The Griffin's Boy
***
They flew away from the estuary, heading up river. The sandy shores gave way to mud while a delicate scent of grass crept into the ozone soaked air. As the ocean's tides lost their influence, the river became more tranquil. Neb was idly admiring the Balkind shaped reflection rippling through the waters below them when Samara gasped.
'They've done it! They've busted the dam!'
Neb wished Samara wouldn't grab at his shoulders to get his attention and then realised the cause of her excitement.
'We've reached Darkling?' He signalled Balkind to dip slightly to the left and peered over the griffin's wing for a better view.
Instead of a torrent rushing through a narrow chasm, the River Cole's gleaming waters flooded the meadows once more.
'I'm home, Neb! I'm home.' Samara slumped against him and from her movements behind his back, Neb guessed she was fussing with her hair and clothes.
Hearing pipes swirl and a faint rhythmic beat, Neb signalled Balkind to wheel to the right and almost immediately they were flying over Darkling. Clusters of people crowded around tables, musicians, and the main barn. They reminded Neb of insects about to swarm and anxiety gripped him: If he didn't judge Balkind's landing with care, there would be sore heads today as well as tomorrow. The griffin was already lowering his forelegs; Neb peered over Balkind's right flank and saw the barn's roof rolling beneath him with only a wing's breadth to spare. He had seconds to decide – signal Balkind to circle – or suck it up and hope for the best?
Taking a deep breath, he screwed his eyes half closed and guided Balkind towards the barn's rear yard. The griffin pecked on landing, Neb slid forwards and clutched at Balkind's neck feathers. Balkind scrabbled to regain his balance, careering towards a bench lined with villagers. They rapidly shuffled away from the griffin's path, revealing a row of tables laden with platters of meat and bread and steaming saucepots.
Oh my life and hereafter, don't let me slid over his head and onto the table. Taking a deep breath and tensing all his muscles, Neb thrust his hips forwards; pulled his shoulders back and in spite of Samara slamming against him, managed to regain his seat just as Balkind skidded to a halt with a triumphant two-toned hoot.
The music stopped mid beat; spoons halted halfway to mouths, heads swivelled and every eye fixed on him. Neb turned his head slightly to see Romulus seated at the head table, his face slack and his mouth hanging open. Catching Neb's eye, he clamped his mouth shut and bounded from his seat. Heads craned to watch the Griffin Master as he stomped past them to bear down on Neb. One or two even stood: all wore varying expressions of delighted horror on their faces; Romulus' temper was legendary. Neb gulped, dismounted with as much dignity as his shaking limbs would allow, then turned to help Samara dismount. He sensed the Griffin Master breathing down his neck and swiftly grabbed at Balkind's snout and twisted the griffin's sensitive nostril. Don't you dare!
Samara jumped lightly to the floor, shook back her curls, and worked a charm on Romulus. There was no other explanation. Almost blinded by her smile, Neb took a step backwards. He barely noticed when Balkind pecked at him, annoyed at being prevented from slobbering over the Griffin Master. Samara placed a hand on Romulus' arm, and smiled again, this time at villagers and Lord Massant's men. Neb blinked. How had this happened? In her long white petticoat and wearing the tartan blanket as a sash, Samara was Boudica re-incarnated. Apart from the tumble of dark curls falling to her waist. He watched as Romulus escorted Samara to the top table. He heard her say: 'I'm in your debt, thank you for sending one of your griffins to rescue me.'
Neb frowned. That wasn't right – surely she meant "griffin riders" … not that he was a griffin rider of course… he shook his head to clear it. Alexis and Harry bounded up to slap at Neb's back and arms, all animosity forgotten.
'So that's the maiden you went to rescue,' Alexis said. He looked longingly towards the top table, waggling his fingers to say hello and grinning when Samara dimpled at him.
'My friend, you made the right choice – the craven chief upriver begged for mercy – we saw no action at all,' Harry eyed Neb enviously, 'but from the looks of you, you've had a wild adventure, rescuing distressed damsels.'
Neb smiled wryly. 'You could say that,' he admitted. Harry scowled, then brightened: 'Come, there's roast pig and barrels of ale, you can tell us all.'
Before Neb could respond, Lord Massant and Chief Wulfstan pushed their way to Neb's side. Placing a hand on Neb's arm, Lord Massant shook his head at his son. 'First, our young friend will tell us all.' He indicated Balkind, now surrounded by a tribe of children offering tid-bits and pointedly ignoring Neb. 'You and Alexis can take care of the griffin.'
Glancing at Chief Wulfstan's and Lord Massant's stern expressions, Neb's heart beat faster. He snuck a glance towards the Griffin Master – Samara couldn't charm him forever – could she? The sounds of merry making faded, drowned out by the blood thundering in Neb's ears.
Lady Lydia saved him. Glaring at her husband and cousin, she hustled Neb away, calling back over her shoulder: 'Your interrogation can wait. The lad needs a good hot bath and some good hot food inside of him.'
When Neb protested, she turned on him. 'The interrogation can wait,' she repeated firmly.
Lady Lydia marched him towards the communal bake-house, then veered towards an adjoining hut. Three round wooden tubs filled most of the windowless hut's interior. Helda supervised a team of younger women as they poured vats of water into one of the waist high tubs. The steam added to Neb's light-headedness, but he managed to smile and nod as Lady Lydia updated him with events. It seemed Blain had fulfilled Neb's expectations and was now Chief Blain of Penwyn Village. Finally, the women departed. With a sigh of relief, Neb tore off his clothes, clambered onto a footstool and swung himself into the tub. Chantress Anderra was fanatical about personal hygiene. All her students were expected to have strip down washes twice daily, using a basin of water, a square of cloth, and a sliver of lather-less soap. To have hot water engulf his skin felt luxurious. Neb languished in the bath until his finger tips turned pale and wrinkly.
When he finally emerged from the bath hut, he found Chief Wulfstan waiting. The Chieftain wore his finest clothes; a richly embroidered shirt, black trousers tucked into leather boots and a black cape. Neb felt strangely shy, until the Chief gave his familiar gap toothed smile and said: 'Don't look so worried lad, Samara's explained how you felt duty bound to save her.' Placing an arm around Neb's shoulders, he led him over to the main square.
Villagers lined the benches on either side of tables pushed together. Children and women wore garlands of greenery or flowers in their hair. Men wore their ordinary work day tunics with their bare legs and feet dangling from wide bottomed calf length trousers, or trews. If they weren't cramming bread and roasted pig meat into their mouths, they were chugging at tankards of ale, or talking animatedly. Samara, now squeezed between Lord Massant and Romulus, presided over the top table. Neb blinked at the vision, the transformation still seemed magical. Reading his mind Chief Wulfstan murmured 'Samara can bewitch when she wants. She's already charmed the boots off the Griffin Master, and I think Lord Massant is ready to fight a duel with his son over her.'
Grinning, Chief Wulfstan steered Neb towards the top table. A couple of villagers shuffled down the bench to make room for them, but otherwise their arrival was barely acknowledged. Absentees Harry and Alexis were presumably "taking care of the griffin," but right now, Neb failed to appreciate the irony.
An inquisition would surely follow, so Neb decided to enjoy the feast before him as though it was his last meal.
********