Aftermath
Owain wasn't left to lie down for long. Aidan came looking for him, with Sir Bernard in tow. They spoke in Occitan, for Sir Bernard's benefit. "Is he any better yet?"
Brecca stood up, and released Owain's hand. "He'll manage, I think. What do you need him for?"
"There's an old woman at the kitchens waving a ladle about...."
"I thought I gave orders to leave the kitchens alone," Brecca said.
Owain grinned, and sat up. It didn't hurt. Brecca handed him his crutch. "That'll be Paraskevi," he said, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "She'll talk to me."
He made it, slowly, and Brecca pushed aside the knot of Sir Bernard's men-at-arms who were standing in the doorway to let him through.
Something whizzed past his ear, and Owain turned to see a wooden bowl clatter against the wall and fall to the floor. "Hang on a minute! It's me, the Pigeon Boy!" He turned back to see Manoli holding a wooden plate like a discus. "Manoli - it's me! Don't throw that!"
Paraskevi peered out from behind Manoli, brandishing the ladle. "I might have known this was something to do with you," she said sternly.
"It's all right - I told them not to harm you. Well, as soon as I could I told them. Are you all here? And all right?"
Paraskevi sniffed. "We'll do." Reluctantly, she put down her ladle, and nudged Manoli until he put down the plate. "You look peaky."
"Kofi," Owain said briefly. "Listen - we've rounded up the corsairs and they're all locked in the hall." He turned to his mother. "It's safe for them to come out now, isn't it?"
Brecca nodded. "But what are we going to do with them?" she asked. "Where are they from?"
"There's an island called Kalymnos - the way they describe it, it's full of orange groves...."
"We could take them home, you know." Aidan had slipped into the kitchen behind them, without anyone noticing. "We'll be taking the prisoners back to Kharazan, and a Koine island can't be far out of the way. Do you know where it is, Owain?"
"I don't think so, but there are charts, in the Bey's quarters, and on the ships."
"Show me."
Owain hesitated, and turned back to Paraskevi. She hadn't been able to follow any of that. "It's all right - you can come out. It's safe, and they'll even take you home."
Owain led Aidan to the house that the Bey had taken over. He'd only been inside a handful of times, but he knew that was where the Captains met to plan their voyages - and the charts were easy to find, piled up in rolls at one end of a big table.
"This doesn't help us very much," Aidan commented, opening a chart at random and letting it spring shut again in a rattle of parchment. "It's all labelled in Turkic."
"There's something else here, too," Brecca said. She was standing over by a shelf piled high with scrolls. She pulled one down at random, opened it, and frowned.
"All in Turkic again, of course," Aidan said. "Any idea what they might be, Owain?"
"I think he kept records," Owain said. "So they could divide up the spoils fairly. There must be a lot of money stashed away here somewhere, too."
"Records," Brecca said thoughtfully. "If we could get someone to read them, we might be able to find out what happened to Arianrhod and Casmael."
"Uncle Liam will know someone, in Aberllong, I'm sure," Aidan said. "I'll have them collected up for translation."
"Speaking of money," Sir Bernard said, "and dividing it up...."
"Well, we'll take the ships, of course," Aidan said. "We'll need them to get the prisoners to Kharazan. If we can estimate what they're worth, I'm sure we can come to some agreement over the rest."
"I wonder if the horses are still here," Owain said. "The ones Gwalchmai brought. I think he'd like to have one of them back."
"And I'd like the other one," Brecca said. "Show me the stables ,would you?"
The horses were still there, well fed, recently groomed, and they looked as if they'd been regularly exercised, too. "Khamees must have been looking after them," Owain said. "Is he - did he survive the attack?"
"No idea," Aidan said. "We just separated out the officers after I'd talked to the Bey. Brave man, by the way - someone I think I could respect under other circumstances. He knows he's going to be taken back to be executed, but he's being very dignified about it. Do you want to check the prisoners?"
Owain hesitated - and thought that, in the end, he really didn't want to know. He had liked Khamees. He shook his head slowly. "I think - actually, I think I need to sit down again. Mother, could you come with me?"
She took his arm without hesitation. "Where's best for you?" she asked.
"Over there." He pointed to a nearby cottage. "That's where I slept, while I was here, in Captain al-Saad's room." He gave a wry smile. "I suppose all my stuff is still there."
The cottage looked untouched as yet - and the sea chest at the end of Owain's bed was still there. He sat down heavily. He felt hollow, still, and he knew he'd been doing too much running around. Brecca stood and watched him as he opened the chest and hauled out his good blue silk suit and turban. "If we're going to Kharazan," he said, "it's probably best if I wear my good clothes."
Brecca raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"They'll think we're barbarians," Owain went on. "If I'm dressed like one of them, they'll listen to me better. And I know how to be polite." He started to stuff the clothes into the bag he used when he was going on ship-board.
Gently but firmly, Brecca took the coat away from him. "But you have no idea how to fold things neatly, do you?" she said, laying the coat out on the bed beside him and deftly folding it into a small, compact bundle. "And the trousers - the Amir won't be too impressed if you speak for us while your clothes are rumpled up like an old rag." She smiled at him, to take the sting out of her criticism, and kissed him lightly on the forehead.
Rhys Gronw appeared in the doorway, his helmet tucked under his arm. "Lady? If we could, please? The light will be going soon."
"Oh. Of course." Brecca turned to Owain. "Can you show Lord Rhys where his son is buried, please?"
Owain nodded.
"I've got the priest here," Rhys Gronw said, "and enough of my troops to sing the Farewell."
Owain led them to the western end of the island. The priest Rhys Gronw had brought was carrying a bowl of water and a flaming torch, and another man with him had a bundle of long sticks in his arms, and a bag. At a little distance from the sandy point, everyone who was armed laid down their weapons and took off their chainmail. No-one brought iron into the presence of the Goddess.
Seagulls flew up as they approached. There were always a few seagulls there, on the beach.
There was no sign of a grave, but Owain knew exactly where Ferdia was buried, and went to stand at his feet. The others moved out to form a rough semi-circle. All of Rhys Gronw's people were there, and a few of Aidan and Brecca's. The priest stepped forward. He placed the bowl of water on the ground, and scratched a circle about ten paces across with the tip of his bronze dagger, with the grave in the centre.
While he was doing that, his assistant put the poles and the bag on the ground, close to hand.
At the Southern quarter of the circle, the priest thrust the torch into the sand firmly.
To the West, he thrust two of the long poles into the ground, and tied a shorter crossbar between them, making a crude doorframe. To one side of that, he placed the bowl of water.
To the North, the priest sprinkled black soil onto the pale sand.
At the East, the priest placed a little copper bowl. He filled it with something else from the bag, and lit the mixture with a taper from the torch. Blue, aromatic smoke began to arise.
He moved, then, outside the circle, passing through the doorway, motioning Owain to follow him. He stood close to the burning torch, facing the North across the circle. His voice carried clearly to the watching crowd.
"I call the spirit of Ferdia Rhys Gro
nw. If you linger here, make yourself known to us."
They waited. Seagulls settled again on the sand. Otherwise, nothing moved. The sun edged down towards the horizon.
"Ferdia! Come for your father." Rhys Gronw moved to stand beside the priest, outside the circle. "We have come to avenge your death, and to deal justice to your murderers."
There was a grey presence in the circle now, a solidness of the air, only vaguely human shaped.
"Justice....?" The word was little more than a whisper on the breeze. There was a pause, and then, "Father?"
"Lord Owain told me what you did," Rhys Gronw said.
"I'm sorry.... I was stupid...."
"I was told you died with honour."
"Still stupid....all my fault.... I'm sorry, Owain...."
"We've come to send you to the Summerlands," Owain said. "Kofi's gone, and Glynis Aide has dismantled the protection spells. You don't have to be bound any more. And you did die with honour. I only told your father the truth."
Beside Owain and Rhys Gronw, the priest was chanting the poems that opened the doors of the Summerlands. Someone had a drum, and was beating out a steady, slow rhythm. Some of the others were clapping in time to the beat. As the sun slid towards the horizon, a little breeze blew up inside the circle. The human shaped greyness began to swirl, and melt downwards until it looked like a small whirlwind. It moved towards the doorway - and now Owain could see the rainbow path, and beyond it that glimpse of green and warmth and joy that was the Summerlands.
And the sun set, and the glimpse was gone, and there was nothing left of Ferdia on the beach. The drummer picked up the beat, and everyone sang the Farewell, and then it was over. They were standing in the twilight while the priest dismantled the doorway and picked up the bowls and the torch, and slowly they turned away.
"Is there anything to drink on this Goddess-forsaken island?" Rhys Gronw asked, back in his chainmail and walking slowly beside Owain back to the manor buildings. Everyone else had gone on ahead. "We can't have a proper wake, but at least I'd like to raise one goblet of wine for the boy."
"There'll be some in the kitchen," Owain said, "and probably some raki, too." He was feeling very tired, now, and it occurred to him that he hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day. No wonder he was feeling lightheaded. "And coffee - but I shouldn't drink coffee just now." He wasn't sure why it was, but all his nervousness around Rhys Gronw had disappeared now, and he felt that Rhys Gronw was no longer wary around him.
Ferdia had blamed himself - that needed some thought, when Owain had thought it was his own fault all this time. But he was too tired now to puzzle it out.
Paraskevi was crossing the courtyard when Owain and Rhys Gronw got back. She was now wearing a brown silk robe over white cotton, hitched up with a scarlet sash because she was so much shorter than the original owner of the robe. Her hair was bound back with another, multicoloured, sash, and she looked twenty years younger. "Someone else is doing the cooking!" she said happily, showing off her new clothes to Owain. "So we have been going through the sea chests in the officers' quarters. You should see Manoli - he looks like a Captain!" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "And that's not all we found in the sea chests," she said. "There were purses of gold coins as well. When we get home, we will buy a farm, with an orange grove, and olives, and Manoli will run it for us, and we'll hire a girl to do the kitchen work!"
"Good for you!" Owain said. "Could you do something for us, though, if you're not too grand now? Would you find us some wine?"
"No wine for you, little weather witch," she said, "and no coffee, neither. I'll make you some herbal tea to help your head - if those barbarians will let me near the fire."
Rhys Gronw put his head round the kitchen door - and saw that everyone there was wearing Sir Bernard's silver and blue livery. He headed off to one of the barns and, a few minutes later, returned with Sir Miles. After a short conversation with the man in charge of the cooking, Paraskevi was given free run of the place. She filled a jug with wine for Rhys in the store cupboard, and then busied herself at one end of the fire brewing a herbal mixture that she had made for Owain before, when Kofi had been particularly heavy handed with him. As soon as it was ready, she brought it out to the bench in the courtyard where Rhys and Owain were sitting, looking up at the stars. Then she disappeared into the cottage that had been the officers' quarters of the Sohar. She seemed to have commandeered it with her sister and Manoli, and the rest of the slaves who were left on the island.
"It seems strange to be drinking to Ferdia's memory after all this time," Rhys Gronw said, after a while. He poured more wine into his goblet.
Owain sipped his tea. "I used to go down to the dunes at sunset, and talk to him," he said. "Not at first - when my leg was healing I felt too guilty to go near him - but later, when I felt lonely, and when I realised that he was still there, bound. It helped - that and the pigeons. And now it's all over."
"You'll go back to Pengwern, now?" Rhys Gronw asked.
"Later, maybe. Cousin Aidan will still want me now, to translate for him. So I'll be going to Kharazan first."
"I think we might all be going to Kharazan," Rhys Gronw said. "And then your mother will want to find her people who were taken with you."
"They could be anywhere by now," Owain said. "There are lots of ports along the Southern coast, for the Empire and the Caliphate, and I don't know which ones the Bey used. I never got taken on those trips. I'd like to see Paraskevi and the others go home, though. She and Anna were always good to me."
Brecca appeared out of the gloom. "Have you two eaten?" she asked. "We're all in the barn over there, since Aidan decided to put the prisoners in the hall. There might be some of that lentil stuff left, or there's plenty of dried fruit."
Rhys Gronw drained his goblet and set it down on the bench beside the jug. He turned and held out his hand to Owain to pull him to his feet. "I suppose it's time to be sociable," he said.
Owain nodded. "Are there any dried apricots left?" he asked. "I think I could manage a few of those."
"I'm going to settle the manor on Miles," Sir Bernard said. They were standing just outside the stockade, watching the corsair ships being refloated. The prisoners had already been taken aboard, and were in the holds, apart from the officers, who had been taken out to where the Crow Maiden was anchored just off shore.
"We may as well treat it as if it's new land to settle, except that new tenants won't need to build their own houses. There's good fishing here, for a man who has his own boat, and there'll be a need for a blacksmith, and a carpenter or two - opportunities for skilled men and their families."
"And tenants, not serfs?" Aidan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sir Bernard huffed into his moustache. "Bit old hat, serfs, you know. Much better value to get a money rent out of them and hire the labour you need. More efficient in the long run."
"I see," Aidan said blandly. "I thought the Duke was all in favour of the traditional way of doing things."
"The Hell with the Duke," Sir Bernard spluttered. "Fat lot of use he was all the years I've had a pirate nest on my doorstep. No, I'll set it up in the modern way or not at all. Besides, you get a better class of peasant this way - men who'll work hard because it's to their own benefit, as well as the lord's."
Two of Aidan's women-at-arms came by, leading The Drake and the little mare further down the beach to where the Albatross was waiting for them to board. Rhys Gronw was in command there - everyone else was going south. Brecca was adamant that she would not go home until she had searched for her missing people wherever they might have been taken. The scrolls they had found in the Bey's house were already on board, to go straight to Liam Tir Bran to be translated. Brecca had spoken to him earlier that morning, by Mirror, and he already had a Turkic translator in mind from one of the bigger bookshops in Aberllong.
Paraskevi and Anna stood waiting for the rowing boat to return fr
om the Crow Maiden, to take them to the Griffin. They had come straight from supervising the emptying of the store cupboards onto the ships. Owain had made sure to have a quiet word with her while she was doing that, and he now had a sack of coffee beans as part of the luggage he was carrying. The old ladies had suspiciously large bundles of luggage with them, too. From what he could see, most of it seemed to consist of silk clothing. Manoli was wearing Captain Al Nayhan's best blue coat, and was carrying a sea chest on one shoulder. He looked very pleased with himself. With them were four of the ex-slaves who had come from the Empire, also ready to go home.
"Aren't you worried that the al-Khader might come back?" Owain asked.
"We'll be ready for them if they do," Sir Bernard said. "He won't get a foothold back here again. And one ship, without a base - what's he going to do? If he has any sense, that cousin of the Bey will be heading as far away from here as he can, as fast as he can - and hoping that the Amir will forget about him."
A man-at-arms in Raven livery came scrambling up the beach through the soft sand. "Lady Brecca says they're ready for you to board, Lord Aidan," he said. "And the ship master would like your advice about lateen sails, Lord Owain. They're aboard that one, there."
"The Sohar," Owain said. He smiled. "I never thought I'd be leaving the island for good on the Sohar."
He looked back at the stockade. There had been times that he had thought he would never leave the island at all. As he limped towards the rowing boat behind Lord Aidan, there was a clatter of pigeon wings overhead, as the entire flock wheeled over his head. He stopped to watch them as they said their farewells to him.
THE END
The story will continue in Ravens in the Desert.
Lesley Arrowsmith works in a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye, but she trained as an archaeologist, specialising in the medieval period. She is also a historical re-enactor, with Drudion, a group of 13th century Welsh mercenaries.
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