Carack

Carack Ch8 p2

The next morning he awoke covered in heavy dew and shook his cloak vigorously to get rid of the droplets of water. Gerent took a drink from his bottle, ate one more of the sandwichs and set off. He had decided to head toward the mountains as they were a clear and consistent landmark to aim at, not because he had any object in mind when he got there. Sometimes, as he walked on, he expected to be caught up by someone from Widnbrea at any moment and rehearsed in his mind his refusal to return with them. Other times told himself he knew they wouldn’t bother and then he thought Sancret was watching him in the well. So, in a state of turmoil, he plodded onward, determined not to return to the castle through his own weakness. He felt vulnerable alone and without the chameleon mail, but Gerent thought that Sancret needed it more than he did. That evening he came upon a farm and plucking up courage he asked the farmer if he could sleep in the barn, this was much more comfortable than outdoors he found as he nestled himself into the warm hay. The next morning he finished the last of his picnic sandwiches for breakfast and was surprised by the farmer’s wife who gave him some small pies she had baked. Gerenet thanked her sincerely before he put them in his pack and set off. In a funny way he found himself sad that there had not been any contact from the castle yet, but he reasoned with himself it proved that he was not missed or required and it aided his resolution to go away.

As the day wore on he found himself looking down into a lower valley with flat bottom at one end of  it in which sat a forest of dead trees. They were mere black sticks and stumps sticking up from an oozing black mud that glooped as gas from the bottom forced its way up through it to the open air. Gerent walked down across the hill toward the western edge of the valley to avoid the eerie place. As he reached the flat valley floor he heard the sound of pounding hooves coming towards him along the valley behind him. Expecting the riders to be from Widnbrea Gerent stopped and turned to look back at them. When he saw them he stepped back in alarm and fell over, he lay for a moment in stunned horror and disbelief. Then, realising he needed to move, he jumped up, took one more glance at the approaching horsemen and ran as fast as he could. Unexpected and from out of nowhere Madron was bearing down upon Gerent, riding as hard as he could, his cloak flapping out behind him making him look like a huge dark carrion bird with members of the castle guard close behind him. Gerent knew he could not out run the horses. He made the decision to run for the blighted woods where the mud and rotting trees would make the going hard for horses as well as men and might give him his only chance to get away. He ran.

‘Gamerrr!’ Came Madron’s angry yell as he caught sight of Gerent. Gerent found another burst of speed and flung himself in among the petrified trees, pulling on their trunks to help him wade through the deepening mud. There was the sound of horses being reined in behind him and the jingle and creak of harness as men dismounted but he did not dare look round or stop. Pushing further into a denser patch of the trees he heard men cursing, splashing and slipping in the mud. All at once he felt him self going up slightly and the level of mud reduced to his ankles. He began to run quickly again for a short distance before running right into the middle of a bog of  liquid black mud. In an instant Gerent had sunk up to his waist. He struggled and tried to push forward through the porridge like substance. But this only made him sink deeper still. In desperation he tried stretching out to reach a nearby stunted tree only to find it was just out of his reach. Gerent sank further into the bog, right up to his neck. He heard Madron laughing as thugh in triumph and turning his head Gerent saw him. Madron was standing astride a fallen log on the edge of the boggy area, hands on hips, laughing down at Gerent as he watched him sinking, Gerent realised he could die and called out in desperation.

‘Help me! Please!’ Gerent pulled an arm from the ooze and stretched a hand out towards the man he had just been trying to escape from. Madron made no move to help him. His eyes seemed to gleam with joy at Gerent’s plight.Up to his chin now Gerent called out again but heard only a laugh n response. So gasping a last lung ful of air Gerent sank down. He closed his eyes as the mud trikled in through his eye lashes and pushed up his nostrils. He went under the surface of the mud with the sound of Madron’s laughter ringing in his ears. He felt the mud cover over the top of his head and entomb all of him but his outstretched hand. He knew this was the end for him.

‘I’m sorry Hugh, I’m sorry I can’t get out’ Gerent said to himself and involuntarily took in a mouthfull of mud as in reflex he tried to breathe again. He choked but only succeeded in taking in more mud. His outstretched fingertips felt mud coming over the top of them. There was no contact and no hope of a rescuer or with anything he could use to save himself. Just as he was about to loose consciousness he was falling to his knees onto the cold hard stone floor of Sancret's tower room, coughing and retching the mud out.

‘Don’t ever do that again, I’ve lost a very good coat rack transposing you back here.’ Sancret’s voice registered in Gerent’s brain as he knelt forward coughing and coughing onto the flagstones.

‘Brunnstan! A bath for Gerent, plenty of soap, and I apologise in advance to the Brownies for the mess they will have to clear up in here tonight.’