Jack Simple

Chapter 8

The Vurna festival approached quickly.

The days were swiftly warming, and the sunlight lingered long in the evening. Jack cut wood from morning until night. In the evenings he visited Eidna and kept her company while she worked. Eidna's father, she told Jack, had departed to serve the Mayor on his hunt after he had satisfied himself that she would have time to finish the wine. Still, Jack was required to be discreet during his visits; the neighbors were always about.

He watched her tread out trough after trough of grapes, her skirts bunched in her hands, her feet and calves sticky with juice. They would speak of inconsequential things as she labored. Two subjects that were always avoided were the festival and their would-be engagement. Jack knew that Eidna believed that his desire for her would fade soon after her deflowering. She refused to allow herself to accept that his love for her was born of deeper waters than his lust for her body.

Each night after she had finished for the day she would take him to her room, and they would embrace and kiss upon her cold mattress in the dark. It never went any further than that. Jack sensed that this was another test of his devotion, and knew that if he were to attempt to put plow to furrow the conditions of their engagement would be void. He ached to finish what they had started that night in the wild, but kept his passion cool to further earn her trust. She did not make it easy. At times, it was almost as if she were daring him to reveal that he was no different than the Mayor.

The day before the festival, as Jack was sitting outside his shop and sharpening the teeth of one of his saws, Herrig the Reeve appeared at his cottage with two of the soldiers of the tything. Lightfoot let out a low growl. Jack patted him reassuringly. He put the saw aside and picked up his heaviest axe, running the file across it though the blade was already sharp and oiled. Herrig grinned as he approached, but there was some uncertainty hidden behind his gaze at the sight of the sharpened tool. Jack was pleased. You aren't the only one who can intimidate, you ugly bastard.

"Woodcutter!" Herrig shouted. "I have a message from the Constable."

Jack only nodded.

"You are to meet him at the gate of the Mayor's manor at the hour of midmorning tomorrow," the Reeve continued. "You will bring no weapons—including that little whittler you have there. Understood?"

"Understood," Jack assented.

"If I were you, woodcutter, I would watch your tongue around the Mayor," the Reeve said. "He has even less patience for impertinence than the Constable does."

Jack glared at him, remaining silent. The Reeve chuckled and took his leave. Jack stood and buried the blade of the axe deep into his chopping block with an echoing thuck. The Reeve hesitated for a moment as if he were about to turn, but thought better of it.

"Come on," Jack said to Lightfoot. "We need to go to town."

The cartwright in Brecht was a man named Dolf, and he operated a workshop on Hohn Street. The sounds of saws and chisels greeted Jack and Lightfoot as they approached the shop. Jack had sold boards to Dolf many times, but they had never exchanged more than a few words. He found the man overseeing work within the shadowy shop, shouting out commands as his carpenters busily darted to and fro. They were clearly rushing in order to get ahead in preparation for tomorrow's holiday. Dolf was old and bent, but was able to produce a prodigious amount of volume with his booming voice. The cartwright greeted Jack as he walked in, shaking his hand.

"Have I made an order that I have forgotten about?" Dolf inquired, confused at Jack's sudden appearance.

"Nay," Jack said. "I am here as a customer."