavy. A few moments later light flared, gleaming through the space behind the shutters on the windows, and the same rough male voice came to me in a shout, asking who I was and what in Hades I wanted at this time of night.

I kept my voice level but raised it sufficiently to be heard behind the door.

"This is Publius Varrus, from the villa. I wish to speak to Lignus the carpenter."

Another hiss of muffled conversation and another oath from the man silencing it. I waited. Finally the voice came back at me.

"What do you want with him?"

"Words. And I don't want to shout through a door. Open up."

There was a pause, then, "Step back, away from the door. How do I know you're who you say you are? Step back and let me see you from the window."

I took two steps backward and stood in the open, my gut tensed against the arrow or the knife that could easily come seeking me. One of the shutters on the window to the right of the door opened slightly, I saw a shape peering out at me and heard him grunt as he recognized me. The shutter opened further and he leaned out, his head sweeping from side to side as he looked around the entire clearing as far as he could see.

"Are you alone?"

"Do you see anyone else here?"

"Humph. What do you want? You should be abed like every other honest man."

"I will be, soon, but I want to talk to you, and the matter is important."

"Well then, talk, I'm listening."

I knew I had to tread carefully here. It was imperative that he leave the window and open the heavy door, otherwise any attempt to take him into custody might be bloody and wasteful. I drew myself erect and voiced my disgust in the tone of my next words.

"I have urgent need of a carpenter. An immediate need for which I am willing to pay well. They told me you were the best. But I will be damned if I am going to stand here shouting to you like a huckster in the middle of the street, broadcasting my affairs to all ears while you huddle in the warmth of your hut like a lazy boar. Go back to bed, Lignus, I'll find another carpenter."

I turned on my heel and began to walk away, and his voice stopped me before I had taken two paces.

"Wait! Wait, damnation! I'll open the door."

He pulled the shutter back into place and a moment later I heard the heavy bar on the door being removed. I stepped forward again as the door began to open, but he held it only partly ajar with the weight of his body and stuck his head through the opening. When he spoke this time, his voice was quieter, less surly.

"What is it then? What's this urgent need you have? You've never called on me before."

Even from the little of him that was visible, I could see he was an enormous bear of a man, half a head taller than me, with a heavy, rank beard and a great, swollen belly. He did not seem to be drunk, but I was close enough to notice that he stank of sour, dirty sweat and his breath reeked of something like fish oil; I felt my stomach heave, partly through revulsion, but mainly because of the anger I bore towards him. I moved closer.

"Can I come in?"

"Eh?" Plainly I had caught him unprepared. He had not expected me to enter, or even to wish to enter. He glanced around the clearing again before clearing his throat and denying me. "No! No, I'll come out. Give me a minute."

He closed the door in my face and I heard him muttering to someone inside, another voice arose, and then came the sound of a blow and a muffled, female cry of pain. My rage flared up again. I dropped my hand to the hilt of my sword and swung my torch around my head, making the flames flare up. When he opened the door to come outside, I thrust the flaming end of my torch towards his face, making him gasp in surprise and leap back, throwing up his hands to shield his eyes. I pushed the door wide with my shoulder and followed him inside, drawing my sword as I went.

The heat inside the hut was stifling. I was aware of two guttering lamps, a large, glowing fire and several moving bodies drawing back in fear from my intrusion, but I kept my eyes firmly fastened on the carpenter. His surprise was short-lived and his face clouded with anger as he tensed himself to leap at me. I threw the point of my sword up towards his throat.

"Don't," I warned him, and the venom in my voice held him back. "Don't even begin to think about tackling me, or I'll spill your guts on your feet." I moved closer to him, backing him up against the wall, and saw fear in his eyes. "You think I'm deranged?" I prodded my point towards him. "You think the man you're facing has lost his mind? Well, perhaps I have. I found your son tonight, you drunken whoreson, out by the lake. Young Simeon. How old is he? Eight? Seven? He's at the villa, and he may be dead by now. Nobody thinks he can survive the beating you gave him. He has a shattered leg, so even if he lives, he'll never walk properly again. And his arm is broken, and his ribs, and perhaps his skull. His teeth are broken, and he may have lost an eye, and his lower lip was torn off, and he's what? Seven? Eight years old? Did he put up a good fight, pig? Did he tax your strength? Or did he scream for mercy? Look in my eyes, you gutter-dropped son of a whore, and ask yourself if you can see much promise of mercy there, and then ask yourself again what I might do if you give me half a reason to restrain you."