Pug sighed. There was no arguing with the Bear, as all the Midkemian slaves called Nogamu. He was obviously upset about something, and the slaves would pay the price. Pug started hacking through the upper section, and it soon fell to the ground. The smell of rot was thick, and Pug removed the ropes quickly. Just as the last length was coiled around his waist, a splitting sound came from directly in front of him. “It falls!” he shouted down to the slaves standing in the water below. Without hesitation they all ran. The cry of “falls” was never ignored.
The bole of the tree was splitting down the middle now that the top had been cut away. While this was not common, if a tree was far enough gone for the pulp to have lost its strength, any flaw in the bark could cause it to split under its own weight. The tree’s branches would pull the halves away from each other. Had Pug been tied to the bole, the ropes would have cut him in half before they snapped.
Pug gauged the direction of the fall, then as the half he stood upon started to move, he launched himself away from it. He hit the water flat, back first, trying to let the two feet of water break his fall as much as possible. The blow from the water was immediately followed by the harder impact with the ground. The bottom was mostly mud, so there was little damage done. The air in his lungs exploded from his mouth when he struck, and his senses reeled for a moment. He retained enough presence of mind to sit up and gasp a deep lungful of air.
Suddenly a heavy weight hit him across the stomach, knocking the wind from him and pushing his head back underwater. He struggled to move and found a large branch across his stomach. He could barely get his face out of the water to get air His lungs burned, and he breathed without control. Water came pouring down his windpipe, and he started to choke. Coughing and sputtering, he tried to keep calm but felt panic rise within him. He frantically pushed at the weight across him but couldn’t move it.
Abruptly he found his head above water; Laurie said, “Spit, Pug! Get the muck out of your lungs, or you’ll get lung fever.”
Pug coughed and spit. With Laurie holding his head, he could catch his breath.
Laurie shouted, “Grab this branch. I’ll pull him out from under.”
Several slaves splashed over, sweat beading their bodies. They reached underwater and seized the branch. Heaving, they managed to move it slightly, but Laurie couldn’t drag Pug out.
“Bring axes, we’ll have to cut the branch from the tree.”
Other slaves were starting to bring axes over when Nogamu shouted, “No. Leave him. We have no time for this. There are trees to cut.”
Laurie nearly screamed at him, “We can’t leave him! He’ll drown!”
The overseer crossed over and struck Laurie across the face with a lash. It cut deep into the singer’s cheek, but he didn’t let go of his friend’s head. “Back to work, slave. You’ll be beaten tonight for speaking to me that way. There are others who can top. Now, let him go!” He struck Laurie again. Laurie winced, but held Pug’s head above water.
Nogamu raised his lash for a third blow, but was halted by a voice from behind. “Cut the slave from under the branch.” Laurie saw the speaker was the young soldier who had accompanied the slave master. The overseer whirled about, unaccustomed to having his orders questioned. When he saw who had spoken, he bit back the words that were on his lips. Bowing his head, he said, “My lord’s will.”
He signaled for the slaves with the axes to cut Pug loose, and in short order Pug was out from under the branch. Laurie carried him over to where the young soldier stood. Pug coughed the last water from his lungs and gasped, “I thank the master for my life.”
The man said nothing, but when the overseer approached, directed his remarks to him. “The slave was right, and you were not. The tree was rotten It is not proper for you to punish him for your bad judgment and ill temper I should have you beaten, but will not spare the time for it. The work goes slowly, and my father is displeased.”
Nogamu bowed his head. “I lose much face in my lord’s sight. May I have his permission to kill myself?”
“No. It is too much honor. Return to work.”
The overseer’s face grew red in silent shame and rage. Raising his lash, he pointed at Laurie and Pug. “You two, back to work.”
Laurie stood, and Pug tried. His knees were wobbly from his near drowning, but he managed to stand after a few attempts.
“These two shall be excused work the rest of the day,” the young lord said. “This one”—he pointed to Pug—“is of little use. The other must dress those cuts you gave him, or festering will start.” He turned to a guard. “Take them back to camp and see to their needs.”
Pug was grateful, not so much for himself as for Laurie. With a little rest, Pug could have returned to work, but an open wound in the swamp was a death warrant as often as not. Infections came quickly in this hot, dirty place, and there were few ways of dealing with them.
They followed the guard. As they left, Pug could see the slave master watching them with naked hatred in his eyes.