Heron Fleet
Day 36
It worked. We found the pipe and this evening we got our first note from the men and sent them a first note from us. It gave us a great hope.
The men always knew we were OK. They had seen us on our way out on the lorries a couple of times and had heard us in the latrines. They are in much the same position as we are. They are put on guarded lorries for forage work.
There’s one difference. They are being worked on by the soldiers to join them. They have been told if they become ‘volunteers’ they will get better rations. There are several forts in this area which are at war for the food that is left. Sometimes they launch attacks on each other. The fort needs all the soldiers it can get to survive, so they need the men to help them fight.
Day 40
Tonight’s note from the men sounded ominous. Instead of being put into foraging gangs this morning they were put into a separate room under guard, away from the other civilian men who are housed near to them. They had wondered what was going to happen and some feared they would be killed because they would not join the soldiers. In fact they were visited by the Commander of the fort.
He told them that he was expecting an attack in the next few days. He said that he greatly respected us. We had been watched from the time we came into the sphere of influence of the fort. He had been told how well-organised we were and how careful. He had seen our preparations on the wagon and said he could not have been better prepared himself. He had also been impressed how hard we worked and since our men were strong and well-fed, compared to the other civilians, he pleaded with them to help repulse an attack if it came. The men said they would consider it. The Commander has asked that they give him a reply the day after tomorrow. Our men want to know our view.
Day 41
We met in Council this evening and we have sent our reply to the men. We were divided. Some said we should not fight. They said that the soldiers were the people who had destroyed our world and as such we should not collaborate with them. Others were fearful for their children if an attack came and said we should fight. We could not agree and so we voted and sent the men a message with that vote on.
Day 42
The men replied this evening. They too were divided but adding their votes to ours gave a majority for fighting. So it has been decided the men will fight and we will do what we can to support the fort.
Day 44
It has been quiet except for shooting as the soldiers train the men to use the rifles. The foraging has been curtailed and we have been drafted to prepare a makeshift place for wounded to be brought when the fighting begins. Miriam has been helping us set this up. I asked her whether there have been attacks before. Once, she said. She didn’t seem to want to discuss it but I needed to know more so I pressed her. She said that then about ten people had been wounded and four had died. It had been a night attack.
Day 45
It started in the darkest part of the night. It wasn’t clear at the time but this is how it all happened as far as I’ve been able to work out since.
The attack started with an explosion which blew a hole in the outer fence, somewhere near our part of the building. This was not expected; all the main defences of the fort are focused on the main gate. Pretty quickly soldiers arrived but not quick enough to prevent a second explosion which opened the inner fence. Shooting started and there was shouting above the noise of the rifles. The occasional flash showed that someone had thrown small bombs at the intruders. At the height of the fighting there was another explosion at the front gate. The attack on our side had been a blind, a feint. But the Commander had not been taken in and the majority of our men were still on the front gate.
The first wounded came in soon after. It was one of the soldiers. I was glad it wasn’t one of our men; otherwise I think I would have gone to pieces. The soldier had been wounded in the leg and was bleeding badly. Miriam showed me how to give him an injection of morphine while she inspected the wound. ‘The bullet’s gone straight through,’ she said to me, pointing at the jagged hole in his thigh. ‘Apply a tourniquet above the hole to reduce the bleeding and then clean the wound up so I can see what I’m doing.’ Another man had been brought in and she went to attend to him.
I turned to the soldier and tourniqueted his leg. A spurt of blood from an artery stopped. I cut the fabric of his trousers back and started to wipe the lips of the wound. ‘Jesus and Mary!’ he shouted, ‘be a bit fucking careful!’ I pulled back. He looked up and smiled. ‘Sorry. Bit sharp that. Not your fault. Give it a bit longer then the morphine will kick in and I’ll be able to grit me teeth. Not the first time I’ve been shot.’ I started to cry. ‘Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. Say, your lads can fight when they ’ave to. That leader o’ yours, James, ’e took control as soon as ’e saw the fence was down. Born bloody officer if ever I saw one. OK, luv, you can ’ave another go now.’
By the time Miriam came back the soldier had passed out but the wound was clean and she tied off the artery and sewed it up. Then the first of our men came in. It was Jacob. He was still alive but he’d been shot in the jaw. Miriam looked at him and shook her head. He died a few minutes later. Naomi found him in time to keen.
After that it was a blur of blood and bodies. By dawn I could move from case to case and assess what had to be done even before Miriam had told me what to do. Strange place to find a talent you never knew you had. By the time the fighting started to die away we had six wounded and four dead around our dressing station. Three of the dead were Winter’s Hill men.
Day 46
This time we buried all the dead, soldiers and men together. The Commander read the burial service over the graves and said how proud he was of how everyone had fought. I thought I’d rather have the men back, or have died with them. I didn’t think there was much difference between us and our enemy. In the end there will be no future for any of us, especially not in foraging and fighting; only growing food will give us any long-term chance of surviving. It seems to me it is create or die.
Chapter 10
‘Just walk up to the end of the room and back,’ said the Keeper. Francesca did as she was told, trying to hide the limp.
The Keeper looked thoughtful. ‘Sit on the bed,’ she asked. Then she picked up a foot stool and sat down in front of Francesca. ‘Slip off your sandals and put both your feet in my lap.’
She moved both her hands over Francesca’s ankles in synchrony, one on each. ‘All the bruising is gone but you’ve got a swelling just here,’ she prodded it and Francesca winced. ‘Just as I thought, it’s still sore. You can put your feet down. That swelling’s causing you to limp. I think there’s a small bone on that side that’s either displaced by an injury below the skin we can’t see or the bone itself is broken. We’ll have to strap it up again, you’ll have to rest it and we’ll see how it gets on. Less walking I’m afraid and no return even to light duties yet.’
In one way, Francesca did not mind the delay. Though she was keen to get back to work, her mind was not at ease. Dreams persisted and her memory was unclear. At first she had thought that she could remember everything up to Anya lighting the fire but gradually she found that she couldn’t remember key details of the procession or what she had been doing before her induction.
Even so after a couple of days of enforced rest, when she felt better in every way but her ridiculous ankle, she was bored and frustrated. Except for Anya’s visits with the evening meal, the only relief was that she had time to observe the Outlander.
As the Infirmary staff became happier that the bone of his arm had knitted properly they gave him less poppy-juice and he started to be conscious for longer periods. Francesca had tried to speak to him, hoping for some boredom-breaking conversation. But he was remote and difficult to talk to, so she stopped trying until one afternoon.
She had dozed off but was woken by raised voices. Standing at the bottom of the Outlander’s bed was Peter.
‘I don’t care how well you’re feeling, you’re not going b
ack to your boat yet!’ Peter was as cross as Francesca had ever seen him.
‘What right do you think you have to keep me here?’ replied the Outlander.
‘The right of ensuring that your stubbornness does not undo all the effort of care that the Infirmary staff have put into keeping your ungrateful frame alive, or the initial bravery of that young woman over there.’ Peter’s finger jabbed in Francesca’s direction.
The Outlander snorted. ‘Alright, alright,’ he replied, ‘I suppose that would be ungrateful of me. But won’t you at least let me go and make sure my boat is alright?’
‘Look Tobias, take my word for it, your boat is safe, sound and harboured in the river. We have even pulled her up to the jetty now the fishing boats have come ashore for the winter. We had to remove some of the stuff in the hold so we could patch up some damage below the waterline but what we took ashore is safe in my longhouse. There’s nothing for you to worry about except getting well.’
The Outlander snorted again. ‘I’d like to see for myself if you don’t mind.’
‘Oh really! I haven’t got anyone who I can spare to take you on board. The storm did quite a bit of damage to the community buildings and I don’t want to be caught without repairs having been done.’
‘I could go on my own.’
‘What if you fell and broke that arm again?’ Peter’s tone became a more gentle. ‘If that break is undone you might never have the strength in that arm to sail her again. I know how much of a blow that would be to you.’
‘If you’re worried about me falling, it would only take a youngster to prevent it. Don’t you have a lad who can do me this service?’
Francesca empathised with him. She realised how frustrated he must be with not being able to see his boat. ‘I’ll go with him if the Keeper will let me,’ she interjected.
The Outlander immediately seized on her offer. ‘There Peter, you’ve got a volunteer who cannot work.’ He turned to Francesca. ‘Young lady I accept your offer with thanks.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Peter, trying to regain the initiative. ‘Francesca has a broken ankle. She’s not fit to wet-nurse you!’
‘I’m still willing to go with him if the Keeper says it’s alright. I’m as frustrated as he is and I’d love to go outside for a little while and see this boat I’ve heard so much about.’
Peter hesitated and in the instant knew he had no real argument if the Keeper said yes.
To Francesca’s surprise the Keeper had been in favour. ‘Neither of them will rest until they’ve got outside for a bit. I don’t think it will do either of them any harm unless they overdo it and I trust Francesca not to allow that.’
So Peter gave his permission. Anya brought some outdoor clothes for Francesca, and Peter sent some of the Outlander’s clothes over from the boat. The following day, after breakfast they got dressed and when the strapping on Francesca’s ankle and the Outlander’s sling had been checked, the Infirmary attendants let them out.
At first it seemed very strange. It was a fine day and though the wind, coming in from the sea, was sharp it was not unpleasant. They walked down through the roundhouses towards the jetty. As they passed the Gathering House the Outlander stopped and looked at it for a long time.
‘Do you think we could take a detour so I could have a look inside?’ he said to her.
‘I don’t see why not, sir,’ she replied.
‘Sir! Well that’s a promotion,’ he laughed. He turned and held out his good hand. ‘My name is Tobias and that’s what I’d like you to call me.’ Francesca shook his left hand awkwardly with her right. ‘May I call you Francesca?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ she replied and blushed. There was something about him that made her smile and feel embarrassed at the same time.
They went round to the east door of the Gathering House. The sky was cloudy and the light diffuse but even so the west window, with its great optimistic sun over the Council Table, still looked magnificent. Tobias stopped at the threshold. She saw he was impressed and was pleased. Wherever this Outlander had been, it was clearly not as fine as the Gathering Hall.
The central hearth contained only a small fire. Once lit at Harvest Festival this was never left to go out until the new growing season was declared next year at Mayday but today’s weather only required a small fire. The place where the stage had been at the Harvest Festival now contained looms and spinning wheels. About thirty people were working around the fire. They were either hand-carding wool from a pile of washed fleeces, spinning the newly carded wool or weaving cloth from wool gathered and spun earlier in the year.
‘One of the main duties of every member of the community is to spin and weave wool in the winter when there aren’t other duties to do,’ she explained. ‘Some cold days, when there’s no work that can be done outside, the whole of the Hall will be filled with people carding, spinning and weaving round a big fire in the hearth.’
‘And they sing at their task,’ he said.
‘Yes they do or tell stories or recite.’
‘Do you do that?’
‘Oh yes,’ added another voice. ‘She’s the finest of all our singers.’ It was Anya. She came up and threaded her arm into Francesca’s, drawing her close.
‘This is my partner, Anya.’ said Francesca. ‘This is Tobias.’
‘Ah, the mysterious Outlander,’ said Anya, ‘Everyone here is dying to know more about you. Will you join us at the fire and tell us your tale?’
‘Thanks for the invitation but Francesca is taking me to my boat and we have to go back to the Infirmary when we’ve got that done. I promise to tell my tale if I get the chance.’
‘What, not even a small tale?’
By now, there was small group round them. ‘Well to be truthful, in the little time we have, I’d rather hear Francesca sing.’
‘Yes, Francesca,’ said Caleb, who had just joined them. ‘It would make us all happy to know you’re really getting better.’
Normally, shy at showing off, Francesca would have refused but she realised that she needed to know if she could sing anymore. If she could sing properly then it would prove to herself that she was really getting better. It would be a promise that her memory would return and she needed that feeling. She nodded. ‘Alright, how about this,’ and she started to sing one of the Harvest Festival songs. At first her voice faltered but as she got the feel of the words and the tune, it got stronger until she was in full voice and revelling in the feeling of vitality it gave her. As she sang, details of how the Hall had looked at the Festival came back to her. She could remember the boy sitting with Sylvia, the procession and the smell of the bread. She remembered the community cheering her induction and seeing Jonathan by the doorway as Anya ran in with the torch. She finished the song and the group clapped.
Anya kissed her. ‘Now get on about your task. I’ll see you later when I bring some food.’
Francesca and Tobias retraced their steps. At the east door, Francesca looked back and waved to Anya. Just over Anya’s shoulder she could see a frowning, angry Ruth. Francesca’s stomach tightened with an anxiety she could not explain.
‘You sing well,’ Tobias said as they walked on towards the river. ‘Do you compose any of your own songs?’
‘Yes I do. I commit them to memory.’
‘I should like to hear some of them at sometime.’
They had come through the gate in the ditch and for the first time she had a clear view of Tobias’s boat. It was a bigger version of the community fishing boats. It was designed for one large central mast and another smaller mast towards the rear. But though the small mast was intact, the main mast was sheered off about a metre or so above the deck.
‘Peter never told me the mast was down?’ said Tobias. ‘I hope there’s not too much damage done to the mounting in the keel.’
‘It made a terrible cracking noise when it went,’ said Francesca. She stopped, realising what she had said. She could remember the mast coming down and the dreadf
ul sound it had made, so loud she had heard it even above the chaos and violence of the storm. She could remember seeing Tobias’s body rolling back and forward in the surf. She could feel the pain in her back and arms as she dragged him across the deck. She was in the cold water being tumbled in the waves and flung onto the boat. The power of her memory made her dizzy. She tried to reach to steady herself on Tobias but his whole focus was on his boat and he had started to walk quickly towards the jetty and away from her. Why had she been on the beach? Why had she been charging around in a storm in the middle of the night? Had she had some intuition that the boat was there?
Tobias was now well in front and she started to try to catch him up but her ankle meant that she could not move as fast as she wanted. By the time she got to the jetty, Tobias had disappeared onto his boat. Carefully she climbed onto the deck. The community fishing boats were open and only had enough room to stow some nets and the catch when they had any. Beneath the stout deck she stood on, there must be a hold with a capacity for large amounts of goods. That was where Tobias had gone to inspect the repairs.
The second wave of memory hit her harder than the first. Now she could remember running over the bridge as it swung in the wind. She could feel the wooden boards under her bare feet. She remembered the wind singing in the pines in the shelter of the hill and the stumbling run across the pebbles before plunging into the sea. She slumped down on the hatch cover and began to sob. She could remember why she had been there and what she had been trying to do.
Tobias stuck his head out of a forward hatch cover. He started to say something but his voice tailed off. In seconds he was next to her, his good arm round her shoulders.
‘What’s a wrong lass?’ he whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I can remember what I was doing when I rescued you.’
‘I doubt that’s anything to cry about.’
‘You don’t understand. I didn’t come to rescue you. I was trying to drown myself.’