The Dragon Book (4 page)

She turned to her sister. “Are your children—”

“I lost my little girl in the winter. It was hard.”

“Oh, no. Your husband?”

“He’s dead,” her sister said. She picked up the knife again, to cut the bread. “Do you want more? We have plenty of food.”

“But—he didn’t go with us to Dragon’s Deep,” Perla said.

“He died when Marco took the men up to the highway,” her sister said. She laid the loaf down on the board and hacked off another slab. “That’s how we have lived, Perla, we rob the highway. And, at last, we have enough.”

Perla gave a shudder, horrified. “Until the Duke comes,” she said, but she remembered that she had heard that he had gone away.

“Why should we not?” her sister said. “Have we not been everybody else’s prey?” Her eyes glittered. “When the Duke comes, Marco will have a plan. Marco always has a plan.” She thrust out the piece of bread. “He brought me this bread. The men all follow him, and he makes sure all of us widows are fed. Just obey Marco. Everything will come well.”

Perla took the bread. “I hope you are right.”

Later, when the men came back, they gathered together in the evening. The men saw her and cheered, and Marco came and hugged her, and she endured also the sweaty hugs of Ercule, and they all shouted her name. “How did you get home? Where have you been?”

She sat down in the circle to tell them her story. They had built a bright fire, and all their faces shone in the light. She began, “You remember how we set off to the north, to Dragon’s Deep, to fish there. Because the Duke had come and stolen all our food.”

They murmured, agreeing, and looked at one another. Marco, beside her, leaned forward, a little frown on his face. She fought off the feeling that he was not liking this.

“And we got there, you remember, and the fish were thick as grass on the meadow, and we hauled in one great catch—”

“And then the storm came,” Marco said.

The listeners gave a louder rumble of agreement, and Ercule called out, “One boat after another foundered.”

Juneo said, “The sky was dark as night, and the lightning flashed—”

“No,” Perla said, astonished.

“I made it to the shore,” Grep said. “I don’t know how, and then I saw Marco trying to carry Ercule in, and Juneo hanging to both of them, and went to help them.”

“No,” Perla said.

“We don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Marco said, and the other men loudly agreed with him again, and the women gestured and nodded and agreed, and Perla sat there dumb and amazed.

They sang some songs, which she had known from her babyhood, and she came near tears to hear them. Then someone told the old story about how Pandun had gotten his eye put out, looking through the hole in the bathhouse wall at the women.

After, she saw Marco to one side, and went to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around her again. “I’m glad you’re back. I was sure you were dead.” He kissed her hair.

“Marco,” she said, “what is this about a storm?”

“We were wrecked in a sudden storm,” he said, smiling. “I don’t know how you got through it. I really don’t know how I did.”

“Marco, there was a dragon.”

He laughed. “You don’t say. Aren’t you a little addled, maybe, from all that time alone? That must be it.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “There. See? Ercule is watching you. Go to him, he’s missed you too.”

“I hate Ercule,” she burst out.

“Well, you’re going to marry him,” said Marco. He was still smiling. Nothing seemed to bother him. She supposed if he had already swallowed the storm story, then he was ready for anything.

She said, “What about the Duke?”

“Hah,” he said.

“My sister told me what you’re doing.”

His eyebrows jacked up and down. That at least ruffled him; his face tightened. “I had four men left and a dozen families with children,” he said. “And it was
my
fault, Perla. I took them there. You were gone. Lucco. All the boats but one. Lost in a storm.” He took a deep breath, drawing back into the shell he had made for himself, the one that smiled all the time. He smiled. “So I did what I had to do. And so will you. Ercule is very useful to me. I want you to marry him.” He leaned over and laid his cheek against hers and walked away.

More like a dragon than a Prince, she thought, nearly in tears again. She had not come home after all. She crept back to her sister, to find a place to sleep.

During the following days, she drowned herself in work, making her own house, bringing up stones and withies from the deserted village on the beach. The trail up the cliff was steep and hard, but well-worn, and the other women helped her. During the day, the men went off. She was afraid to ask what they did, but they did not take out the only boat left, which lay always on the beach in the lee of the rock, its nets rotting on the sand. They brought back stories from the highway, gossip, news. At night, when they returned, Ercule came on her.

She held him off for several nights, pushing, shoving, angry, making him shy, but she saw Marco talking to him. After that, he was bolder, he forced her to kiss him, and the next night, while he kissed her, he grabbed her breast in his hand. She wrenched away from him and went inside. It was just past the full moon, and the light shone through the holes in her dome-shaped roof, which had not yet been thatched over. She saw him come in, saw his toothy grin, and could not stop him.

The next day, he went off with Marco somewhere, and she sat inside the hut and cried. Her sister came and sat by her and patted her shoulder. But when next the men came back, they had bread and meat and blankets and a cask of wine, and it was Ercule who sat beside her, and she could not keep him off.

She was afraid to tell stories, and without the constant telling, the stories stopped coming to her.

One late afternoon, Grep rushed in from the path, leading a stumbling, exhausted stranger. “He was on the sea trail,” he said to Marco. “I thought you should hear him.”

The villagers had all come out to see what was happening, and the stranger staggered into their midst. He was in rags, his face hollow with thirst and grief. One of the women went quickly to him, brought him water, made him sit, and comforted him. The others gathered around him.

He said, “I never saw them—I was asleep—I woke up to find the place burning. Everybody’s gone. Everybody’s gone.”

Marco said, “Where?”

The stranger said the name of the next village up the coast. He was devouring bread and cheese and milk. The widow beside him had already claimed him, whether he knew it or not. His mouth full, he went on, “I hid in the cesspit. The whole village burnt to the ground. When I got out in the morning, everybody was gone, or dead.”

Perla thought, Not him, then. Not him. He hunts in the daylight. But her heart leapt.

“You didn’t see them?”

“That’s how I lived. If I’d seen them, they would have seen
me
.”

Ercule said, “It’s that same bunch who took San Male.”

“Maybe,” Marco said. “When did this happen?”

“Two days ago,” the stranger said. “The night of the full moon.”

Marco gave a short grunt. He turned to Ercule. “I think there was a full moon the night they took San Male. Go up on the high road, ask around.”

“I will,” Ercule said.

Perla thought, He hunts in the daylight. But on his home hunting ground. Off his range, he would be more cautious. Her palms were clammy.
If you try to escape, I will definitely eat you.

Marco said, “And find out where the Duke is. I heard he was coming back north.”

Ercule said, “I will, Marco.”

Perla swallowed, her hands pressed together at her breast, and looked down at the sea beach below the cliff, where once the village had been—where still a lot of the village remained. A story began to form in her mind, but she had no one to tell it to. If she kept it silent, it would go away. She looked out at the broad, rippled sea, burnished in the setting sun.

Ercule said, “What’s got you so pinch-faced? I’ll be back in a couple of days.” He showed his teeth in his ugly grin. “Then we’ll have a good time.”

“I’d rather be eaten,” she said.

Ercule came back with a buzz of news. To her relief, Perla’s courses had begun, and for once she slept untroubled and alone. A few days later, the Duke himself rode down toward the village on the beach.

His charger was black, with reins worked with silver, and silver stirrups. Marco met him at the foot of the trail up the cliff; the villagers all watched from the height.

The Duke’s voice was clear and loud. “I know who you are. Word came to me even in the south, where I was fighting Saracens. Help me defeat these northern sea-raiders, and I’ll make you Count of this place. You can go on robbing, unh, taking your tolls on the highway. Just give me half.”

Perla, horrified, saw her brother bow down, agreeing to this. The Duke wheeled his horse and rode away, and Marco came back up the trail to the village.

Perla went to him as soon as she saw him without Ercule. She said, “He is lying! He is
lying.
Can’t you see that?”

Marco smiled at her. “It’s all right, my darling.” He kissed her. “I was lying too.” More a dragon every day.

Marco said, “They come on the full moon. The Duke agrees with me, says there have been three attacks this year, all north of here, but moving down the coast. They come in the night of the full moon, burn the village, seize all the people, go before daylight comes. Slavers, obviously. We can figure they’ll come here, if not the next full moon, then the one after. Especially if we all move back to the village on the beach.”

Perla clamped her lips shut. They would be safe on the cliff.

If they stayed on the cliff, the dragon would be safe from them.

Now Marco was telling the plan. “We’ll dig a ditch just above the high-tide line. The Duke will bring archers, who will hide in the ditch, and knights, who will wait in the village. When the raiders come in, we’ll get them between, and we’ll have them.”

Perla bit her knuckle. Ercule swung around toward her. “Well, what do you think of that?” He picked her up and swung her around. “When I am a lord, you’ll be a lady. Hah! Then you’ll like me better.” She clenched her teeth, angry, and thought of getting a knife somewhere and sticking it up between his ribs.

But for the next few weeks, all the men worked hard digging the ditch, and Ercule mostly left her alone. The moon was waxing. The women went back to living on the beach, in the shells of the old huts; with the summer coming on, these were pleasant in the evening breezes, and close by the water for the children. They talked of taking out the boat to fish, until someone noticed the holes in the nets.

A few days before the next full moon, the Duke rode in and galloped his black horse on the beach at low tide, all the while staring out to sea. Perla watched him morosely. Talk was, his war in the south had not gone well. He needed to defeat someone. Her gaze went to Marco, working hard in the heat to shore up the side of the ditch. Surely he was making a fool out of Marco, who was doing all the work, while the Duke would get all the glory.

The Duke’s handsome young son raced after him. He practiced with his sword, pretending to do battle with hundreds.

Just one, she thought, her heart hammering, and looked out over the sea. Or maybe she had dreamt it. Just a story, after all. Maybe there was nothing but the likes of Ercule, the Duke, and Marco.

Her sister came to her, and said, “The moon will be full tonight. We are going into the woods again. Will you come?”

Perla said, “I want to stay.”

“It’s been said—” Her sister’s mouth kinked. “If the Duke can’t have his sea-raiders, he’ll take Marco.”

She said, “I will stay.”

“Ah, you’ve always been a fool, Perla! Now I think you’re a little crazy.”

She knew that Marco had spread that word about her, that she was crazy.

She was beginning to wonder, what difference did it make, if everybody else believed something else? Surely they were right?

The sun set, and the round moon rose. She alone of all the women stayed in the beach village, where the Duke’s knights spread out to eat their supper among the huts. Wary of them, she walked down toward the water. She circled the end of the ditch, full of men with bows. Out before everybody else was Marco, with the other villagers.

She climbed up onto the rock at the end of the beach. The moonlight made everything silver and black, glistening sand, the inky pit of the ditch. The sea ran soft and quiet in the windless night, just curling over along the beach. She thought, The knights are ready, either for the attack from the sea, or to attack Marco. Marco had only five men, and the Duke one hundred.

She sat on the rock in the moonlight, dozing, and she dreamt of the great red eye, gold-rimmed, and the deep voice saying, “Tell me a story.”

She opened her eyes. The moon was sinking into the west. Her hair tingled up. Out there, an eddy was forming on the rippled water.

She stiffened, her breath frozen in her lungs. Behind her, a man called out sleepily, “What’s that?”

Marco shouted, “Perla! What are you doing there? Run!”

She twisted to see him running away from the water, dashing for the cliff. The other villagers followed him. So that was his plan! He remembered the dragon after all. Without waiting for her, Ercule and the others at his heels, he raced toward the trail up the cliff, leaving the Duke’s men behind to fight.

The Duke’s men ignored him. To them, nothing was happening. A few of the archers in the ditch lifted their bows. One called out, “What are we shooting at?”

The sentry shouted, “Something’s out there.”

Standing in his stirrups to see, the Duke rode to the edge of the ditch, his son behind him, his face stretched in a lopsided yawn. Out on the sea, the eddy whirled larger and deeper, sleek and dark in the moonlit water around it. The edge broke hard on the beach. Then the horned head shot up, and the dragon lunged into the air.

Perla leapt down from the rock. “No! Go back—it’s a trap! Go back—” Something struck her hard in the back, and she fell headlong, almost in the water.