Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [76]
As his long, dark body came dripping out of the river, she had just time to notice the dark hairs on his arms, and the drops of water that fell from his beard as he smiled before she half ran, half clambered along the bank to her baby.
They went together up the path to the hut, and whilst she was inside wrapping the baby in a woollen shawl, Tark built up a fire in front of the hut and sat cheerfully in front of it to dry himself. He made her sit down opposite and eat. While she shivered from shock, he calmly sat watching her, the steam hissing from his leather jerkin, and when she tried to thank him, the riverman smiled down at her and laughed softly.
“The river is dangerous, Katesh, like a woman. You never know what she will do next. So be careful of her.”
He ran his hand through his long black hair and smoothed his beard. His black eyes, she saw, were watching her thoughtfully.
When he had dried himself, he rose to go. Katesh rose too. As she put out her hand to thank him, he took it gently and held it. She looked up into his face.
For the first time in her life she felt a rushing current of excitement pass through her whole body; it was more violent, more urgent than anything she had felt in her life before. She could not help herself; she trembled.
Tark said nothing, but he knew. He moved closer. She felt her lips part on her upturned face, saw his head about to swoop down upon it.
Then, to her surprise, his face looked instead to a point somewhere behind her, and, still holding her hand, he called in a friendly voice:
“Nooma, you come at a good time. Your son has been swimming!” as the little mason approached his hut from the path.
When, soon afterwards, Tark left them, Nooma turned to her and said:
“You may not like Tark, but he has saved our son’s life. He is a good man.”
Katesh herself was frightened by the effect that Tark now had upon her and she tried to put him out of her mind.
Most of the time she was successful. She stayed away from the riverbank where she might see him, and the trader though he often passed, made no efforts to seek her out.
The summer passed. Two months after the solstice, the priests ordered the harvesting to begin.
The harvesting was completed quickly in the northern valley that year, and in the final days, Katesh went to help the family of a neighbouring farmer to get the last of his corn in. Nooma was away.
The work was hard and she enjoyed it. She and the farmer’s wife took turns to sit in the shade with Noo-ma-ti and the children of the farmer who were too young to work with the adults in the field.
By early evening, the last of the fields was cleared, and all the women went to the farmhouse to prepare a meal to celebrate the completion of their work. It was just as the sun was setting and the men were coming towards the fire that a happy shout came from below the farm towards the river, and a few moments later the farmer appeared, his face wreathed in smiles.
“Look who I have found passing us on the river!” he cried. “He shall sing to us tonight.” And behind him came Tark.
Before she could stop herself, she looked at him. She had not spoken to him since the incident in the river, and now that she saw him once again, the trembling sensation that had come over her then – and which she had afterwards told herself was caused by nothing more than the shock of the occasion – now came to her again more violently than even before. Fortunately, in the shadows, and with all eyes on the riverman, no one noticed.
As the stars came out and the farmers sat round the fire, once again Tark led the singing. The men called for all kinds of songs: some bawdy, some recounting hunting feats. Once again, it was Tark who finally said softly:
“And now a lullaby.”
It was indeed a wonderful song that he