Monk’s island,’ he announced. ‘With this wind, we’ll be at Locmariaquer in no time.’
An hour later, Raymond’s feet had been planted firmly on
terra firma
, his stomach was calmer, and he was in a better state of mind, having persuaded a carter to give him a ride as far as the dolmen. That’s where his rendezvous with the girl was.
The carter was heading inland to the market with last night’s catch of mackerel, a basket of crabs, and some shellfish. But the fish smelt high. The waggon rattled over the dirt road. Poised on the edge of the tailboard with his long legs dangling, Raymond pressed one hand tightly over his nose, but the stink was persistent and to his dismay his stomach began churning all over again. His brown tunic would never be quite the same again. How long would the reek cling to his person? Anna, the girl he was intent on meeting, might not be so ardent if he stank of rotting fish.
‘This stuff is crawling!’ Raymond yelled over the clatter of the wheels.
‘Eh?’ The carter had a solid back.
‘Edouarz has pulled the wool over your eyes with this lot,’ Raymond said. ‘Last night’s catch could not possibly smell like this.’
The carter lifted lumpy shoulders and stolidly kept eyes and face towards the road in front. His monotone voice floated back to Raymond, ‘A bargain’s a bargain.’
‘No one will buy them,’ Raymond predicted with the arrogant confidence of one who has never been reduced to eating second-rate food.
‘They will. They’re cheap, see?’
The crack of the carter’s whip was loud in the dawn hush. ‘They might pay more if they were fresh,’ Raymond said, pegging his nose.
‘Can’t afford it, young sir.’
Raymond shrugged, and kept his smile to himself. The fellow’s mind was closed and Raymond found his narrow, peasant doggedness amusing. The man had probably never changed his views since birth, and would cling to them, blindly, till Doomsday.
The waggon lurched on over a causeway whose surface was scarred with deep ruts. The sky was lightening fast, and one or two trees stood out, stark, black silhouettes against the dawn grey.
‘Have we passed the crossroads?’
‘Aye, about a mile back. We’re a stone’s throw from the farm. I’ll let you down there. The pathway to the dolmen runs off to the west.’
‘That’s a mercy. I’m bruised all over.’ Raymond winced, and tried to cushion his buttocks with more of his woollen cloak. The package his grandmother had palmed off on him rolled out and clunked against the side of the cart. Raymond wedged the statue between two baskets of fish. It was fortunate that he’d made the assignment with the girl, for his grandmother’s odd request and his own plans had dove-tailed neatly. What better place to stow her statue than in one of the ancient temples of the Old Ones? It was the perfect hiding place, the superstitious locals seldom visited them. They were frightened of rousing the anger of the old gods.
Raymond had never tried to understand his grandmother, he simply accepted her for what she was, a pious woman of venerable years. But jolting along on the waggon, he found himself wondering why Izabel wanted to hide her icon. It must be connected with the business yesterday, but he could not fathom it. ‘I must be mad,’ he muttered, ‘to fall in with her whim.’
The carter turned his head and eyed him over his shoulder. He had greasy, lank hair and his skin was pitted with pox marks. ‘Pretty is she?’ he asked, slyly.
Raymond flushed to his ears, and despite himself an image of smiling dark eyes and a warm, red mouth sprang into his mind. Anna
was
pretty. But all he said was, ‘Who?’
‘Now who’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes?’ The carter grinned. ‘I’m talking about the maid you’re meeting in the temple.’ He made an obscene gesture.
Raymond’s eyes widened. He was amazed that the man should have known, and furious that he had been so obvious. ‘By St Guirec,
An hour later, Raymond’s feet had been planted firmly on
terra firma
, his stomach was calmer, and he was in a better state of mind, having persuaded a carter to give him a ride as far as the dolmen. That’s where his rendezvous with the girl was.
The carter was heading inland to the market with last night’s catch of mackerel, a basket of crabs, and some shellfish. But the fish smelt high. The waggon rattled over the dirt road. Poised on the edge of the tailboard with his long legs dangling, Raymond pressed one hand tightly over his nose, but the stink was persistent and to his dismay his stomach began churning all over again. His brown tunic would never be quite the same again. How long would the reek cling to his person? Anna, the girl he was intent on meeting, might not be so ardent if he stank of rotting fish.
‘This stuff is crawling!’ Raymond yelled over the clatter of the wheels.
‘Eh?’ The carter had a solid back.
‘Edouarz has pulled the wool over your eyes with this lot,’ Raymond said. ‘Last night’s catch could not possibly smell like this.’
The carter lifted lumpy shoulders and stolidly kept eyes and face towards the road in front. His monotone voice floated back to Raymond, ‘A bargain’s a bargain.’
‘No one will buy them,’ Raymond predicted with the arrogant confidence of one who has never been reduced to eating second-rate food.
‘They will. They’re cheap, see?’
The crack of the carter’s whip was loud in the dawn hush. ‘They might pay more if they were fresh,’ Raymond said, pegging his nose.
‘Can’t afford it, young sir.’
Raymond shrugged, and kept his smile to himself. The fellow’s mind was closed and Raymond found his narrow, peasant doggedness amusing. The man had probably never changed his views since birth, and would cling to them, blindly, till Doomsday.
The waggon lurched on over a causeway whose surface was scarred with deep ruts. The sky was lightening fast, and one or two trees stood out, stark, black silhouettes against the dawn grey.
‘Have we passed the crossroads?’
‘Aye, about a mile back. We’re a stone’s throw from the farm. I’ll let you down there. The pathway to the dolmen runs off to the west.’
‘That’s a mercy. I’m bruised all over.’ Raymond winced, and tried to cushion his buttocks with more of his woollen cloak. The package his grandmother had palmed off on him rolled out and clunked against the side of the cart. Raymond wedged the statue between two baskets of fish. It was fortunate that he’d made the assignment with the girl, for his grandmother’s odd request and his own plans had dove-tailed neatly. What better place to stow her statue than in one of the ancient temples of the Old Ones? It was the perfect hiding place, the superstitious locals seldom visited them. They were frightened of rousing the anger of the old gods.
Raymond had never tried to understand his grandmother, he simply accepted her for what she was, a pious woman of venerable years. But jolting along on the waggon, he found himself wondering why Izabel wanted to hide her icon. It must be connected with the business yesterday, but he could not fathom it. ‘I must be mad,’ he muttered, ‘to fall in with her whim.’
The carter turned his head and eyed him over his shoulder. He had greasy, lank hair and his skin was pitted with pox marks. ‘Pretty is she?’ he asked, slyly.
Raymond flushed to his ears, and despite himself an image of smiling dark eyes and a warm, red mouth sprang into his mind. Anna
was
pretty. But all he said was, ‘Who?’
‘Now who’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes?’ The carter grinned. ‘I’m talking about the maid you’re meeting in the temple.’ He made an obscene gesture.
Raymond’s eyes widened. He was amazed that the man should have known, and furious that he had been so obvious. ‘By St Guirec,
Similar Books
