The Farmer Arepo

Chapter 2: The Plunge

Arepo's farmhouse had been built in the time of the campaigns of Pompey, It was made of whitewashed stucco with a red tiled roof, old murals of bulls decorated its four sides, their faded images overlain with graffiti from the time it had laid abandoned

Before Arepo the Knight had become Arepo the Farmer

And had tried to forget

The horns sounded as the infantrymen advanced in a steady column upon the house.

There was nowhere Arepo could run from them

The sea mount upon which Arepo's humble farm sat was tiny

With only a narrow path carved into the side of it barely allowing the passage of two men abreast

So the only way out was down

Straight down

Arepo charged through the courtyard, shaded by a modest olive tree, Old Phil snagging a branch in passing, Spilling half-ripe olives upon the dirt as Arrepo retrieved a thick hemp rope and a pair of old gloves from the shed

He spared a thought to let the rabbits from their pens, they and their descendants might yet live many years, grazing on the grass of their narrow home.

He would have no more need for their meat.

Inside he did the same for the finches he had kept in little cages to sing for him, shooing them out the open windows

The house had been much too big for him and Old Phil alone

He was grateful for their company

And bid them a fair journey

Of the items inside the house, Arepo had precious little that he savored, a few books he was sad to lose, a cup of old knucklebones which he dumped into his purse to mix with the grain he had intended for his finches

Outside the shouting was growing louder

Time was short

Arepo pulled back a rug and knelt to touch his fingers to the bare stone beneath, slowly he curled three of his fingers and rotated his thumb, then pushed in with his pinkie

There was a click and one end of the stone slab popped up, its great weight supported by the simple but well maintained machinery beneath it, Arepo pulled it the rest of the way and the stone block thudded to the dusty floor

The hole the hatch had covered was narrow and dark

Arepo tied the rope to a stone pillar and dropped it's knotted end down the hole, then he pulled the half-eaten olive branch from Old Phil's mouth and folded the goat against him.

He grabbed the rope in his gloved hand and leaned back, planting his feet on either side of the hole

He took a deep breath and began to count

"One"

Then jumped up and went down straight as an arrow

Air rushed all around him as he descended down the narrow dead drop, stone all around him

"Thirteen"

Then the walls fell away too and he was in a vast and open space,

He kept his count, waiting for the number

"Twenty nin- ugh!"

He had miscounted and his hand hit the knotted end of the rope, twisting his fingers loose and filling his arm with pain as every joint felt like it had been pulled apart

He and Old Phil fell in the open air, limbs flailing, the air filled with the sounds of shouting and bleating

Then they both hit the water

It first felt as if he had landed on solid stone and pain exploded in his knees, the shock almost making him pass out

But a moment later the black water welcomed him in and the cold helped numb the fires in his joints as his momentum carried him deep

He let his body go limp and hang in the lightless, directionless abyss

Slowly the air inside his lungs pulled him in the direction he could have sworn was down

Flipping over he kicked his feet and surged into the blackness

And broke to the surface of the water

He could not see a foot in front of him, from the darkness of the great cavern

"Old Phil!" he shouted and his shout answered back to him in a thousand voices

The night inside the hollow sea mount lay silent

Dread grew in Arepo's heart

Then a soft "bahhh" echoed back, so soft its echo was swallowed by the darkness

Arepo began to pull himself in that direction with his one good arm, his legs kicking weakly

It was slow going and twice Arepo had to let his body go limp and float aimlessly in the still pool of water but then he would resume following the soft, pained bleating.

Finally, his toes touched the rising shore

Old Phil lay in the shallow surf, Arepo's questing hand found his dampened fur body and his beating heart

And his twisted legs

Arepo sucked in a breath and hissed, it was worse than he had thought it would be, he hadn't gotten a long enough rope

Arepo put aside his self-recriminations and focused on checking for any fractures that may have broken through the skin

He found one

Arepo swore, it was a filthy swear learned in a dark place more hateful than this one

He didn't have much time

Gritting his teeth he grabbed his useless shoulder and jammed it back into it's socket, sensation returned followed by agony and his scream roared up the cavern

He pulled his shirt from his back and wrapped it around Old Phil's bleeding leg, the goat was too hurt to manage more than a bleat of protest as Arepo yanked the leg straight, pulling the bone back beneath the skin and allowing Arepo to wrap his shirt tightly around the wound

Arepo grabbed Old Phil's legs and threw the poor creature over his shoulders, this made the goat scream in pain and attempt to struggle and kick but he was too weak and Arepo was too determined

Arepo struggled forward, each step questing in the dark for a certain stone step

He finally found it

By kicking it

At this point, he was too far gone in the adrenaline to care and instead laughed for joy as he surged up the flight of stairs

Then he heard a scream

Followed by another

And another

And splashes of water

What callous idiot had sent those poor men down the hole after him?

An image came unbidden of the knight Old Phill had headbutted, writhing on the ground

A vengeful one perhaps