Now I had work to do. It wasn’t much past midday and there were seven bodies to deal with. I dragged the Merchant across to his family and brought all of them together. Bedwyr went in search of suitable wood: we were in a forest, of course, but much of the material lying around was damp. We both had to search a long time and made many trips into the wood and back to the clearing again before there was sufficient for the task. It took more than two hours before the pile was big enough, and long before we had enough I knew we were being watched. I didn’t allow it to distract me from my task, nor did I demand help. If the watcher (I felt it was only one) was going to help, he would show himself. Otherwise I just had to get on with the job myself. I didn’t fear for my own safety. I had nothing of value to steal and if anyone was going to kill me for killing’s sake there was probably little I could do about it. I’d walked through dangerous places before and had, up till now, come out unscathed. My monk’s habit gave me better protection than the strongest armour so I went on with my duty to the dead.
At last there was enough wood for a pyre big enough for seven. I laid a thick layer of brushwood, then a rough platform on top about three feet above the ground, which I tied together with bracken. It didn’t have to last long, so the highest quality workmanship wasn’t necessary. Onto the platform I piled a layer of branches, then I had the task of dragging the bodies over and heaving them onto the top of the heap, starting with the adults.
Dead bodies are heavy. They’re floppy and uncooperative. I was tired before I even started to load them onto the pyre. I managed to heave the parents and their brothers on top and arranged them neatly with a great deal of effort. I was tempted to call the watcher out to give some help but resisted it and went on with the job myself.
The children were young and thin - not malnourished, just slim - and they were easier to carry. Bedwyr managed to bring the toddler over on his own and he passed the little one on to me. She was as easy to carry as a cloud, she was barely as heavy as a bag of flowers. I placed her on her mother’s breast and folded her arms around her. The oldest, a boy, I put in his father’s arms. Finally I put the little girl between her parents and jumped down. The heavy work was over, and now the fire had to be lit.
I gathered some dry grass and managed to find two dry but substantial sticks. At my request Bedwyr gathered some bracken for a torch. I found a flat stone and fashioned a bow from a green, flexible branch, tied with my girdle. I twisted the crude bowstring round the thinner of the two sticks and braced it against its partner with the stone. Then I set to working the bow back and fore, back and fore, making the thinner stick spin and spin against the thicker. The whole lot fell apart more than once, but after a few minutes a wisp of smoke issued from the hole that was appearing in the larger piece of wood. In a moment or two there was the hint of a spark. I paused briefly to put some dry pine needles into and around the small hole and continued spinning. A couple of minutes later there were more definite signs of sparks. I dropped the bow and cupped my hands around the tiny fire, blowing gently and feeding more dry grass and pine needles into the feeble little flames, helping them to grow stronger. When they were big enough I added bracken and brushwood until there was a strong little blaze. I got more brushwood and twisted it into the bracken torch, which I lit from the little fire and thrust into the pyre when it was well alight. The brushwood caught immediately and within moments the heat was intense.
I stepped back and started a short funeral oration. I didn’t know all the family’s names and substituted ‘your children’ where appropriate.
The part I disliked most was when the bodies themselves caught and burned. The smell of burning human flesh always reminded me of overdone pork. I stepped further back, the service over, and watched to make sure the cremation was complete. The flames roared and crackled and the smell became even more intense.
“That’s a bonny fire you have there, Magister,” a voice said in Gaelic. “Do you mind if I warm myself at it? There’s still a nip in the air.”
“I don’t feel it,” I replied, “but then I’ve been working hard, not sitting on damp rocks all afternoon.” A tall, dark haired man came up to stand alongside me. He was wearing simple but not rough clothing. His sleeveless dark leather jacket indicated that he was a warrior. On his back he carried a huge sword, a claymore almost as tall as himself, and a shield of leather studded with iron. Bedwyr, who had been standing calmly beside me throughout the short service, stepped back to hide behind my monk’s robe.
“And a very good job you made of it, I must say. I’d almost think you’d done this before. You were doing so well I knew I would just get in the way.” He smiled and he looked quite pleasant, but there was a selfish gleam in the eye. “Friends of yours?”
“We met on the way. Were you acquainted with them?”
“Me? No, your saintliness. I arrived while you were talking to that last one. I think I passed the folk who did this a few miles back, they certainly seemed to be excited about a load of cloth they had. From their garb I would say they weren’t either weavers or honest merchants, so I have to assume that they came by their goods dishonestly. Your dead companion exaggerated, although fear makes fools of us all, I think. There were only six of them.”
“Enough to commit some nasty murders. You saw there were children, young children at that, among the family?”
“I saw you with them, aye. Perhaps it was better they were killed as well. After all, who but their parents would want to look after children in these hard times? Folk have too many mouths to feed these days and some of them do hard things to keep the numbers down as it is. No Magister,” he continued with a wry smile, “they are in a better place, out of this vale of tears, held tight to Jesus’ bosom.” He tenderly crossed his arms over his chest in a mockery of a gentle hug, and his face turned angelic and concerned for a moment before breaking again into a sardonic smile. I didn’t like him. I didn’t expect that I would have liked him even if we met in happier circumstances. My distaste must have shown, for the fellow wiped the smile off his face. “I’m sorry your sainthood, I shouldn’t be so disrespectful, but come on now,” he reached as if to put his arm around my shoulders, but I stepped away. “Ah. Do you not like my company?”