Poetry: England

Here is another poem written on St George's Day.

ENGLAND

That misty isle across the sea
Will always be a home to me.
The cliffs of white that guard our shores,
The rolling Downs. the bleak, cold moors,
The skylark with his liquid song
Soaring high above the throng
Of hikers, picnickers and such,
Whose hearts he never fails to touch.

The little streams and brooks do run
Through woodlands, glistening in the sun.
The little fish are swimming here;
A kingfisher is always near.
A flash of blue above the stream,
A dive, then gone, that silver gleam
Of minnows, gone to feed his brood
In holes, all waiting for their food.

I cities where the pigeons fly
The wind-blown litter flutters by.
The cars and buses, cycles too,
Line up at lights, forming a queue.
The city’s clamorous roar assaults
The ears, but never, ever halts.
The busy folk all rushing past
They never slow, time goes so fast.

The little market towns do snooze.
The slightest little thing is news.
In pretty villages with greens
Are cottages with oaken beams.
The church bells echo o’er the fields
Calling us with merry peals
As they have done for many a year
Bringing hope and lots of cheer.

This land does not a climate boast,
Just weather, blown form coast to coast.
All in one day this land can get
All four seasons, sun and wet.
Though no extremes do us attack
Do not go out without a mac
For rain can come at any time,
Though rarely with a gale force nine.

The English folk are stubborn, too
As we evinced in World War two.
We do not push, but stand in line
Waiting patiently ‘til it’s time.
We do not wail and wave our arms,
For such behaviour has no charms.
But when we’re rouse, then just watch out!
We’ll demonstrate, wave flags and shout.

And so my country is unique;
Its people are not really meek.
An upper lip that’s stiff conceals
A wicked humour that reveals
Our lack of deference for power,
Our love for bird and bee and flower.
Abroad may have its charms, it’s true
But England’s magic’s ever new.

V.M.Sang
April 2014

In the next few days I will publish another chapter of The Wolf Pack for those who are reading it. (Or even for those who are not! Maybe you will start once you see it in print.)

I am wondering about all the pro-european voters. It seems to me that they are not putting any reasons as to why Europe is good for Britain. I found a web-site (www. Independent.co.uk/) that puts forward some very good reasons as to why we should remain in, but no one ever states these in the press. Why not? Most people won't search for web-sites like this one.

We are hearing nothing except about how we will be inundated by immigrants from Eastern Europe unless we come out. The press seem to home in on this bogey-man of immigration and give UKIP a lot of air-time, but not much to the other parties. Is it any wonder that the public are going along with this? Only the Lib-Dems have said anything about the impact that leaving the EU would have on Britain, and then it's only in Kent. In fact, here are a few things about immigrants that the scare-mongerers fail to mention.

We are a very insular people, it seems to me, and are currently bordering on xenophobia. UKIP's insistence on focusing on the immigration aspect of Europe is feeding into this. Xenophobia is a very dangerous thing. Look at the Nazis and more recently the genocide in Eastern Europe. (I refuse to use the euphemism, 'ethnic cleansing.') There have also been many instances of it in Africa. I am not saying that Britain would suddenly start death camps or anything like that, but that is the ultimate end of that sort of thinking.

Here are a few statistics about immigration: They are usually young and skilled. They come to the UK to work. The 'non-activity' rate, i.e. people who are retired, students and stay-at-home mothers) is 30% as compared with 43% for the UK as a whole. 32% of immigrants have a university degree as compared with 21% of the native population. EU immigrants are half as likely to take up benefits as the native population, too. This is from a University College of London study. Because they are already educated, we will not be paying to educate them, nor will we be paying out pensions or healthcare as they are young!

Europe has had its problems, true, but it is the largest free trade area on the planet. Do we want to be outside that?  The UK accounts for less than 1% of the world's population and less than 3% of the Global income, and shrinking. If we come out, we will find it increasingly difficult to have a voice on the international stage. A Chinese newspaper had  this quote. 'The Cameron Administration should acknowledge that the UK is not a big power in the eyes of the Chinese. It is just an old European country apt for travel and study.' If we leave, would foreign companies (such as Honda in the north east, an area that needs jobs desperately) still come to Britain if they did not have the access to this vast market? Or would they go to France, Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia etc and take their jobs to those countries? That would impact greatly on our economy. Would they even move their factories etc from Britain? No. Leaving the EU would have a devastating effect on the economy of this country.

If we are not in Europe, we can have no say in what they do, thus they would be able to make laws and rules that impinge badly on us.We would have to abide by those rules whether or not we are in if we wish to trade with Europe. We would not be able to negotiate them and they may not be to our advantage. In fact, they could be detrimental to us.

Contrary to popular belief, being in the EU is not excessively expensive for us. It costs us only 0.5% of our GDP and we are  getting back this year £9.252billion.

I hope people read this. You can find out much more in the website I've mentioned, so please read and digest.

Poetry: The National Lottery

In 1990 I started working at St Mary's High School in Croydon, England. Here they had a tradition at the Staff Christmas Dinner for people to get up and do some sort of entertainment. We had had a rather 'interesting' year 10 day trip to France in the previousl November and so I wrote a poem about it. Then, of course. I had to do one each year. Unfortunately, most of them have been lost, and most would not be of interest to most people, but here is one I wrote in 1992, just after the National Lottery had begun.

THE NATIONAL LOTTERY


No. I’ve not won the lottery.
6 million pounds? It wasn’t me!
Not even a measly tenner

I often think and wonder, though
If I should win a lot of dough
Would it change my life at all?
You bet it would! I’d have a ball.

First I’d go and buy a car.
(I’ve always fancied a Jaguar)
A BMW would be nice.
I’ll but them both and not think twice.

And then I’ll get a private jet
And join the international set.
I’ll fly around the world with ease
And leave this land when it doth freeze.

A bigger house than the one I’ve got,
Another in a land that’s hot.
I’d buy one on a mountain high
With snow to ski, down which I’d fly.

Expensive dresses I could buy,
And not put up that fateful cry,
‘It’s far too dear for me to pay
I’ve not enough on me today.’

I’d leave my job without a qualm
And sit at home and feel so calm.
No arguing with stroppy pupils
I’d just relax without those scruples.

But don’t forget the family.
I think I’d ask them round for tea.
They’d all be there; no one would miss
For who would lose a chance like this?

The Aunts and Uncles, cousins too,
 Relatives I never knew.
They’d all turn up to take their place
In the queue to see my face.




I’d walk around the Paris shops
No job to do-my mind may rot.
I think I may be somewhat bored.
My happiness is slightly flawed.

No, I’ve not won the Lottery.
I hope that now it isn’t me.
Perhaps a measly tenner?

V.M.Sang
December 1992

OK World. Here is Episode 6 of The Wolf Pack. Those of you who have only just caught up, you should be able to find earlier extracts in my earlier blogs. It is also available in kindle and print format from www.amazon.com. Don't forget that you can read kindle books on ipad, ipod and iphone too if you download the free app.

CHAPTER 6

RANGER

The ranger had been wandering in the wilderness for some days now. He was vaguely heading in the direction of the city of Hambara, for although he hated cities, he needed to get some kind of paid work. Maybe he could get work as a scout for one of the caravans that were always arriving and leaving such places, or perhaps he could get a job with a hunting party. After all, the hunting season had not quite ended yet.
He sat down on one of the logs he saw littering the ground. It was cold, but then it was not spring for another month. He took out his water-skin and took a drink. He had crossed the land of Grosmer from the west, and having been warned of the dangers of the Mistmere and the Dead Marshes, he avoided them as best he could and travelled with a group of other young men. He had still been able to hear the moans of the dead that inhabited that area though. Those poor souls that had been drowned in the deep pools that were scattered through the swamp could not rest. Some said that they were evil spirits who lured people to their deaths and then kept their souls in bondage rather than the unrestful dead who had been denied their death rites. Certainly the place had had an evil feel and he was pleased to have left it behind. He found this land strange. He was from far to the south, from the land called Beridon beyond the Great Desert.
As he sat there in the shadow of the huge trees, he began to think back through the past nine years. Had it really been so long? He had been only fourteen when he left his home. He sighed. He did miss his family. He was from a large family. He had three older sisters and four younger, and two younger brothers. It was because of the preponderance of girls that the family was so large. Life, especially for children, was uncertain. Many did not live to reach their fifth year, and girls were not valued in his society. His culture believed that women had been put on Vimar for the sole purpose of bearing children and looking after men. So his mother had kept on bearing children so that there would be a sufficient number of boys to ensure at least one survive to carry on the family name and business and to provide for their parents in their old age
The ranger, being the eldest boy, had been expected to take over the business when his father became too old and failing eyesight made close work impossible. His father was a sandal maker. It was a steady job, but did not make a lot of money, so the family was poor. Fero, for that was his name, unfortunately hated the work, and had decided to become a ranger. He had found a ranger to take him on as an apprentice, and then he told his father. There had been a furious row, and his father had forbidden him from leaving. The fourteen-year-old, however, possessed a strong will and had been adamant. He had packed his few possessions in a pack and started for the door. His mother had come running after him, pleading, and crying, and as he left, she called after him:
‘Fero. Don’t forget us, Fero.’
The last thing he heard from his family was his father’s voice calling to his mother.
‘Come in, woman. We have no son called Fero.’
He had wept then, as he knew he could never return so long as his father lived, but he soon put it behind him and spent the next five years with the ranger, learning the skills he would need.   
Eventually, of course, he had to leave his new home. The ranger who had taught him deemed that he must travel on his own and learn by experience. He had wandered for a year around his own country, then found himself one day in the Great Desert. Thirsty beyond belief, he had been picked up by nomads who lived in the desert. Here he learned more of the ways of survival in hostile climes. He lived with the nomads for a year before coming with them to one of the small fishing villages on the shores of the Inner Sea. The nomads came here once a year to trade for goods they could not find or make for themselves. Fish was a great delicacy and luxury for these people. Fero thought the small town an enormous city after his small village and the tents of the nomads, and he found it fascinating. He then determined to find out more about the lands to the north, and managed to get a working passage across the sea, even though he had never been on a boat before.
So Fero came to Grosmer. In the year of his arrival he helped with harvests around the coast, oranges and olives, grapes and peaches, lemons and apricots. He found the climate agreeable. The summer was quite hot and dry, but winters were mild and with enough rain that it was not a problem in the dry summer. He quickly learned the language, but the culture was more difficult. Here women were treated as equals. He found this very strange at first and got into trouble a few times trying to make a woman obey him and wait on him. Soon, however, he found that he could actually enjoy the company of women, and that they were as interesting and intelligent as men were. He enjoyed listening to their arguments and disputing with them. He also found out that his exotic looks were very attractive to these northern women, with his long, black hair, coppery skin and near black eyes. He took to wearing black too, to accentuate his difference, even though he was aware that it was an affectation on his part. He became known as the Black Ranger by some.
So he worked his way across the south of the country over the next couple of years. Then a group of young men with whom he was working at the last farm decided to travel north, and so he thought he would go with them. He wanted to travel to the lands to the west of the Western Mountains where he had heard lived tribes of nomads very different from those of the desert. These tribes were reputed to roam vast grasslands and tend herds of beautiful horses. They were said to be the best horsemen in the world. However, soon after passing the Dead Marshes and the Mistmere, Fero suddenly decided to turn back east and go to Hambara, the second largest and most important city in the land after the capital. He was still unsure why he had decided to do that. He just felt it was right. So here he was, sitting on a log in the forests of Grosmer, heading to the city and thinking of his past life. He rose and set off once more in an easterly direction, hoping to meet the road that ran from Bluehaven to Hambara.
Fero stood up from the log where he had been sitting and stretched. He looked around for any tracks to show if there was game around. He was beginning to feel rather hungry, and he realised that he had not eaten since the previous day. It was necessary for him to live off the land now since he had finished all his supplies two days previously. He saw the tracks of some small game, rabbit, he decided after examining the tracks. He quickly found the run and set a snare, then melted into the background, his black clothing blending into the shadows. With the patience learned over years of practice, and which was not natural to the young man, he sat waiting for his trap to be sprung. Soon, a small rabbit approached, and ran straight into the snare. Quickly, to spare the little animal as much suffering as possible, Fero leaped from his hiding place, killed the creature and set to skinning it. The rabbit was soon roasting over the fire he lit. He threw the entrails into the bushes. Some creature would benefit from them. As soon as his rabbit was cooked, he set about eating. 
His meal completed, Fero looked at the sky. It was beginning to show a red glow in the west, and he decided to remain where he was for the night. He built up the fire to deter any predators, and settled down to sleep.
The next morning, Fero woke with the dawn and finished off his rabbit. He took a long drink from his water skin and ensured the fire was completely out covering the ashes with soil and leaf mould and then he carefully obliterated as many other signs of his habitation as he could. Only then did he pass out of his campsite to continue with his travels. He was a ranger and expert at leaving the countryside as it was before his coming. He travelled through the woodland without leaving any signs of his passing, and his movements were such that he was to all intents and purposes silent. That and his habitual dress of black made him an almost invisible presence in the woods. 
After travelling almost half a day, he came to a road. It must be the road between Bluehaven and Hambara, he reasoned. He was not aware of any other north south roads in this area, although he was not very familiar with the geography of Grosmer. He then decided that he would make more speed travelling along the road, so he set off, walking briskly. Soon he spotted a place where people had camped. He looked around. It was abandoned, that much was clear, but the signs suggested that he was only about a day behind. There had been two people in the camp, he decided. He found two depressions in the grass where they had slept, but there was a third that he did not at first understand. It was as though something heavy was lying on some sticks, two long ones and several others running across. This was further borne out by the fact that there were tracks of two grooves leading in and out of the small clearing. Were these bandits, carrying loot stolen from travellers on the road? Fero was not worried about theft as he had little enough to warrant a robbery, but he knew that bandits were often ruthless and had been known to kill or maim for the pleasure of so doing. Not having any goods worth stealing could be just the excuse for such activity. He decided that he had better be very careful before showing himself to anyone travelling on these roads.
Eventually it grew dark. Fero continued to walk along the road until he saw the gleam of a fire. There ahead of him were the people he had been following. The roadsides were heavily wooded here and he melted into the trees like a ghost, and remained watching them. He was an experienced fighter, but did not like to fight unless there was no alternative and so he watched until he was sure they were no threat. There were in fact three of them, as he had deduced, although one of them was on a kind of wooden contraption and was obviously unconscious. This was what had made the tracks he had been so puzzled about. Was he a prisoner? This question was answered shortly by the female, a young black-haired elven cleric, coming to perform some healing on him. The care with which she did this told Fero that this was not a prisoner. Also, the young auburn-haired apprentice mage showed even more concern. Eventually, the elf took the first watch, and Fero watched as the half-elf mage lay down by the fire. He still had no idea who these people were, and could hardly go barging into their camp in the middle of the night. That would make him a threat and if they were no bandits, as it seemed, they would be greatly disturbed. So he bided his time, thinking to reveal himself the following morning. He sat down and prepared to sleep.
Unfortunately for Fero, just before dawn, a dwarf came into the camp. He looked around, and sighed as he saw the young mage asleep, slumped down by the log on which he had been sitting for his watch. He muttered to himself in his own language, and then busied himself with making up the fire, after which he sat down on another log to wait for the pair to wake up. A rabbit crept into the clearing, and the dwarf slowly picked up his crossbow and fired. The rabbit was killed instantly, and the dwarf picked it up and took it to his seat to skin and prepare for cooking. Soon there was a delicious smell of roasting meat wafting towards where the ranger was sitting, and his mouth watered. Was this someone they knew and had been waiting for, he wondered? He would have to keep watching to find out. If they did in fact know each other, then he could continue with his plan of approaching them, but if the dwarf was a stranger to them, then he would have to bide his time. It would seem just a little too much of a coincidence to have two strangers appear on the same morning. Fero knew that if that had happened to him, he would not have trusted either of the strangers, thinking that maybe they were in league and there was an elaborate plot involved.
His question was soon answered by the reaction of the young cleric. He listened to the talk, and learned their names and how they came to be there. He decided to wait until the next night and then introduce himself. Until then, he would watch and wait.
Later in the day, Fero saw the meeting with Borolis and family. The dogs at first made to bark at him too, but with the skills of a ranger, he whistled to them, and they came over. He quickly made friends with them and after that, they ignored him. To his surprise, the travellers did not come out after eating. Maybe this was their destination, but he thought they had said they were all going to Hambara. He waited patiently for quite a long time. All remained quiet for the rest of the day. The farmer came out, milked his cows and gave the dogs some food, then returned to the house. Nothing else happened. He waited but there was no further observable activity. Fero considered moving on and not waiting for the travellers, but he had been on his own for a long time and craved some company. He could live for long days without seeing anyone most of the time, but occasionally he desired the company of others. He had learned many languages and customs in his travels and was eager to learn something of the elves. (He knew a little of the dwarves having spent some time with a band of those people when he first came to this side of the Three Seas and had learned to speak a passable dwarvish, but had never really known any elves.) Anyway, the sun was now setting and so he decided to wait and see what happened in the morning.
The next morning, the farmer and his two sons came out with heavy shovels and picks and managed to dig a hole in a small fenced-off patch of ground. Eventually, they all came out with a man on a plank of wood, covered by a sheet. Fero deduced that the injured man had died and that this was to be his funeral. A sad song sung by the cleric confirmed this, and that the man had been close to the young mage was apparent by his distressed appearance and the way he bent down and spoke to the dead man. Maybe a relative, Fero thought. Shortly after the brief funeral, the remaining three left the house and set off on the road towards the city.
Fero followed. He was aware of an atmosphere between the travellers, and thought he had better see what developed. Maybe today was not a good time to reveal himself after all, so that night he hid himself in the trees once more.

Poetry. Spring

I have at various times in my life, written poetry and I have decided to do so again. Much of my previous stuff has been lost so I am starting again. Here is one that I've just written. Hope you like it.


SPRING

Dandelions, like gold, cover the meadows.
Newborn lambs frolic in fields.
New leaves on the trees are casting their shadows
And winter’s cold grip quickly yields.

At the edges of woodland the primroses glow
And cowslips their scent fills the air.
Anemones dance when the breezes do blow
And birds sing with never a care.

Then bluebells and campions come into bloom
Their colour the blue of the sea.
The cuckoo, that herald of spring, will come soon
His call echoing over the lea.

The song of the blackbird is like molten gold.
His notes are so pure and so clear.
Hearing him seems to banish the cold
And brings joy to all those who hear.

Robin is nesting, and other birds too,
The hedgehog is active once more.
The young of the deer and the badger and shrew
Play their games as in old days of yore.

The sun climbs higher and higher each day
Giving more of his heat and his light.
It sparkles like stars fallen into the bay.
All smile at the beautiful sight.

Hope and excitement come every spring morn.
What blessings will come with this day?
New starts can begin once again with each dawn
And send us all hopeful away.


V.M.Sang
April 2014

Here is the next extract from The Wolf Pack.

CHAPTER 5

GRIEF

After a while, the woodland through which they had been passing ever since meeting with Basalt seemed to move back, leaving more open country. Carthinal was grateful, as this meant that nothing could hide in the trees and surprise them. The countryside was still undulating. Low green hills rose on either side. It was a gentle land with many small woodlands and streams, all hurrying to reach the Brundella and eventually the sea. There were a few fields with crops and some cattle on either side of the road and the odd well-fortified farmstead, but few villages. Then, when they rounded a bend, they saw a farm at the side of the road. Dogs ran out barking as they approached. One rather angry looking black and tan beast ran up to Carthinal snarling and showing his teeth. Carthinal prepared a spell to send the animal to sleep, when the farmer appeared with a crossbow ready loaded and pointing at them. He looked as though he knew how to use it and was not reluctant to do so if necessary. The farmer was tall and muscular with dark hair and eyes. He was deeply tanned from working outdoors, and was wearing a boiled leather jerkin and trousers with a thick woollen cloak dyed green fastened around his shoulders against the chill of the day.
‘Down, Bramble,’ he called to the dog.
The animal cowered down, still growling and looking at Carthinal in a menacing way, teeth bared in a grim smile. The other three dogs were slinking around obviously ready to attack if the one called Bramble did so. He was the obvious leader of these dogs. The others were smaller. One was black and white, with a rather piratical look as it had a black patch over one eye, and one ear cocked and the other down. The other two were both all black, but one was almost as large as Bramble and had a ragged ear as though it had been chewed in a fight. No doubt a challenge for supremacy amongst the animals had occurred, but whether Bramble had been the original leader and had beaten down the challenge, or whether he had won the leadership off the chewed ear dog, none of them could say. Although if asked, Carthinal would have plumped for Bramble having been the challenger as he looked the younger dog.
‘If ye be friends, then ye need have no fear,’ said the farmer, still pointing his cross-bow, ‘But these be dangerous times and we’ve a need to be careful. No sudden moves now or Bramble there’ll attack; not to mention how me finger might slip on this here trigger. State yer names and business.’
With a nervous look at the dogs, especially Bramble, Asphodel replied for the group.
‘I am Asphodel and my companions are Carthinal and Basalt. The man on the travois is Mabryl, and he is seriously injured. We are trying to get him to the temple in Hambara. We were caught in a flash flood on the ford back there, over the Brundella. We are the only survivors that we know of.’
‘Guard, Bramble.’ The farmer addressed the dog, and he lowered his crossbow.
Bramble looked ready and anxious to have a piece of Carthinal for lunch, with Bas for afters. He showed his teeth again. Carthinal ignored him, although it took all his willpower to do so. He knew the dog was only being controlled by the slenderest of threads and that the farmer could lose control at any moment if he did anything to upset the animal.
‘The others dogs will follow the lead of Bramble,’ he thought, ‘As he is the pack leader here.’
‘Don’t ye move,’ said the farmer ‘And ye’ll be fine. I need to look at yon man on that thingy to make sure he’s what ye says and not a trap. A man can’t be too careful. There’s bandits around these days and they have all kinds of wiles t’get into th’ house.’
With that he walked slowly towards Mabryl. He bent down and touched him gently.
He sighed, then crouched down and put his head on the man’s chest. ‘He be not long for this world,’ he said. ‘He be dyin’. Fact is he be nearly gone now. Ye been tellin’ me the truth I guess.’
He turned to the dogs. ‘Come. These be friends. Bramble! Friends!’ With that, he went and patted each of the companions on the back. ‘Ye’ll be fine now. Bramble and his pack’ll do ye no harm.’
The four dogs came and sniffed each of the companions one by one. Bramble even licked Asphodel’s hand, much to the surprise of the farmer.
‘Well I never!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ye be greatly honoured, Sister. He’s never done that to nobody save in the family. Well, I be Borolis and this here be my farm. It were me father’s afore me and his father’s afore him. I hopes it will be me sons’ and their sons’ too, the gods willing. It’s hard farming here. The land is good, but it be dangerous times, and lonely hereabouts, hence the dogs. Come on in and have a bite and meet the missus and kids.’
‘I don’t know about us having a bite, I thought we were going to be the bite,’ whispered Carthinal to Asphodel, as he shrugged off the harness. ‘I’m not leaving Mabryl here with those animals. They look as wild as wolves to me,’ he observed to Asphodel.
Borolis had second guessed him and said, ‘Bring your sick friend in on that thing. Better than leaving him outside. It be warm indoors too. Mayhap help him somewhat.’
They followed Borolis into the farmhouse where the warmth made them feel most welcome. There was a delicious smell of cooking, obviously the midday meal being prepared. A pretty, blond woman came up to them wiping her hands on her apron.
Borolis addressed her. ‘These here be travellers heading for Hambara. They have met with a mishap on the road. Do we have enough food for us all?’
‘Well, Borolis, you know how as I always cook too much food. You’re forever telling me about it. We can find plenty for yon strangers. Are ye going to tell me who they are?’ scolded his wife playfully.
‘Oh! Sorry. Forgot me manners. The mage, he be Carthinal, and the dwarf be called Basalt. The healer be a young elf called Asphodel.’
At the sound of his voice, two young boys about ten years old, obviously twins, and a girl of about five came running into the room. The boys were dark of hair, like their father, and like him had dark brown eyes which were full of mischief. Their sister was blond, but had also inherited their father’s brown eyes, a combination that was most arresting. All the children were dressed simply in brown trousers and jackets, but all had immaculately clean shirts underneath. The girl had a shirt of primrose yellow which seemed to match the colour of her hair, while one boy had a green shirt and the other an orange one.
‘Did you say there was an elf here, Papa?’ cried the girl.
‘Now, now, calm down, Amerilla,’ said their mother fielding the twins, but missing her daughter, ‘Yes. The young lady there is an elf, and her name is Asphodel.’
‘Ooh! I’ve always wanted to meet a real live elf,’ exclaimed Amerilla
Borolis laughed. ‘That be my daughter, Amerilla, in case you haven’t guessed. The boys be my twin sons. Voldon be wearing the orange shirt, and Kram, he be in the green. Unless they’ve changed over shirts again!’
‘No, Papa,’ replied the boys, looking innocent, as though such a thing would never enter their heads.
‘My wife be called Elpin and she be the best wife a man could have.’
This with a loving glance at the said lady, who blushed and said, ‘Go on with you! Now I’ll just set some more places at the table. Would ye like to put your cloaks over by the door on the stand, and sit ye down by the fire to get warm? It’s mighty cold outside.’
With that, she bustled off to get some more plates and cutlery out of the kitchen. The boys were questioning Basalt about his weapons and Amerilla was gazing in awe at Asphodel, who in her turn was trying to put the young girl at ease so Carthinal had time to look around and take in his surroundings.
The room was large, taking up most of the ground floor of the house. The fire was in a large fireplace built on the left hand wall as they came in through the door, and next to it, stairs went up to an upper story. There was a door in the wall opposite the fire, where Elpin had disappeared, and Carthinal surmised that it was the kitchen. Next to the entrance door was a window with pretty curtains and there was another window on the back wall. The door through which the children had come was obviously a door into the farmyard, and was next to the back window. There were five wooden chairs around the fire, made comfortable by having plenty of cushions and a large table in the centre of the room, which Elpin was now setting with three extra places. All together, it was a clean and happy place, although obviously not very rich. Carthinal thought to himself that the love and care that he felt in that house was worth all the riches on Vimar. Asphodel’s voice broke his musings. ‘I must tend to Mabryl. I will do another healing on him now.’
‘Can I watch. I’ll be ever so quiet.’ This from Amerilla.
‘Don’t you disturb Asphodel now Rilla. She be working. It be mighty hard being a healer. Takes a lot out of a body,’ rebuked her father.
‘As long as she’s quiet, she won’t disturb me,’ replied Asphodel.
She went over to Mabryl and looked at him. He did not look good. She knelt down and lifted one of his eyelids. There was no response to the influx of light from his pupils. This looked very bad. She felt for a pulse. It was there, but very weak, and it seemed to flutter as she felt it. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed seemed to be getting less, and causing him some difficulty. She began her prayer to Sylissa, and laid one of her hands over his wounded head and the other over his heart as she felt Sylissa’s healing grace filling her. She hoped that this way some of the healing would help both the wound and keep him alive. This time there was very little improvement. His pulse seemed to steady momentarily, but then it began to flutter again. 
‘Don’t die, please, Mabryl, don’t die,’ she whispered to herself.
She decided to try another prayer and prayed again to Sylissa. Again that brief but fleeting revival. She did not like to try again at the moment, as she would have no more energy left to channel the god’s energy for any further healing later. She pondered on what to do. While she was doing so, Elpin emerged from the kitchen carrying a tureen full of stew, followed by Borolis with a platter of bread. The twins had been roped in too and they had eight plates between them, which they placed carefully in front of the chairs that had been pulled up around the table.
‘Come and eat,’ called Borolis, and they all sat around the table while Elpin spooned large helpings of stew and bread onto each plate.
The stew was delicious and the bread still warm from the oven. To the hungry travellers the meal seemed like the nectar of the gods. Borolis insisted on them having second helpings, and plied them with ale, and they were feeling full when Elpin left to go into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a bowl of late autumn’s fruit that she had dried for use in the winter. This had been soaked in a syrup of honey and water and then cooked. It was still slightly warm, and the sweet warm syrup perfectly complemented the slight tartness of the mixed fruit. All told, it was a delicious meal, and the three companions sighed, replete with good food. They thanked their hosts gratefully.
‘We did not expect so gracious a welcome, or such wonderful food,’ said Carthinal to Elpin, who beamed at his compliments.
‘Not after the welcome ye received from me and me dogs, eh?’ responded Borolis with a twinkle in his dark eyes. ‘But ye can’t be too careful round here these days,’ he went on more soberly. ‘There be all sorts on the road now. Thieves and brigands, aye, and worse.’
‘Shh! Don’t frighten the little ones,’ Elpin quickly hushed him, but Voldon replied, drawing himself up as tall as a ten year old could.
‘We be not frightened, Mama. We be men now. We be nearly eleven, and Papa has told us we can have short bows for our birthday so we can learn to fight to help to protect the farm. With Papa’s cross bow, us with our short bows and the dogs, nothing can harm us.’
‘I want a bow too. Papa, can I have a bow? I want to fight for the farm as well,’ cried Amerilla, who was bouncing up and down in her seat. ‘I want to be a fighter when I grow up. Or perhaps I’ll be a healer like you Asphodel,’ she said, turning to the elf.
 ‘She wanted to be a travelling entertainer last sixday, and the sixday before it was a druid. We never know what she’s going to come up with next. Thank the gods the boys are not like her. Farming is all they ever wanted to do,’ smiled Elpin.
‘Parador has smiled on us with those two,’ went on Borolis picking up his wife’s thoughts quite naturally, and referring to the goddess of agriculture. ‘Not that I’d change Amerilla in any way shape or form,’ he went on to say fondly. ‘I expect she’ll get married and settle down with some farmer eventually.’
This was a truly happy and devoted family. All three travellers hoped that everything would turn out well for them for their kindness.
Carthinal then spoke. ‘We thank you kindly for sharing your food and shelter this cold day, but we really must continue. It is imperative that we get to a temple as soon as possible for Mabryl.’
‘I understand lad, but ye’d be welcome to stay longer. We seldom see visitors. Elpin’ll pack some food for ye and ye must fill all yer water skins from the well. The water is good, and does not need boiling,’ replied Borolis.
During this exchange, Asphodel, followed by her shadow, Amerilla, had returned to Mabryl to give him some water. She felt his skin and pulse, and gave a sudden intake of breath.
‘Go and get Carthinal, Rilla,’ she said quietly, ‘And then go and help your mother to pack the food she promised us.’
The girl did as she was bid, and Carthinal came over quickly. ‘What is it, Asphodel?’ he queried.
‘I’m so sorry Carthinal. I couldn't save him. He’s gone.’
For a moment, Carthinal did not understand what she was saying. He looked at Mabryl lying on the travois. Then realisation dawned. Mabryl, his first true friend, adopted father and master was dead. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You’ve made a mistake, haven’t you, Asphodel? Check again. He can’t die.’
Carthinal felt a gentle hand on his arm and allowed himself to be led to the fire. It was Elpin who, noticing his distress, had realised what must have happened and come to see what comfort she could offer.
Carthinal sat with his head in his hands. He was totally oblivious of the people surrounding him or of the warm fire crackling in the grate. All he was aware of was a pain in his heart, which seemed to permeate his whole being. Mabryl had rescued him from the gutters of Bluehaven and probably saved him from ending up at the end of a rope as a criminal. Then the mage had adopted him as his son, since he had never married and consequently had no family of his own. Carthinal owed all he was to Mabryl, and looked on him as a friend and father. The half-elf could barely remember his real father who had died when he was still very young. Mabryl had been patient with the wild, impatient young man and taught him all the lessons that a father would have taught his son, so Carthinal felt he had lost a father all over again.
Eventually, he became aware of voices speaking softly around him. He looked up. The light was fading outside the room, and oil lamps had been lit. Where had the day gone? Surely it was the middle of the daylight hours when they arrived? How could it possibly be dusk? He glanced over to the travois. It was empty. A sudden surge of hope filled him. Maybe he had fallen asleep and had a nightmare, and Mabryl had recovered enough to get up. His master could not be dead, he who had always been so full of life and wisdom and good advice. Yes, that was it. In the split second that these hopes flit through his head, Borolis spoke.
‘Don’t ye be anxious about the body, Carthinal. It be lying on one of the couches up the stairs. We’ve washed him and dressed him in decent clothes. Asphodel thought you wouldn’t mind if we searched for something clean in his pack. He was a mage of high rank it seems and it wouldn’t do to send him on his last journey unfit.’
Cathinal looked up, his eyes red. ‘Yes. Thank you,’ he replied listlessly. ‘I suppose we’ll have to bury him. He must be buried properly, and not just left somewhere on the road for wild animals to consume.’
‘That be all taken care of,’ replied Borolis gently. ‘We’ve decided that he can be buried in our family plot. We’ll care for his grave as one of our own. The plot’s protected by a fence to keep out wolves and the like that may decide to dig up any bodies, so it’s a safer place than most. We’d be most honoured if you’d accept our offer.’
‘Thank you. You’re very kind. This is all too much. I will repay you somehow.’
‘No need, boy. We’re pleased as ye were here when it happened and not on the road. At least this way your friend can get a decent place to spend eternity. If you agree, we’ll bury him tomorrow morning, and then you can be on your way as soon as you wish.’
    ‘No rush now,’ said Carthinal listlessly. ‘The rush was all for Mabryl. The ungrateful bastard.’ This last was said angrily, as he banged his clenched fist into the palm of his other hand. Carthinal surprised even himself by his sudden rush of anger.  ‘After all we did. Both Asphodel, and myself she wearing herself out with her healing and I with pulling him on that travois. All for nothing. He goes and dies on us.’ Then Carthinal broke down in a sudden rush of tears and he turned away from Borolis.
Borolis turned away feeling helpless. He was not the one to deal with this. He called his wife to him, to ask her for her advice.
‘I think he should go to bed,’ she replied. ‘I’ve rigged up a couple of extra beds in the boys’ room, and another in Rilla’s for Asphodel. Take him upstairs and I’ll send up a drink of something to help him sleep. I’ve some herbs dried that will do the trick. He will have to face things sometime, but not tonight.’
Carthinal’s tears had at last ceased and he allowed himself to be led upstairs to a room, which now seemed crowded with four beds. Borolis indicated one of the beds, and Carthinal sat down on it. In a few minutes, one of the twins came in carrying a beaker of a sweet-smelling drink. The steam carried the smell throughout the room.
‘Mama says you’re to drink this,’ the boy said, carefully placing the mug in Carthinal’s hands. ‘It’ll help you sleep.’
With that, he was gone, and his father with him. Cathinal sipped the tea. It was pleasant tasting, and seemed to soothe him. He soon began to feel sleepy and he undressed and lay on the bed, pulling the covers up over himself. He was now truly alone in the world. His friend had gone and left him. He had no family of his own. Mabryl had been family to him and he knew he was going to miss him dreadfully. He had been too young when his parents had died to really understand they were gone forever, but now he knew real loneliness. He had no one, no one at all. Soon he drifted into a dreamless sleep. He did not hear the twins come to bed, nor much later, Basalt slip into the bed next to his. He slept until he heard the cocks crowing in the farmyard and the cattle softly lowing in the cowsheds as they were being milked.
    He looked around him. The other beds were empty. Then he remembered. He had been given some kind of draught to put him to sleep because of his despair at Mabryl’s death. The sorrow he had felt the night before hit him again. Tears swam in his deep blue eyes as he rose and dressed. He washed in the water that had been left in a jug in the bedroom and looked into a mirror on the wall. Why should he continue on to Hambara? He had nothing left now. First his father, then his mother and grandparents. Now his adopted father. All gone. No, he had no one at all to care if he lived or died.
This self-pity lasted until his anger re-asserted itself as he entered the family’s main room. Mabryl had no right to die and leave him alone in the world. Surely he could have made some effort to swim out of the flood. He was the one who had insisted that a reluctant Carthinal learn to swim, and he had not even tried to swim to safety himself. That Mabryl had probably made a supreme effort but the waters were just too strong for the older man never occurred to the grieving half-elf. Then his anger turned on himself and Asphodel. He surely could have done something to help Mabryl, but he just stood watching the young elf, while she obviously did not do her best for a stranger. If it were her own father lying there, he supposed it would have been different. Then he saw Asphodel seated by the fire playing some child’s game with Amerilla.
‘That’s all you’re good for,’ he snapped at her. ‘Playing children’s games. You couldn’t even manage to keep him alive until we reached Hambara.’
Asphodel looked shocked. The smile that had come to her lips as he entered the room faded and her eyes filled with tears. She rushed out of the room quickly before he could see her distress.
‘We’d better be getting on with the burial,’ said Carthinal gruffly. ‘Get it over with.’
‘Have something to eat and drink first,’ Elpin replied, leading him to the table and placing a plate of bread and a fruit preserve in front of him. She also poured him a mug of milk. Carthinal decided he had better eat something, even though he was not hungry, and began to spread the preserve onto the bread.
Shortly after, Borolis and the boys came into the room. ‘We’ve dug the grave.’ said Kram. ‘When can we start the funeral?’
‘Ssh!’ scolded his mother. ‘Carthinal’s very upset about his friend. We have to be sensitive about this.’
‘Sorry!’ said Kram, not sounding at all sorry, and he rushed out.
‘Where’s Asphodel?’ asked the farmer.
‘How should I know,’ replied Carthinal. ‘She was here a minute ago, but then she left.’
 Just then, Asphodel appeared red-eyed, with Basalt, who was looking rather severe.
‘Perhaps we should be getting on with the funeral and then we’ll be leaving you. We’re not fit company at the moment. I’m sorry for all this,’ he said.
‘We understand. Anger be a part of grieving, as well as guilt. He’ll get that shortly too. At the moment he be blaming others, yes, even his friend himself. Soon he’ll start blaming himself. After that, he’ll start to mend,’ replied Borolis, ‘Although how long it’ll take is anyone’s guess. He needs the support of good friends at this time. Well let’s get it over with.’
The three travellers and the farming family trooped out to a plot of land adjacent to the house. On a wooden plank, was Mabryl’s body, with a white linen wrap to cover it before it went into the ground. It was lying next to a deep hole that Borolis and his sons had somehow managed to dig in the cold ground.
‘We thought you might want to pay your last respects to him, Carthinal, before we wrap him,’ said Borolis. 
‘Thanks,’ muttered Carthinal, and while the others drew back, Carthinal knelt down beside his mentor.
‘You should not have gone like this, old friend,’ he whispered. ‘We had so much left to do. So much left unsaid. I never thanked you for giving me a chance in life, for being kind and understanding, for bringing discipline to my life where there had been none. I never said how much I cared for you. You became my adopted father when I could barely remember my own. You were the friend I never really had before. You were the teacher who gave me inspiration and taught me so much more than my lessons. I will treasure your memory, and try to live as you taught me. Although it will be hard, I will do my tests as you asked me not so long ago, and I will gratefully accept your staff. I will be strong now. I have grieved for you deeply, and will continue to do so all the days I live, but you once told me to always look to the future, “Learn from the past,” you said, “Remember it, but do not live there.” So much good advice. You were the wisest man I know. Goodbye, my father.’
With that, Carthinal slowly rose to his feet and covered Mabryl’s body with the sheet. Borolis stepped forward with Basalt, and they slowly lowered the body into the Earth. Then Asphodel began to sing. She sang a sad hymn of mourning, commending Mabryl’s soul to the care of Kalhera, goddess of Death and the Underworld, and then said a brief prayer to Kassilla, the chief goddess, to pray that Mabryl may one day return to the wheel of life. Carthinal threw the first spades of soil onto the body, then turned away.
As they were entering the house once more, Basalt took Carthinal’s arm. ‘You’ve hurt that lassie dreadfully,’ he said angrily, ‘With your careless remarks. In the few days she’s known you she has learned to respect you, and like you and you go and speak to her like that!’
Carthinal did not reply, but continued to walk into the house.
He picked up his pack, turned to thank his hosts for their hospitality, and generosity, and then said to the others, ‘We should go now. Are you ready?’
They also picked up their packs. Basalt apologised for Carthinal’s behaviour that morning, but the farmer and his wife understood.
‘He had a terrible shock and loss,’ Elpin said. ‘It mayhap affect him for a while. We know it be not his normal self. We saw what kind of man he be when you arrived. That is what we will remember. Come and call on us again.’
Farewells having been said, the little party continued on their journey. The dogs, led by Bramble, accompanied them for a little way along the road, but then turned back, Bramble having given Asphodel’s hand another lick. Their journey was once more under way.

I apologise for not having been around for a while. I have just come back from a holiday in France and Spain.

An excellent holiday. On the way down we stayed in Parthenay in France with a friend. Parthenay is a very nice town and the friend has a house in the medieval quarter. The houses there are all timbered and very attractive. It is even better now because the council has stopped parking on the street and so it is safer to walk and looks much more attractive without modern cars cluttering up the medieval streets.

The town is built on a hill and many of the houses have caves for wine storage cut into the hill at the back. I suppose in the meieval times, they could also be used to store perishable foods too.

Many of the houses have interconnecting doors. The area was a protestant one in the past, and during the times of conflict between the Catholics and Protestants, the doors were used for people to run through the houses to escape the catholic soldiers who came to persecute them. There are also little windows about 20cm wide and 30cm deep in the walls that people could peep through to see the soldiers coming without being seen themselves, and thus run through the houses to escape.

Here are a few images of Parthenay.

From Parthenay we went to Salamanca.  I will describe that city in a further blog.

I am going to add another extract from the Wolf Pack later this week, so if you have been following it, look out for that.