The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (27 page)

Unfortunately, at this point George’s irascible temper took control of him and he leapt to his feet.

“To hell with giving away beer,” he shouted. “I’ll rip the head of that bastard’s shoulders and ram it up his arse.” The young man’s angry retort had been shouted out in English, but the Stone-carrier understood perfectly well that his challenge had been accepted.

“Now you must fight.” Dromon said to the youth with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Now remember, there are no rules in these contests, save that you cannot punch or kick your opponent. You will fight within a circle of spectators until one man cannot stand or else breaks the circle and flees. Now strip young man, and prepare to fight harder than you have ever fought before!”

Benches and tables where cleared away from the centre of the room and a ring of spectators quickly formed and the two combatants stood glowering at each other like a pair of fighting cocks. No signal was needed to begin the contest, for the barrel-chested Stone-carrier hurled himself across the room and attempted to head-butt his younger opponent in the stomach. George was taken by surprise, but slipping sideways at the last moment he tried to get a headlock on his adversary. He failed, for the man twisted out of the hold and skipped away to the far side of the ring. The fighters sparred for a few moments whilst they took a close measure of one another.

George was younger and possibly a little stronger than his opponent and had the advantage of a much longer reach. Unfortunately, his experience in this form of combat was limited to a few brawls with bargees on the Manchester canals, plus some basic instruction in the art of wrestling from old Noor-Balsam.

His opponent, by contrast, was a skilled veteran of the many bitter contests fought during his long years spent upon the river. Several times, George attempted to get a head or an arm lock upon his opponent, but the Stone-carrier had either broken the hold or wriggled clear with consummate ease, whilst constantly head-butting, elbowing and kneeing his younger opponent until he could barely stand upright.

“Keep away from him, you confounded idiot!” The boatmaster roared from the edge of the ring. “Use your long legs and keep away from him and let him wear himself out from chasin’ you!”

George must have heard Darryl’s cries, for he began swiftly backing away from his opponent, using the speed of his young legs to keep himself out of trouble. Even so, the barrel-chested river-man continued chasing his opponent relentlessly, but his breathing rate began increasing visibly and it became obvious that he was gradually tiring. Twice, the Stone-carrier charged head-down at the young man, only to miss, crashing into the ring of spectators; but on the third occasion George stood his ground and delivered a sickening body-check sending the river-man spinning into the crowd. The man was still dazed as the crowd thrust him back into the middle of the ring and George immediately took his chance to finish the contest. He dived forward and grasped the Stone-carrier around the waist, swinging him over his head and sending him crashing to the floor. The impact would have finished most fighters, but the river-man was brave and attempted to rise again, only to slump down unconscious.

The fallen man was hauled away by his crewmates, whilst George received the congratulations of the entire gathering. The youth turned and faced Darryl without showing the slightest concern for the blood trickling from superficial cuts to his face and forehead.

“I beat him like I said that I would!” He said triumphantly.

“Yes, you beat him all right.” The boatmaster snarled in reply. “But I swear that one day, your temper and you’re damned impetuosity will be the death of us all. I had my doubts about bringing you with us to the Water-Realm, now I wished that I had possessed enough sense to leave you with my mother in Elfencot.”

“Easy brother,” Myra said quietly. “Only experience will rid the lad of his impetuosity, and I may help him to control his berserk temper, in any case brother, the time for recriminations is long past and we must either work together as a team or perish as individuals.”

“So be it.” The boatmaster replied. “Do what you can to instil a sense of caution into the lad, for he sorely needs it!”

The conversation between the three travellers came to an abrupt end, for the crowd parted and the defeated Stone-carrier appeared, still reeling slightly from the effects of the savage punishment so recently received. He came face to face with George and grasped his wrist in greeting.

“I salute my conqueror.” The man said with some difficulty, for blood was still running like a river from his mouth. “For only the best of men can beat a Stone-carrier in the sport of wrestling.”

He paused and raised his arm in salutation to George and the remainder of the ‘Bonny Barbara’s’ crew.

“You are now the guests of the Stone-carriers for the remainder of this evening. Landlord, bring beer and only the best, let us see which of our two ships companies can drink the most.”

“Lord help us,” muttered the boatmaster under his breath. “Not only must we beat them at wrestling, but we must also get the better of them at boozing, as well!”

Darryl’s head was pounding like a trip-hammer, as he manned the tiller and steered the ‘Bonny Barbara’away from the quay and into the midst of the current, soon, the vessel was being carried away from the village upon the mound, the scene of the previous night’s revelry.

The Stone-carriers, for all their rude customs, had been extremely hospitable hosts, and for the remainder of the evening the party from the narrowboat had been feted like kings. Round after round of Thoa-nut beer was purchased by the Stone-carriers for the consumption of all, without a single disc of lead being deemed acceptable from the pockets of the newcomers. More food had been ordered from the booths in the square and they had been introduced to the staple dish of the Stone-carriers, narr’s liver, fried in a pan, with lumps of bread, and sprinkled with a seed that had all the sharp acidity of pure lemon juice.

George, the hero of the night, had been plied with strong drink from all quarters and had finally collapsed into a state of complete intoxication during the early hours of darkening. Myra, helped by two of the temporary crew-members, had put the youth to bed in the night-hut and the young wisewoman had remained with him to make sure that he came to no harm.

Darryl however, had remained in the company of the Stone-carriers for a little while longer before seeking his own bed, in order to gain additional knowledge of their water-borne society and also details of the other peoples dweling along the banks of the Life River.

He recalled that an old one armed man had introduced himself as the owner of a stone-barge, and the man had quietly warned him that he might be wise to dispose of his cargo, as soon as possible, and return to his own distant land without delay.

“We seldom have time to put into night-harbours now” He had explained. “For never in my lifetime have there been such a demand for heavy stone blocks, aye and Thoa-logs and all manner of building materials. Most of the towns and cities, from Calar right down to Holy Ptah, seem to be overhauling their defences; old collapsed walls are being rebuilt, whilst new towers and bastions are being planned and constructed. Even fairly large villages that formerly placed their faith in a solid wooden stockade to protect them from the ravages of marauding pirates can sometimes be found building stone ramparts.”

“What is the reason for all this defensive activity?” Darryl asked, as he forced down another tankard of Thoa-nut beer.

“The threat of war,” the old man had replied. “I cannot tell you why this fear of an imminent conflict stalks the river-lands, for little seems to have outwardly changed, but the hammers in the forges of the armouries continue to ring and I fear that some great catastrophe is hanging over us”.

The barge owner’s son had overheard his father’s words and had poured scorn upon the older man by suggesting that he must be approaching senility. Yet Darryl had clearly remembered the veteran’s warning, despite the large quantities of alcohol that he had consumed in the course of the evening and he resolved to keep the old man’s comments in mind.

By midmorning the boatmaster’s hangover had largely subsided, due to a relieving potion administered by his twin-sister. The young witch had also given George a similar measure to relieve his thundering head and the three travellers were now standing in the cockpit of the narrowboat, viewing for the first time, the complicated manoeuvre enabling a sizeable vessel to be extracted from the south flowing portion of the Life River and placed under the influence of the opposing current moving in an ever northerly direction.

An open barge, heavily laden with a cargo of Thoa-logs, moving with the southerly flow of the river, suddenly changed course and began steering towards the centre of the waterway. Dark smoke from a signal fire rose from the vessels deck and a pair of fast towing galleys responded by darting out from a creek in the riverbank and steered for the heavily laden barge. One of the galleys moved ahead of the log-carrier and passed over a stout line and began towing the craft into an area of disturbed water lying between the two opposing currents. The second galley, which had a fender made from some leathern material attached to its blunt prow, manoeuvred carefully until its padded prow was thrusting against the forward hull of the log-carrier. Slowly, the barge began to turn, until she was caught in the grip of the opposing current and began moving in a northerly direction. At this point, the two galleys fell into station on either side of the log-carrier and the three craft were soon receding from view.

“Those craft are bound for the mouth of that small river, over on the eastern bank; the one that we passed some time back.” Wilakin said, as he clambered into the cockpit without the aid of another crewmember, for he was recovering quickly from the injuries he received at the hands of the criminals in Calar of the Mighty Walls.

“The village of a powerful Saxman chieftain is situated on the banks of that river, about half a day’s hard towing from the line of the ‘Great Life.’” The navigator explained. “I expect those logs are for the construction of a new tribal meeting hall, or some other project. The boat-turning manoeuvre that you have just witnessed may seem strange to you who are newcomers to the river, but you will see it repeated many times before we reach the Holy City of Ptah. Indeed, we may need to use this technique ourselves, should we be required to make a landfall on the opposite shore.”

Wilakin pointed to a small local boat, with a single sail made from some rough fabric, driving hard before the wind.

“Yonder craft can use the power of its sail to carry it into the opposing current, but larger vessels have difficulty in doing this, and the towing galleys are therefore essential and can easily be summoned by a simple smoke signal, such as the one that you have just witnessed.”

“Who owns the towing galleys?” Darryl enquired.

“Independent masters for the most part.” The pilot answered. “The craft usually lie in some creek and wait for a fire-signal to summon them. Some galleys, however, are the property of ambitious riverside communities who maintain them in order to promote trade.”

The boatmaster frowned. “What would happen if some group of pirates seized a towing galley and used it to attack trade?”

“Then absolute havoc would be let loose upon the river!” Wilakin said. “But it rarely occurs, for the towing galley’s are not crewed by slaves, but by heavily armed freemen who can be relied upon to fight for their lives.”

“Have no fear master,” he continued. “If we are destined to be attacked by river pirates, then the assault will be launched from a small fast- moving oar propelled craft, and it will come under cover of darkness. Such attacks are difficult to repel and we shall live or die in a matter of seconds!”